*Hey everyone, it's Oghma once again! It's been a hot minute, but life's been hectic and I've been suffering a lot of burnout. But nonetheless, life must go on and I give you this little brief window into Breeder religious festivals. Thanks as always for stopping by, and I hope to see you all again very soon.*
**Disclaimer: Unrealistic sizes and impossible anatomy ahead. All characters depicted within are of 18 years of age or older.**
"How do I look?" Clara asked hopefully, spinning around in place to show everything off. One would almost expect she was displaying a brand-new dress. Instead, she was sporting naught but her birthday suit and a collection of jewelry. She was a young woman of 18 years, a high school senior not too far away from graduation. One would be hard pressed to find a more overtly Celtic looking girl these days, for her hair was long, wavy, thick hair was a striking reddish brown, streaked occasionally with brighter patches here and there, and her eyes a lovely green shade. As was quite obvious by her appearance, Clara was a Breeder. Though she had only recently entered into adulthood, her body was a collection of all the best sensuous curves. Her breasts were, as one would expect, large and round. Each one bigger than her head by a significant margin (at the moment she was between cup sizes, having just graduated from I) with perfectly proportioned light brown nipples standing erect in the cool air-conditioned atmosphere. Her hips were wide and spacious, well past her shoulder span, an almost textbook demonstration of "breeding hips". A bit lower, her thicc sturdy thighs supported a massive juicy peach, the sort entire rap albums would be devoted to.
"Darling, you look absolutely ravishing." Reassured her mother, Rose. Clara was in many ways the spitting image of her mother, for they both sported their signature auburn hair and jade colored eyes. The biggest difference between the two of them was, naturally, the magnitude of their curves. Not to say that Clara wasn't stacked, indeed she had a body most porn stars payed a fortune in surgery to emulate, but Rose was on a whole other level. Tempered by 18 years of breeding, she looked almost like a fertility statue come to life. Her deep ruby lips were full and plump, practically stuck in a permanent pout or kiss. Massive pumpkin sized tear-drop shaped breasts adorned her chest, displaying that perfect paradox of maternal softness and the firmness that allowed them to keep their shape, capped with light tan colored nipples and areolae. At the moment she wasn't lactating, for her youngest had been weaned quite some time ago. Beneath her tremendous tits, her waist curved inward, before rapidly flaring out as her broodmother level hips were reached. Even when viewed from the front, her monstrous ass was plainly visible and evident, a money-maker beaten by few in the entire world. There was a reason she was a multi-time twerking champion after all (complete with multiple trophies).
"Thanks Mom." Clara responded, giving her a tender kiss on the cheek. "Can't help but feel a little nervous tonight. "
"Oh I understand completely." Rose said, gently stroking her daughter's hair. "I remember my first Bealtaine..." she sighed in remembrance. "I was nothing short of a nervous wreck."
"How'd you cope with it mom?" Clara queried.
"Well, once I got into it, I realized it wasn't all that different from having sex normally. You lose yourself in the sheer joy of Breeding, it's almost like..." she paused, trying to put this into words. "It's like you become one with the Goddess herself."
"Whoa..." Clara beamed in awe.
"You had the implant removed right?" Rose asked in a firm, serious tone. Clara was her firstborn daughter, and as such she had to make sure she made it to adulthood before her first breeding. This meant birth control until her 18th birthday, as unpleasant as it was for her. Luckily for her, the IBE's specialized implants had hit the market properly right around the time her daughter hit puberty. It had served her pretty well for the past few years, but naturally all forms of birth control were forbidden on Bealtaine.
"Of course Mom!" she responded with an eager nod, gesturing towards her arm. A slight scar was barely visible, indicating the recent removal of said object. "I'm all set!"
"Mmmmm... not quite..." said Rose with an exaggerated expression of contemplation. It was clear there was something missing, and she new exactly what it was. But this was a day for theatrics and ritual, so Clara was fine with indulging her. Reaching onto the nearby table, Rose produced a pair of flowery wreaths. They were exquisitely crafted, nearly perfect in their shape and the distribution of the flowers, almost as if they had been made by some kind of professional florist. Primroses, marigolds and gorse blossoms were arranged carefully, creating a perfect collage of yellow shades. Without a word, she placed one on Clara's head, gently maneuvering it until it was firmly nestled in her hair and supported by her ears. "There." She said happily as she placed the other on her own head. "Now I think you're ready. Shall we?"
"Yes please!" Said Clara with a laugh. And with that they gathered up a pair of long, grey colored trench coats (they still had quite a drive to make, even Breeders had to obey the law after all) and exited into the night.
*
"Once more, a year has passed." The high priestess spoke. As prominent as "Breeder Paganism" (At some point they really needed to come up with a better name) had become in just a few short decades, there was still some pretty strict requirements to become clergy within it; In-depth knowledge of the various rituals and traditions, proficiency in the ancient languages, and of course a voracious sexual appetite. This particular priestess, one Eileen Flannery certainly wore that title on her proverbial sleeve: Her long dark hair flowed down her back, a veritable forest of thick ebony locks. She was about as... overdressed as one could be right now. Nudity was the standard amongst the attendees, and it seemed there were no deviants from said standard. About the only clothing to speak of were the crowns of flowers, worn by men and women alike, and yet the priestess was adorned in the most ornate one of all. If Queen Victoria had used flora for her crowns, it probably would have looked something like this. Her voice was stern and proud, at a pitch slightly beneath alto. No microphone or speaker amplified her speech, yet it echoed through the cool night air all the same. She stood before a tall, powerful bonfire, towering high and illuminating everything around them in its dim light. "Once more, we gather here before the Goddess for Bealtaine, the day of fertility and renewal."
Clara found herself biting her tongue to keep herself from giggling aloud. An evangelical preacher would have had a heart attack if he ever witnessed this ritual. After all, when one heard the words "pagan ritual", images of a far more sinister practice were what usually came to mind. Dark invocations, blood sacrifice and conjuring up demons. But that was not what the modern Bealtaine was about. No, this was the day of renewing life, not death. Clara wasn't old enough to remember a time before this had become a major holiday, indeed she could not imagine a time when it wasn't as big as it was. All around her were Breeders of various ages and ethnicities, all as naked as the day they entered this world. Exceptionally curvaceous women that tested the extent of her bisexuality, and men that put horses to shame surrounded her all over, all displaying various signs of readiness. Clara's teeth shifted from her tongue to her lip in an obvious gesture of arousal, one accented by her visibly soaked pussy. She was certain people had noticed, yet she wasn't nearly as nervous as she thought she would have been.
