They were hanging pregnant women now and who's to say why?
Not me certainly, I didn't make the laws. I merely enforced them and while I admired such women for their courage, my husband simply berated them for being foolish and weak. They were unable to control their animal desires to reproduce, he said, or unwilling. Not that it mattered to him or the state, there was little difference to be had there and the supreme court had ruled that biological imperative was not a legal defense they would consider.
My husband pulled his penis from my vagina slowly and rolled over onto his back, breathing hard and coughing just a little. I reached down between my legs, spreading my lips and pushing a finger inside. It was that moment I teased myself with, the razor's edge between fear and desire. I was empty, as I knew already of course. The wetness I felt was my own, anything else imagined. My husband's condom hadn't broken, he hadn't flooded my fertile womb with his potent seed. I opened my eyes and looked at him, flushed and sweating and smiling. He was handsome and older, more than twice my 24 years, but still strong enough, virile enough to give me a good hard fuck several times a week.
"It didn't break," I said softly and that just made him laugh.
"Maybe next time, Jen." He opened one eye and looked at me. "Don't even think about it."
"What?" I widened my own blue eyes in reply and brushed a strand of long blonde hair from my face.
"I know what you're thinking. A little tear, a tiny rip..." he shook his head. "They have tests for that, and even then the test is wrong 10% of the time. One girl in 10 is strung up because of a bad rubber..."
But he wasn't finished. " ... the other nine are there because they broke the law."
"I know that," I sighed and moved down the bed so I could remove his condom, being careful not to spill my husband's sperm and wondering if it was still alive.
"Then be glad the rubber didn't break, honey. I'd hate to arrest you."
"But you'd do it, wouldn't you?" I licked my lips, holding the rubber with its cream colored contents up to the light, squinting at it as if I might see something swimming inside.
"Bet that sweet little ass of yours, I would." He chuckled. "And if you were guilty, I'd jerk you myself."
"But not until I was big, right?" I asked. "You'd do that much for me."
"Law says 30 weeks." He reached over to the nightstand for a cigarette, lighting it slowly and the old tobacco crackled a little. "Seven and a half months..." he exhaled a cloud of blue smoke, " ... so yeah, I'd give you time."
I got up, moving to the bathroom to drop the condom in the toilet and wash myself, thinking carefully about my husband's words. We both knew the law, but I still liked to hear him explain it to me as if I were just another housewife. It had become my latest fantasy, playing the innocent and expectant mother. My husband knew this, of course, and he indulged me in the hopes that it would satisfy me enough that I wouldn't do anything foolish. Anything stupid and illegal, like pushing that condom he'd just filled into my loose sex, squeezing the contents out and pushing it inside me with my fingers. That would be immoral according to society, downright irresponsible if not entirely ant-social.
I held the condom for a long moment, staring at it while my other hand explored the taut flatness of my belly. I was empty inside and every part of me hated it. I needed to be filled. First with my husband's sperm and then later with his child. A new life inside me, growing into a son perhaps, a boy to replace his father. Or a daughter with ice blue eyes and long blonde hair to succeed me in youth and beauty and ... Wisdom perhaps? My thoughts faltered and my willpower with them. I dropped the condom with a gentle splash and flushed quickly, turning my face away so I wouldn't see it swirling out of sight forever.
"Good girl." My husband stood in the doorway and I looked down, hiding the guilt that burned in my cheeks.
"I was raped! It isn't fair! I didn't do anything wrong!" The girl was young, still in high school and her trial had been a quick one.
"Shhh..." I shook my head at her. "Sarah Jameson, you've been found guilty of unlawful pregnancy through willful misconduct. At the conclusion of your trial a specific date and time was determined for the full and complete execution of your sentence..."
"Take my baby! Take it ... Please! Just take the baby..." She'd started crying now, the way some of them do, falling to her knees in the cell and sobbing, her words muffled by her hands as she covered her face.
" ... That time has now come," I finished reading the small card, which I hadn't really read at all since I knew the words by heart. Only the names changed.
" ... my b-baby ... take the baby..." She was a sad one, which wasn't surprising given her youth. Pretty too, even with her red-rimmed eyes and puffy lips. She was brunette and pale, with soft brown eyes and small firm breasts above the impressive swell of her abdomen. She was 30 weeks to the day and now her life was almost over.
"Abortion is illegal." Her spiritual aide, a middle-aged nun in the crimson habit of the Order of St. Daphne, spoke to the girl gently. "They can't take your child, Sarah, you must bear it unto Heaven. 'For whoever shall forsake the unborn must herself be born again, from the womb of damnation through the blood of our Savior... '"
I didn't listen to the nun, but rather concentrated on getting the girl to her feet. It was a short walk for anyone but the condemned and once in awhile it would take two or even three of us to move a woman to the gallows, but usually not. A girl like Sarah was broken, you could see it in her eyes and hear it in her voice. She wouldn't fight and even if she did I would have very little trouble taking her down by myself.
The quiet ones were the girls to watch, the sullen type who hid behind tight lips and staring eyes. Those sort were trouble of the worst kind. The best were the Daphnae, those women who had gotten pregnant deliberately and welcomed the noose as if it were the rapture. They usually went in the second trimester, around 5 months when they really started showing nice. Those girls just didn't have the patience for going the distance and a lot of them petitioned to have their dates moved up, but of course that was denied usually.
St. Daphne herself had been a professor at Harvard, and the first woman hung for willful civil disobedience when she'd gotten pregnant two days after the law had been passed. She turned herself in and pleaded guilty after a rather long and impassioned statement that God Himself was calling her to heaven. The child growing in her womb was His chosen method of delivery, or so she claimed, because conception required a spark of the divine. I'm a Social Agnostic of course, since I'm a government official, so I don't really know all the details about St. Daphne and her followers.
They have their own churches, where women are impregnated by the priests during mass. They have their own bibles, filled with words about pregnancy making a woman righteous in the eyes of God, and how carrying an unborn child into the afterlife secures a place in heaven for the both of them. They have their own nuns, like the sister on which Sarah was leaning for support, who often found themselves pregnant, which was a curiosity in itself. The nuns always pleaded not guilty, unlike the other Daphnae, saying that their conception was divine in nature. God, not men, had made the sisters pregnant, if you can believe that. The Supreme Court plainly did not, and neither did the state, having executed some 2 dozen nuns over the last 6 years or so. Even so, the women went happily, which was always good news for me.
"I was raped ... It wasn't my fault..." The girl kept talking, her arm over the nun's shoulder as they walked slowly together towards the light.
The Cellars, which was what we called the underground holding facility, was lit well enough with fluorescent lights in the ceilings, but just down the long hall was the stairs leading up and into the Courtyard where the executions took place. That was outdoors and the sunlight was reflected brilliantly from the white painted walls surrounding it, so that the stairwell was illuminated almost painfully. I had a pair of sunglasses that I wore, just for that reason, and as we approached the stairs I slipped them on while Sarah winced and covered her eyes, the nun just looked down and squinted I think, reading from her bible.
I followed them up without a word, focusing my gaze on the tight round butt of the girl ahead of me. Her swollen tummy arched her back nicely, forcing her to keep herself straight, although the fear and hopelessness she was feeling made that even harder than normal. Still, she did try if only for the sake of comfort, and I appreciated the view of her hips moving left and right with every step the girl took. Her large tummy moving as well, so that it appeared to move the opposite direction. When her right hip moved out and up, her tummy appeared on the left, another step and there it was on the right. It was sexy, I thought, very attractive and I wondered if the girl could appreciate her beautiful form.
Outside it was bright, almost blinding the way the sun reflected off the high walls of the courtyard. It was round and barely a hundred meters in diameter, 20 meters high and topped with electrified razor wire. It wasn't there for the prisoners, since the walls were smooth and no woman even a few months pregnant could hope to scale them. It was simply a necessary precaution against a public which contained both persons who wanted to watch, and persons who wanted to interfere. The gallery itself was composed of a hundred people selected at random to witness the execution as required by law. The parents of the girl were there, of course, as were any brothers or sisters. In some places one of Sarah's relatives, either her father or a brother, would have performed the actual execution. But in this state we used professional executioners.
The executioner was male, as required by law, and he had a passion for his job, as most of them did. Executing pregnant women was something a man either responded to enthusiastically, or shunned completely. There seemed to be no middle ground and a lot of money had been spent trying to figure out why. It didn't bother me any, to tell the truth, and I suppose if I'd been a man I would have enjoyed being the executioner. I liked being one of the guards, I knew that much. I enjoyed being around the prisoners; it was exciting and filled me with a sexual thrill that I found difficult to explain. Even as I walked Sarah up the platform, a large structure some ten meters high and 20 meters square, I could feel my sex growing moist.
There were 3 women hanging there already, swaying in the sun and breeze. Their swollen bellies pulling them down more than you might expect. I'd walked with each of them that morning and my favorite had been Lisa, the little 13 year old who'd played doctor with her cousin once too often. She'd been a beautiful child, with light hair and perfect teeth. I'd soothed her all week, as best I could, stroking her tummy and listening to her talk. She wasn't much for crying, not until the very end, and she had a wild and beautiful imagination. I'd fallen in love with the girl, I think, as had most of the guards. The executioners too, who always examined the accused carefully, had been forced to draw lots as they were all eager to be Lisa's executioner.
The guy who'd done it, an older man named Arthur, had noosed her slowly, determined to make it last. The deterrent effects of hanging a girl like Lisa were unquestioned, so he'd lifted her off her feet and let her struggle as she was strangled for a long minute or two, then he'd let her back down, giving the child a few precious gulps of air before hoisting her off her toes once more. He did this a dozen times, until blood was running down her small puffy breasts and the smooth pale swell of her tummy. Lisa's neck was chafed raw by the rope and her eyes were shot with blood and burst capillaries from the repeated pressure of the noose. Finally Arthur hauled the girl up and secured the rope, then he took pretty Lisa in the ass, raping her as it was his right to do in front of a hundred people including the girl's parents and younger sister. He fucked her while I watched and tried to rub my clit discreetly through my uniform. It was always incredible, that part of the execution, and Lisa only made it better. She jerked for a long time, that little girl, shuddering as she was impaled on Arthur's thick cock over and over until the air in her brain finally ran out.
Now Sarah was here, equally beautiful if only a little older, and I hoped she could hold her breath a good long time. I knelt in front of her, pushing the girl's legs apart so I could insert her fetal plug. It had happened before that the traditional method of hanging, dropping the accused so that the neck was broken, sometimes resulted in the unborn baby being forced out of the womb. The sudden stop at the end of the rope didn't necessarily stop everything else inside the mother, and so we lifted the women now, raising them off their feet and strangling them. But that too raised problems, like any form of physical and emotional trauma does, being strangled could induce labor and while that wasn't really a big deal, some of those women managed to give birth while they died.
In order to avoid that legal and literal mess the state had adopted the fetal plug. Some places liked the old method of sewing the vagina shut, but the state supreme court had ruled that sewing a woman's vagina closed, even by a certified doctor, constituted cruel and unusual punishment. The fetal plug was a rubber device that I inserted into Sarah's vagina, it was long and had 3 bulging rings around the length of the device. The tip was nearly 16 inches from the base and designed to penetrate the cervix, which could be very painful I know, since I'd tried it on myself once. But it was momentary and caused no permanent damage to the body and so the courts had said it was fine.
I used a generous amount of lubricant and used my fingers on Sarah's vagina first, trying to relax and loosen the girl a little. She'd only had sex once, or so she claimed, and I think I believed her, although a jury of her peers hadn't. She was dry and tight and I could feel her body tighten, her muscles contracting as I pushed and pulled three fingers back and forth in her cunt. Some girls get incredibly wet when they approach the gallows, especially the followers of St. Daphne. They were practically cumming as soon as we took them from their cells. Even some of the non-believers could get aroused, either by the fear, or the environment, or something in their personalities, I didn't know. But a lot of girls were like Sarah, too frightened and straight-laced to enjoy the moment, and that was too bad.