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The Offering

By: vixennevictorienne



“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”

Oscar Wilde

Darkmere is the realm between our world and the world of Dreams. It is where the monsters that lurk underneath our childhood beds dwell when not filling our innocent heads with their frightful visions. It is where the impish Sandman and the delicate Good Fairy meet when not making their respective rounds. 

It is where beings of ethereal beauty or horrific ugliness congregate and conduct affairs that have little to do with humankind. The denizens of Darkmere view us with either passing interest or with casual disdain. They are ancient and immortal, sons and daughters of chaos-thought; we are transient, fleeting.

However, there are mortals who travel easily to Darkmere, and while not always welcomed with open arms, are allowed to wander freely. And at our own risk, for the safety of mortals is not necessarily their concern. 

There are times in which the insouciant beings of Darkmere are moved to pity, especially by the plight of a tormented child. Some of those children are taken away to be raised in this place between the dream and the tangible.

My name is Phaedra Garrett. If you are a lover of urban fantasy, then you know of me. So far, I have four books to my credit, with a fifth needing only to be transcribed from a handwritten notebook. I’ve yet to join the ranks of those I consider deities in my genre, but it has been said of my tales that I infuse such realism in them that one could almost be convinced that magical beings indeed exist. I write often of Darkmere, but I give away none of its secrets. 

I do not write for approbation, nor do I write for material wealth, though both have often come my way. I write to live. I write because the stories within me insist upon being told, and I obey their every command. I write in order to infuse this cold world in which I live with some semblance of magic.

Writing is as necessary to me as food or shelter. Pen and paper are my spiritual sustenance. I cannot imagine what I would do if I did not write.

How do you know when someone has visited Darkmere? Think of a song that stays with you, close to your heart, or a work of art that touches your soul. Chances are that artist somewhere in their lifetime, has been there. Children come to Darkmere all the time; for them the line between fantasy and reality does not exist.

Those of us who visit often are never the same. There's a look about us, some people call it ‘fey’, others call it ‘abnormal’. It's as if live we in a dream even when fully awake. When we return to this world, we are filled to bursting with ideas and images that simply must be expressed. We are the intense, the dramatic, the passionate, the romantic and the visionaries.

Yes, we are even the mad.

I often journey to Darkmere, not always seeking inspiration. There are times I go to renew myself, to seek solace from an increasingly hostile world. 

Darkmere is easily accessible, just close your eyes, and want to be there. No road maps, no complicated directions, no incantations.

Oh yes, Darkmere is quite easy to find, but not quite as easy to leave.

And with every journey to Darkmere, a price must be paid, for a place such as this never yields its gifts without cost. Those who foolishly try to cheat this world between dreams find themselves suddenly blocked. And the inability to return is often enough to cause one to become despondent, to even take their own lives in the hopes that their soul will find its way back.

I actually enjoy the company of the myriad creatures who make their home here. Contrary to popular opinion, one need not be virgin to touch a unicorn (and I could tell you stories about their horns that would most definitely change your view of them forever). Werewolves do not always change at the light of a full moon, and there is indeed a reason why one sock always disappears in the dryer. 

As is my want, I tend to be solitary by nature, and those of Darkmere respect my solitude. They find me refreshing.

I am in Darkmere tonight, sans notebook and pen, a highly unusual occurrence for any writer. This can be a dangerous place for the unwary, but I wander at will and unmolested. The winding paths and smooth cobblestone streets shift and meander, sometimes leading up to the magnificent castles of jewel-like stone that are the homes of the both the Unsidhe and the Sidhe courts; others lead to sacred hills and forests, and some of the roads go absolutely nowhere.

My own sojourn finds me in front of one of my favorite haunts—The Ash & Oak.

The Ash & Oak seems to be Darkmere's nexus. Like a fabulous bazaar of beings, whatever you seek, more than likely could be found here. 

Lilting, ethereal music from a variety of instruments swirl around me, and the sounds and fragments of conversations stroke my ears as tenderly as a lovely elven shaman did with his lips once upon a moonlit night beneath Darkmere’s skies. Even duels of honor are conducted without a single voice being raised.

On one side are a group of young dwarves, obviously influenced by human adolescent fashion; baggy pants, sweatshirts and steel-toed boots. One even had a baseball cap turned backwards, and several silver rings ran up the side of one large ear. 

I casually wave my hand at a shaggy lycanthrope, whom I remember was a friend of my long-ago shaman. Long canines formed a friendly, if slightly feral smile. 

The space of the Ash & Oak defies every single law of physics. Outside, the building is rather small and unprepossessing, built of stone, much like pubs and inns from days gone by. Inside, it becomes an MC Escher painting, endless stairways, rooms and corridors, as complex as any labyrinth. Every time I come here, it seems as if something has been added.

I delve deeper into The Ash & Oak with a set purpose to my seemingly endless meanderings. A tankard of something brown, rich and sweet was handed to me by the diminutive pixie lad who tended the bar, his wings like stained glass.

I have come to offer payment at last, for what Darkmere has given me.

Some who come here pay in gold, others in blood, still others barter their souls.

This night, I give my body as recompense.

Ironic then, the one being whose advances up to this point I’d spurned, turned out to be the very one who would exact the price of the creative bounty I’d gained from time spent in Darkmere.

Silverthorn, the High Prince of the Unsidhe Court. 

Imagine a being whose beauty is so painful that it is frightening to behold, and to stare too long at it can cause such madness in one’s soul. 

Envision that, and still you cannot fathom just how impossibly lovely he is to behold. Extremely tall, thin yet powerful, regal, and arrogant—these words do little justice to the image before me.

His is a face of harmonious transcendence, defying gender, chiseled and sculpted to inhuman delicacy. The eyes are wide, glittering emerald drops with thin sweeping brows and feather-fringed lashes. The ageless cast of his features belies the ancient knowledge contained within those disturbing crystalline orbs. 

Those eyes imprisoned me with their undisguised hunger. A mere gaze and already I ached for his touch, though too, I feared him.

I wanted to drink deep of his mystery. And I wanted to run and hide.

His hair is like the night sky with luminous strands of starlight. It flowed down his back, a shimmering vestment on its own. Living tendrils my fingers have always longed to touch.

Silverthorn had forsaken his usual whispering robes for denim and leather. The clothes are strangely fascinating; they flatter the tall elven prince. He glided towards me with effortless grace, a Baryshnikov in blue jeans. The cascade of black velvet swept away from his face, revealing the telling points of his fae heritage. He favored me with an inhumanly erotic smile, blinding in its perfection, blatant in its desire, and from that moment, we both know that I am his. Forever, should that be his wish.


“Come, my dear Phaedra,” extending a slender, silver ringed hand out to me, “You have a debt to pay, and I wish to collect it.” His voice shimmers and coalesces around me, like pure music. “In full.”

I placed my hand in his; he enfolds it in a silken steel clasp. “And in private.”

The Ash & Oak has shimmered and faded from sight. I am now in a large chamber of soft, muted colors and delicately carved furnishings. A fire blazes orange gold-blue in a marble hearth. Swords, shields and lances grace one wall, intricately woven tapestries line another. The carpeting beneath my feet is like sinking into air. A massive bed, seemingly hewn from a single giant piece of highly polished dark wood dominates the room, a not-so subtle reminder of what I will give in exchange for Darkmere’s gifts. 

Silverthorn stood before me, tilting my chin up, searching my eyes for either fear or resistance. “Other men might woo you with sweet words, my darling mortal, but only I will possess you in ways they cannot.”

The alluring smile on his full, sensuous lips dazzles wrecks havoc on my senses. Yes, I am afraid. What will happen to me once Silverthorn has indelibly branded my entire being? 

Still, fear can be a most potent aphrodisiac.

“I have been giving much thought as to what I wish from you this night, dear Phaedra,” he says, regarding me pensively, a fingertip lightly skimmed my bare arm. I flinch as if touched by electric current. “I considered many exquisite pleasures, things your poor mind, no matter how imaginative you believe yourself to be, could not even conceive of. At least for me, there would be pleasure.” 

Why does menace sound like invitation?

“Then again, dear Phaedra, perhaps my pleasures would be yours as well. You seem to have an interesting penchant for pain.”

He undressed me as I stood, as still as a child's doll, bewitched by his nearness, enraptured by the dizzying scent of him. My nipples hardened, awaiting a kiss from his beautiful lips that surely must come. Not kisses, but intoxicating little bites that make me catch my breath. He pulled me closer and bit harder, almost breaking the skin, and I hoped that he will.

My jeans and my panties are removed expertly, without the normal awkwardness such garments usually engender. The panties are practically soaking wet, evidence of my desire.

“So willing, aren’t you, my dear little Phaedra?" Silverthorn asks with sensual amusement as he drops to his knees and blows hot breath against my shaven slit. “You human females are like that, I know. I've visited many of your kind in their dreams. They always welcome me, just as you will.”

Silverthorn parted me with his fingers, exposing me to the jade fire of his eyes. His tongue scraped gently against my swollen labia in long, languid feline swaths, then plunged deeply inside of me. My thighs trembled unsteadily having turned to liquid and my only support are my hands gripping his shoulders convulsively as I rocked my body against his mouth. Several times release was within my grasp, only to have him pull away, keeping me on the knife edge of orgasm. 

“Not quite yet, sweet Phaedra," his fingers stroked my g-spot, as I tried to bring myself down harder. Silverthorn takes great pleasure from inflicting this mindless torture upon me. “If you gain release before I allow you to do so, I swear you shall regret it.”

He removed his fingers from inside of me, and places them upon my lips, glossing them with my essence. Raising himself to full height, the jewel-toned eyes hold me spellbound. He began removing his own clothes, slowly, teasingly, and the sight before my lust-filled eyes would have made Michelangelo weep. 

My Unsidhe lord stood gloriously, luminously naked, his body a perfect symmetry of line and shadow. My gaze dropped to the smooth marble texture of his cock, stretching limitlessly from a shining thatch of black curls. I wanted it inside of me, everywhere.

Silverthorn took me in his arms, kissing me as our tongues shared my taste and scent, expertly kneading my pliant body with strong, soft hands.

Those hands guided me downward, to my knees, face to face with the potent and magnificent length of him. The weight of his cock filled my hands with its silken texture and the pulsating beat of blood surging through it. 

There was no hesitation on my part as my tongue snaked out to taste the salt musk of his flesh. I buried my nose deeply into the thick softness of those curls, thick yet soft as down, inhaling a scent unfamiliar yet intoxicating. My lips slid along the smoothness of his cock, my tongue dancing around each ridge and pulsing vein. A groan rumbled from deep within Silverthorn’s chest, and I gained a certain amount feminine satisfaction that I was pleasing him.

I opened my throat muscles wider, taking every solid inch of him. I bit the head of his cock, grazing it with my teeth. His reply was to grasp me by the hair and fuck my hungry mouth harder. Each breath surrendered from my lungs I swore would be my last, but I would neither yield nor show weakness.

Moreover, I wanted this, this intense assault of my senses. My fingers strayed between my legs, thrumming my clit and filling my aching pussy. It was not enough. I was nothing more than swollen orifices needing desperately to be sated.

I felt him shudder, and I moved faster upon him, intent on bringing him the climax he cruelly denied me, but he tore me away. Pulling me to my feet, Silverthorn bore me backwards towards the immense canopied bed in the middle of the room.

“Little vixen,” he growled as his knee parted my thighs. “Did you really think that I’d spill my seed so quickly?” 

Spread-eagled, my thighs over his shoulders, Silverthorn took me with one single shuddering thrust that threatened to rip me apart. Never before had I been filled so completely. Stretched wide to accommodate his length and his breadth, he hammered at me, demanding mastery. I met the rhythm of his hips with my own eager thrusts, which again, made him toy with my spinning senses. 

I sobbed and begged, pleading both for release and for it never to end. Silverthorn bent his mouth to my nipples once again, biting each swollen point as he took me deep, hard and relentlessly. I was dying from an arousal so fierce, so powerful that I wasn't certain if my mortal shell could contain it all.

It was the most exquisite ravishment, the strokes alternating in their intensity, sometimes violent and fast, sometimes slow and gentle. His voice thrilled me as deep as his fiery caresses, as much an instrument of my pleasure, carrying me to heights I had never known were possible. 

Even his hair, that thick velvet curtain of shimmering midnight, came alive, wrapping itself around my nipples, squeezing them as if an extension of his hands. Those silken strands found their way between my legs, parting my lips, stroking my clit relentlessly, only to cease when Silverthorn sensed my nearing climax, and then continue their sweet torture once the moment passed. Those wicked, sentient tresses would caress me again, until I knew nothing but sensation. 

At one point, he pulled nearly all the way out of me, holding his cock at the threshold of my dripping center. I tried in vain to rise, to bring him back to me. His laughter mocked my entreaties, and he imprisoned my hands over my head.

“Please, Silverthorn...” I lost all semblance of control, reduced to nothing but sensation.

“Please what?” His lips grazed my earlobe, ignoring my pleas.

“Let me...” I writhed underneath him. “Please, let me come.” I was in the throes of something more powerful than myself, and as the tears ran slowly down my cheeks, Silverthorn licked them away.

“Right now, my little strumpet?” my cruel elven lord asked, as if my orgasm were an imposition on his pleasure. “And what of your promise to me? You are mine to do with as I please, or had you forgotten?” He did not expect an answer, nor was I in any state to give him one.

“Oh no, my sweet Phaedra. You aren’t even close to what I would consider an acceptable exchange for service thusly rendered. But perhaps,” and he watched as my body struggled in vain to bring him back. “Perhaps we can come to an understanding?”

Anything, my traitorous body cried, writhing in unbearable torment that only such unrelenting passion could engender. Anything, just don’t leave me here like this.

Silverthorn was completely unconcerned with the condition I was in. “If I allow you release, I will come to you whenever and wherever I wish. You will permit me to do with your body as I will, for as long as I will. Are we agreed?”

“Yes, my lord, oh yes!” I didn’t have the first clue as to what I had agreed to. I could have been signing away my own soul, and in a way, I was. And it didn’t matter, as long as he filled me again, taking me far past madness.

With my affirmation still hot on my lips, Silverthorn drove himself deep within me once again. His relentless pounding battered down whatever shred of resistance might have remained. 

My arms ached from his sensual restraint, but he would not let go. My body was his plaything, and he played me as expertly as a musician does with a cherished instrument. His kisses drugged me, his body impaled me, and the moment the stars inside of me exploded, my own response damned me.

It has been less than a week since I’ve made my second pact with Silverthorn, and already he has made live up to my word.

The unpredictable Unsidhe lord doesn’t visit me every night, nor does he come when I expect him to. He prefers to keep me in a heightened state of arousal. Whether or not his nighttime sojourns interrupt my work makes precious little difference to him.

That first time was only a prelude to what my elven prince had in store for me. Name the pleasure, name the instrument—and he would subject me to it. He took me far beyond my insignificant threshold for pain into a realm in which pain and pleasure held no meaning.

I long since gave up trying to ascribe human attributes to someone who isn’t even human. Silverthorne has shown me both tenderness and savagery, and I derive great delight from both. 

With each visit, he leaves a little of his magic behind, and that little piece is enough for me to create my wondrous tales.

Perhaps my offering was to his liking. And perhaps the price wasn’t too high after all.

The Offering



The drums of the village beat louder as the time of midnight drew nearer. They rang even louder in the ears of the young woman being prepared for the offering. In a room far below the surface she was attended by the ancient witch woman. The old crone was easily 100 summers and smelled of herbs and smoke mixed with dank hay. Diona had been selected for the offering when she was born though she did not know it then. She'd grown to young woman hood and often asked of her father why no mate had come forward for her. Her father had deftly avoided answering, knowing this was in her future fate. 

So here she was now, in this stone room beneath the pyramid with the witch woman. Her body now shone with oils and was free of any body hair save the black braid of her dark raven mane. The witch woman had meticulously shorn even her woman's place of it's soft thatch of hair. She'd held Diona down and washed her virginal orifices inside and out. There had been a cackle of derisive pleasure as Diona's virginal ass had been filled with a gourd of warm oiled water. The old woman had wedged a rounded cork into the puckered hole and left her like that for 10 minutes. When she finally removed the cork and allowed the young girl to void the wastes Diona though surely she was going to burst from the pressure in her nether hole. The skin there felt stretched from the large cork but not completely unpleasantly so. When she had at last passed the last of the water from her bowels she looked up to find the old witch woman giving her a toothless grin. The haggared woman raised a hand and pointed again to the table. Diona climbed up and lay back wondering what would come next. 

"Raise your arms above your head, girl, and be quick about it!" she heard the witch hiss. 

Raising her arms above her head she felt metal bracelets fitted around each wrist which then snapped together. Similar bracelets went around her slim ankles and were snapped to the legs of the table. The witch admired the young girl and leaned her head close to the girl's dark breasts. Snaking out her leathery fingers she pinched the nipple and rolled it between her long finger and thumb. Diona gasped as the new sensation hit her body. Clenching her eyes closed she turned her head away, determined to show her aversion to this hag. The witch woman cackled and continued to rub the tender nipples until they were hard and erect. Suddenly Diona felt a painful stab through the tender flesh and her eyes flew open. Through the center of her nipple was a small golden ring. The witch woman shuffled to the other side of the girl and again rubbed at the nipple until it was erect. A second painful stab through her nipple and a matching ring was placed though it. There was a tiny golden chain hanging between the two rings which caught the light of the chamber and glittered. 

Diona watched the old woman afraid what would come next, her nipples ached with the rings now standing out from her lovely skin. Diona threw her head back and clinched her eyes shut, silently praying for someone to stop the ministrations of this hag upon her body. With out warning she felt fingers on the flesh of her thigh and her knees were pushed further apart. Warm breath upon her labia told her that the old woman had her face close to her sex. Again she felt the leathery fingers snake out and touch her soft skin. They parted the folds of her sex and found her small clit. The old woman used her thumb hard upon it to draw it out. The girl's hips bucked at this sudden over whelming flood of feelings. Diona though she was going to die, the pleasure of this new sensation was so wonderful. It was short lived by a third painful piercing of her clit by a small golden ring. 

Releasing the bracelets from the table, the old woman sat Diona up once more. Dark kohl was added under her eyes to accentuate their hues. Standing the young girl in the center of the room, she helped her into the long white robe that would be her garment for this evenings offering. It did not tie in the front, instead it fell open so that her new accessories were clearly visible to all. 

"It is time for the offering." The old woman's voice cut through her thoughts and startled her. Nodding she turned toward the door and waited. The drums outside quickened their rhythm and the door to the small chamber opened. Outside stood six temple guards in their finest armors, their eyes raking over the young woman in white. A slight shove from behind sent her out into the corridor to stand between the entourage of guards. Silently they escorted her up the steep stairs and out into the night sky. The forest beat with the tempo of the drums and the chanting of the priests who stood on the dais. 

Diona felt her body blush deep crimson as each priest's eyes swept down and back up over her exposed body. Their errect man-hoods were an obvious display of their arousal at the sight of her. In the center of the pyramid a stone table carved of black marble stood. She was afraid. She'd heard the tales and the finality of her fate settled into her mind. She was jarred from her frozen silence by a push from behind. Six pairs of hands took hold of her and lifted her from the ground and carried her toward the table. The guards lowered her to the black marble and in that instant her mind rebelled and she thrashed wildly in an effort to free her self. There was no point, the guards held her firmly down while her arms were pulled over her head and secured with the manacles, each attached to a chain which had been secured to the base of the table. The lower half of her body rested on the edge of the table with her feet dangling below. 

The old priest approached the table with a flask of sacred oil in his hand. In a loud clear voice he spoke the prayer of offering as he poured the oil down her body from her chin to her legs. She felt warmed all over as the oil seeped into her skin. The first priest approached the table and stood between her legs. She felt his fingers touch her newly adorned clit, rubbing it vigorously before sliding down to the folds of her woman's mound. There was a pleasant warmness as he slid his fingers into her coated in the oil, she moaned softly at this first intrusion into her most sensitive area. Slipping deeper they met her virgin's barrier and stopped. He with drew his fingers and smiled lewdly at her. She shivered in revulsion knowing the ancient priest had touched her so intimately. 

Plucking a goblet from a table he filled it with dark red wine and pressed the lip of it to Diona's lips. "Drink, girl, it will prepare you for the offering," he said in a strong voice. She took a sip of the wine and found it cool and sweet. Swiftly she accepted and gulped down the rest of the liquid. In five minutes time she felt every nerve in her body distinctly. It was then she felt the tablet begin to rise and turn toward the North. There stood the granite carved statue of the god of fertility. It's head had the horns of a ram, the face of a bull, on it's back were the great wings of an eagle, the torso was a man with the legs of a horse. In one hand a serpent rested and wound itself around the arm. Standing straight out from the crux of its great legs was a massive cock. The statue itself was 9 feet tall and its cock was at least a tenth of it's stature. The stone tablet raised her until she was level with the protruding stone cock, the head mere inches from her virginal passage. She felt herself sliding forward, her body slick on the stone tablet from the oil that covered her dark skin. As the head its cock nudged against her small passage, she tried to squirm upwards away from it, hoping to somehow avoid what was coming. Her struggles were in vain and the more she tried to move her oiled body up and away from the manhood of the statue the closer she slipped. 

The chanting of the priests below her became louder and the beat of the drums quickened. She was certain the cock of their god would split her in half and kill her where she lay. Her ass had once more slid to the edge of the tablet causing her slit to be pressed against the god's cock. As it slid into her she closed her eyes and wept against the pain of being impaled on this stone phallus. It had buried only two inches into her when it met with her virgin's barrier and tore through it. The blood of her lost innocence covering the dark granite cock as it further impaled her young body. In the blink of an eye the surface of the god shimmered and faded as it took a true form. He looked down at Diona and with a mighty thrust drove his cock the rest of the way into her, throwing his head backward he roared. She felt his clawed fingers gripping her thighs and forcing them wider. His cock was buried to the base in Diona, she felt his balls against her ass. He slid out of her then and she thought perhaps this ordeal was done. 

As the head of his cock reached the outer lips of her sex he drove himself again into her, pushing the tip against the furthest wall of her passage. Again and again she felt his cock pull almost out and then bury itself deeply within her. His rhythm was the beat of the drums. Her body betrayed her as the first climax rolled through her, leaving her quivering and flushed. The great god leaned his bulls face down and nuzzled against her neck letting his fat tongue lap at her oiled skin. She felt the rough surface of it dragging across her throat, shoulders and then her right breast. He licked her nipple causing it to become erect and her ring protruded further upwards. Repeating the motion with her left breast soon both were aroused, his tongue alternating from one to the other, lapping the tip over and over. All the time her sex was being speared by the huge cock of her god, again and again. 

She screamed when the second climax ripped through her body. Every nerve in her body set on fire as the assault on all her most sensitive places continued. Her breathing was ragged and a line of perspiration covered her body. The drums below were now beating at a frantic pace and the thrusts of cock into Diona matched them, driving into her tight, wet slit again and again. The serpent's cool skin slithered up between her breasts and wound it's tail around her throat. As it slowly constricted her air her vision sharpened and everything became vivid. The god slammed his cock harder into her now, the drums beating a furious tempo thum thum thum thum thum and his cock drove into her equally furious. His cock spasming as he erupted inside her. His seed came in huge spurts and filled her sex, the excess running down her thighs. She felt herself lifted up high and cradled in his arms. Thinking he had pulled her free of the tablet she looked down to where she'd lain and saw she laid there still. Her young body was now still and growing cold on the stone table. 

Diona looked at the face of the god and realized her fate. She fainted and the god of fertility bore her soul away to his plane, assuring that the village would have fertile soil and fertile females for the next ten years.



The Offering



No sex.

They sat in the diner with their friends enjoying an early morning breakfast. They'd played hard at the dungeon that evening and felt famished. It was a boisterous group, except for one. 

She was quiet, content to sit next to her partner, leaning against him. He looked down at her now and then, concerned that her quietness lasted longer then usual. They had played longer and harder then normal; he'd pushed her tolerance level. They'd had a good time. He had been very pleased with her responses. Usually by this time she was roused out of that space she'd gone to and participated in the ensuing conversations. This time she remained very close to him at all times, always touching him. This wasn't a problem; he was enjoying it, but recognized that this was a step away from the norm. Naturally he was a little concerned. Each time he nudged her she would look up at him, smile to assure him all was ok in her world. 

He decided they would be the first to leave this time. He felt he should get her home, let her get some rest. Besides he was looking forward to their private decompression time together. It was a natural extension of their play to go home, talk about the evening, what seemed to work well, any concerns, or just relive the evening. Curiosity was gnawing at him wondering what her feedback would be tonight. She was that different in her behavior. 

In the car she leaned against him, head on his shoulders as they took the highway home. Occasionally he'd kiss the top of her head, his arm around her shoulders, hand caressing her arm. She'd murmur or sigh, snuggle in to him tighter, but still wasn't speaking. For now her body language spoke for her. 

They arrived home and he walked her into the house. He turned her around to face him, holding her at arms length while he peered into her face, "Sweet girl, if there is something wrong, I expect you to tell me."

Smiling up at him she haltingly spoke, "Sir, I'm ever more then fine." She surprised them both when a tear spilled from her eyes. 

She laughed a little as she quickly wiped it away.

"Then why the tears?" 

She reached out and ran her hand down his chest, thinking, before she requested, "Sir may I go take a shower first please?" 

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea. As long as you think you can manage by yourself. I'll get our things from the car and put them away. Present yourself to me in the bedroom when you are done." 

Slowly she made her way down the hall as he watched, trying to figure out what was going on inside her. He was trying not to make any assumption, but she gave him little to go on. 

Once he heard the water running in the shower he took care of everything else and waited patiently in the bedroom for her. Twenty minutes later she finally came to him, her hair pulled back, a robe covering her. She knelt on the floor in front of him. She appeared to contemplate the floor for a moment before looking up at him, smiling and saying "hello Sir" 

He smiled down and answered her greeting, "hello little girl" as he ran a fingertip along her face. He heard her sigh as her eyes closed and she lowered her head again. He placed his index finger under her chin and lifted her head up until she gazed back at him. 

"Spill it, tell me what is on your mind. I've waited and now it's time for you to talk to me," He demanded.

She sucked in her lower lip, chewing on it as she found the words she needed, "Yes Sir." She hesitated then began again. "Sir, I had a wonderful time tonight. As all my times with you is wonderful. I hated for the time tonight to end." She faltered for a second and went on. "I love you, as I know you love me." Meeting his eyes she waited to some acknowledgement about their feelings. He simply said, "Go on" Breathing in deeply she slowly let out her breath and began again, "Tonight, sitting and listening to everyone talk, share, joke, I realized that there's something different with us. We aren't like them. I'm not like them."

He didn't understand where she was going with this, "Different how?" 

"The others, they will go home, sleep, or whatever and go about their way. Tomorrow they get up and it'll be another day for them, the dungeon, the exchanges just a memory, until the next time." 

She began to speak faster; afraid she would lose her nerve to say what she needed to say. "I don't want to be like that. I don't feel I'm part of that. I don't want the time of being 'your girl' to be measured in minutes or hours. I'd do anything for you. I want to do anything for you. I want to be 'yours' always. I don't want hours of being something else when inside what I feel is that I belong to you, that I want and need to belong to you. Be at your beck and call. I want to take care of you, take care of your needs, love you and nurture you in this way always. I want to cater to your whims, nurture you and our relationship. Sir, I know I would find freedom in belonging to you. It's what is in my heart and soul. I feel it deeply. I hunger for it. I want to be part of your life in all ways. I want to be your 'one'." She hesitated again. The word so close to her lips, but she was holding back ever so slightly. Afraid to present him with something he'd not even mentioned before. 

He watched her, hearing and feeling the intensity her voice was building up to. He had to hold himself still, make her say what was on her mind. He needed to hear it from her before he said anything. He directed her to continue, "Don't stop now. Tell me what's on your mind and in your heart. Give me the words you need to speak. What do you mean to be my 'one'?"

She glanced away from his intense stare and delved in, " Sir, I have felt this for some time and hesitated to give the words life, but after tonight I can't hold back any more." Raising her head she looked him in the eyes and stated, "I want to be your slave. Not your submissive, not your partner, but your slave."

Feeling her heart pounding she stood up before him. "Please, Sir, I want to give myself to you. I want to shed everything." She opened her robe and shrugged it from her shoulders, standing naked before him. He looked over her body, smelling the fresh scent of her soap, admiring the marks from only hours ago. Reaching up she let her hair down and continued to speak, "This is who I am, naked, raw, without encumbrance. I stand before you, not as a submissive, but as one with a slave heart, for you. That you would want this, accept this of me. That everything I am, everything I could be I hand to you. To love, serve, honor and obey you." Again her eyes began to well up with tears. This time she didn't try to hide them or wipe them away. He noticed her trebling. 

"Sweet girl, you know I indeed love you very much, and in many ways. Do you understand this?"

"Yes Sir" 

"Do you understand that this will bring a change?"

She smiled tentatively, "I had hope that it would, Sir"

He couldn't hide his grin, "I want this of you. I must warn you that the changes will not all be easy. I have definite ideas of what a slave of mine would be. I will take that control. And that will be it. I will be strict, demanding, controlling of all that you have. I've been your 'Sir' your 'Dom', but the Master has been waiting. I will take ownership of you. And it will be complete. It will complete us."

He stood up and pulled her tightly to him, running his hands down her nakedness. He felt their world change in that moment. He smiled and kissed her. She felt herself melt into him, relief at his acceptance. Her tears came quickly now, cleansing herself of all her worries and concerns as she murmured, "Thank you Master."

He insisted they get to bed, get some rest, so that in the morning they can start the latest part of their journey together.



The Offering



This is an entry in the 2008 Lit Halloween Contest. Copyright © Leslumens. If this story appears anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, it is posted without my permission.

The fourth page is only a couple of paragraphs, so I hope the page count doesn't scare you away.

Δ~~~~~~~~~~Δ

The janitor was far from surprised to see light streaming from beneath the door bearing the placard Cameron Baxter, Curator Antiquities, despite the late hour. With a smile and a shake of his head, he continued down the hall, planning to return at the end of his shift — as usual.

Inside, Cameron tucked an errant lock of curly, walnut brown hair back behind her ear and sighed. Though she'd expected the result, the email confirming her suspicions about the small collection of late period Egyptian artifacts donated to the museum was still depressing. Every piece was in exquisite condition, and a perfect complement to the pieces already on display.

Unfortunately, every single item traced back to a known black market dealer.

The paperwork would arrive tomorrow, or the next day, which would force the director to acknowledge the necessity of repatriation. Cameron sent a note of thanks to her great uncle for the information, and for the condolences the email expressed with the bad news. She then emailed her contact in the Egyptian Council of Antiquities, knowing that he would receive her news with far more enthusiasm than she felt at the moment.

Not for the first time, she questioned her decision to give up field work for the stability of her position.

A childhood immersed in the past and her drive to learn had earned her the much coveted position at only thirty years old. Raised in a family of archaeologists, curators, and researchers, people often remarked that she knew more about life thousands of years ago than she did about what occurred just outside her door. Most of the time, that suited Cameron just fine.

The phone rang, and Cameron answered it without surprise, despite the late hour. Almost immediately, her eyes narrowed as she recognized the voice on the other end — a sharp reminder of her disconnect with the here and now. 

"Don't hang up."

"Give me one good reason not to, Trent," Cameron replied. She clenched her teeth and tried not to remember the disastrous two year relationship with her former fiancé, one which had soured her on ever pursuing another.

"Check your email."

Cameron let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed her mouse. "If whatever you're sending isn't in my inbox already, then this conversation is over."

"It's there," Trent answered, wisely saying nothing more.

Cameron clicked through to the email, titled just look. She opened it with a thousand possibilities floating through her head — most of them bad.

She was wholly unprepared for the picture inside.

"Resealed in antiquity?" Cameron asked, staring at what could be nothing except a tomb door with the seal of the Necropolis priests intact.

"Yes."

Cameron sat back, her eyes still locked on the image. "Okay, you have my attention."

"We had a team excavating a workman's village in the Valley of the Queens, and one of our diggers stumbled across the first step by accident. As soon as the watchdog from Antiquities saw the seal, he brought in armed guards and replaced all our diggers with hand-picked ones."

Cameron knew that he had paused to let the weight of that statement settle on her shoulders. For the Council to react so quickly and decisively, the local expert had reason to believe that the tomb was both intact, and possibly filled with riches.

"Have you opened it?" Cameron asked.

Another email appeared in her inbox before she even finished speaking, titled wonderful things.

Cameron couldn't suppress her gasp upon opening the email and seeing the pictures inside. The tomb had some of the finest, most intact painting she'd ever seen. Hieroglyphs, likely a treasure trove of knowledge simply awaiting translation, lined the walls. Everywhere, the glint of gold and jewels.

"I suppose you called to gloat," Cameron absently murmured as she squinted at the image, attempting to read the script she could see in the images.

"No, I'm calling to beg for help."

That took Cameron aback — but also made her angry. "If you think I'm going to..."

"Cameron, I'm in trouble here. I'm coming to you, because you're the only one I can come to. Antiquities shot down every suggestion I made until I said your name in desperation."

Cameron rolled her eyes. "Thanks so much for that."

"Every senior member of the team has come down sick or injured. I need someone here — and fast — with gravitas. Antiquities is going to take over the whole site, otherwise."

Trent sighed and continued, "Brass tacks. Exclusive foreign display privileges of the find for both museums. This is the find of the century, and only two places in the world outside Cairo will have access to anything more than pictures. There's more, but Antiquities won't let me tell even you about it unless you agree to take control of the site."

"I'm not going to be your figurehead, Trent."

"You'll be in charge. Antiquities isn't going to accept anything less."

A smile broke out on Cameron's face, brought on by the resignation in his voice. "I'll need to talk to the director."

"So you'll come?" He asked with guarded hope.

"I'll be on a plane by tomorrow evening."

"Keep me up to date so I can have someone meet you at the airport."

Cameron imagined that she would spend most of the flight in exhausted sleep, because she doubted that her excitement would let her rest for a moment before the plane took off.

Δ~~~~~~~~~~Δ

The hot, dry air invigorated Cameron as she followed the member of the team that Trent had sent to meet her at the airport. She thought that he looked barely old enough to have graduated college, and if he represented what was left of the team, it was no wonder that Antiquities was threatening to take over the site.

He also had a habit of staring at her breasts and legs, which made Cameron think that Trent had probably hand-picked the team.

With the sun sinking toward the horizon, Cameron knew that the temperature would drop dramatically — and soon. Though still technically part of the Egyptian summer, October marked the transition to what passed for winter in the arid land of history, and only a few days remained in the month.

Cameron's excitement increased as she approached the camp. She could see the diggers moving about, clearing away debris from the workman's village excavation that had led to the discovery of the tomb. Beyond a pair of tents, she could see the steps leading down into the earth, blocked by a stout, metal gate.

Even the sight of Trent walking out to wave, a local at his side, couldn't dull the euphoria she felt.

"Welcome to the Valley of the Queens, Cameron. Your reputation precedes you," the local said as she approached. "I am Abasi Hawass of the Supreme Council of Antiquities." After a quick bow of his head, he added, "No relation," indicating that he shared only a surname with the Secretary General of the Council.

Cameron bowed her head and responded, "I'm pleased to be here, and honored that the Council would consider me to lead such an important excavation."

"Your staunch support of repatriation, knowledge, and discretion has not gone unnoticed. Please come, and I will brief you."

Cameron nodded and followed Abasi, keenly aware of the numerous heavily armed guards everywhere within eyesight.

Δ~~~~~~~~~~Δ

Ecstatic that every artifact removed from the tomb was still on site, stored in a plain tomb nearby with a fully functional lab, Cameron followed Abasi to the tomb itself. One of the guards unlocked the gate, and two of them immediately took up positions on either side, looking fully prepared to shoot anyone else who approached.

Beyond the gate awaited a second door, this one designed to keep out the elements as much as possible. Once through that portal, Cameron immediately saw the necessity of secrecy and security that Abasi had warned her about.

As the pictures from Trent had illustrated, the painting was immaculate, often accentuated by reliefs adding detail to the images. Most of the tombs in the Valley of the Queens were virtually undecorated, and this alone marked this tomb as remarkable.

What made the tomb unique was the unashamed theme of lesbianism in the paintings, and the intimate details of the women involved.

"I should imagine that you can see why there is great interest in keeping news of this discovery from leaking to the press, even beyond the monetary," Abasi said as he admired the paintings with Cameron.

"Certainly. The historical significance of these paintings is tremendous. Has anyone translated the script?"

"We have concentrated most of the work on removing the artifacts, in deference to the possibility of looting. We know that this tomb belongs to Emuishere, a servant and concubine to a powerful priestess of Bastet, Djeserit."

Cameron felt her cheeks warm when she realized that in examining a series of hieroglyphs as Abasi spoke, she appeared to be staring at the quite detailed painting of Emuishere's sex next to the script.

"We have, however, extensive photographic documentation of everything."

Cameron nodded in approval. "Good, that way I can work on the translations elsewhere until conservators can protect the paintings."

"That very work will begin tomorrow. Come, there are many more wonders to see."

Cameron followed Abasi down the long passageway, also remarkable in the valley, where most tombs were shallow, unlike those in the more famous Valley of the Kings. Even in the dim light, the colors of the paintings stood out vividly all the way.

Upon entering the first chamber, already emptied of artifacts, Cameron's eyes left the walls. One thing remained within the chamber, in the center of the room — a curious altar carved from the rock of the tomb.

"As with so much of this tomb, this altar is unique in the experience of the Council," Abasi remarked.

Cameron walked up to the altar to examine it. The painted stone stood just tall enough that she could have rested her palms on it. She traced the air above channels cut into the altar and speculated, "It appears to be for libations. These channels and the vessel at the bottom don't leave many other possibilities."

What appeared to be handles protruded from the pedestal of the altar, attracting Cameron's curiosity. As the altar was part of the tomb, it was certainly not meant to be moved. She made a mental note to research the possible purpose before continuing her examination. She then pointed to a scarab shaped depression in the stone with a deeper hole at its center. "Did you remove something from here?"

"No," Abasi answered. "It appears that perhaps the thieves of antiquity were not entirely unsuccessful. You will see in the photographs that much of the funerary equipment in this chamber was hastily returned to its place."

"The burial..."

"Is intact," Abasi finished, "And just as fascinating as the rest of the tomb." He waved for her to follow, and exited through a doorway in the far right corner of the room.

"How many chambers?" Cameron asked.

"Three in this tomb," he answered.

Cameron raised her eyebrows at the odd emphasis on the word this. "The size and splendor of this tomb is unheard of. I wouldn't expect the priestess to have received such a lavish, almost royal burial, let alone her servant."

"Yes, we may write an entirely new chapter in Egyptian history with the discovery of this tomb," Abasi agreed.

The next room was the one that Trent had sent her a picture of to entice her. Though the treasures were now removed, the paintings marked the room as the same from the photo. A tender scene of two women touching affectionately, one offering the other a flower, took on new significance in light of the revelations from the other paintings in the tomb.

"Even without opening any of the many sealed boxes found herein, we have determined that the simple monetary value of the treasures found in this tomb rivals that of Tutankhamen."

A pair of Ka statues flanked the entrance to the burial chamber, depicting a woman with ample curves, and remarkable beauty. Cats nuzzled up against the woman's legs as if in affection, the gaze of the animals' eyes full of warning.

Abasi smiled, seeing Cameron's eyes drawn to the portal. "Come, let us meet Emuishere."

The lid, carved to resemble its occupant, rested upon metal scaffolding on one side of the stone sarcophagus. On the opposite side, the mummiform lid of the coffin inside sat upon similar supports. Cameron could see a glass covering over the sarcophagus, which she assumed was sealed, in order to protect the mummy.

Cameron crossed the chamber, pausing to examine the coffin lid for a moment. As with everything else in the tomb, it deviated from the norm by depicting Emuishere's full breasts in the carved image of her. A quick glance revealed the same on the stone lid of the sarcophagus.

Abasi leaned over the sarcophagus, gazing upon the mummy within. Cameron joined him, and let out a gasp.

A golden mask adorned the mummy, showing the same serene, beautiful face depicted throughout the tomb. The care shown in the wrapping of the mummy was easily equal to that of any Pharaoh's, the linen in near perfect condition. As with her coffins, the priests had placed something beneath the wrappings to represent Emuishere's breasts, even in her mummy.

"Amazing. Beautiful," Cameron murmured.

"Indeed," Abasi agreed. "The museum is eager to examine her, but the Secretary has deemed it necessary to document and remove the other artifacts before examination of the mummies may begin."

"But all the artifacts are already..." Cameron trailed off, only now noticing two things, a relief carving on the wall directly behind the sarcophagus, and another doorway in the right side of the chamber. "Did you say, mummies?"

Abasi offered a smile, his brilliant white teeth a sharp contrast against his dusky skin. "You see how the relief depicts Emuishere in mourning, facing as though into the wall."

"Djeserit's tomb is on the other side," Cameron conjectured.

"And only accessible through this chamber, behind a well hidden door. Even in death, Emuishere protected and adored her mistress." He gestured toward the portal. "Shall we proceed?"

The wonders continued, beginning with a smaller burial chamber just off the corridor connecting the two tombs, which held six more mummies — all female. Though not buried with the wealth of Emuishere, the paintings on the wall were equally wonderful, and Abasi explained that each had her own funerary goods that were placed in nearby niches of the chamber walls. Each shared the theme common to the tomb of depicting the woman's breasts in her mummy and coffins. Niches honeycombed the back wall of the chamber, each housing a cat mummy, a symbol of the goddess Bastet.

The painted reliefs within the first chamber of Djeserit's tomb incorporated precious metals and semi-precious stones. Even with the artifacts that had once rested there already removed, the room still glittered with the evidence of incredible wealth. Abasi explained that the jars found there were well sealed, and might reveal a wealth of knowledge about the diet of the highborn when examined — even unto the spices used in cooking.

The next chamber took Cameron's breath away.

Everywhere, the glitter of gold and gems adorned the bed frames, tables, sedan chairs, gaming boards, elaborate storage boxes, and other objects in the chamber. Small placards numbered each item. At the back of the room, Ka statues of Djeserit, even more beautiful than those of Emuishere, guarded the entrance to the burial chamber of the priestess.

"You will have the privilege of opening the chamber," Abasi revealed.

Overwhelmed, Cameron couldn't respond. She stood in the greatest find since Tutankhamen, and it was now her responsibility. She would be the first to gaze upon the final resting place of a powerful priestess — the first to enter the chamber in thousands of years.

"We must return. The Secretary has ordered that none will enter or remain in the tomb after nightfall, for added security."

Cameron sighed, wanting nothing more than to remain inside until exhaustion claimed her.

"Such is not true of the tomb where we have stored the artifacts for initial examination, however," Abasi hinted with a wink.

The promise of that succeeded in drawing Cameron back to the surface.

Δ~~~~~~~~~~Δ

"You should really introduce yourself to the team, you know?" Trent said from the doorway of the storage tomb, where Cameron sat behind a desk reviewing the notes of the others who had come before her.

Cameron looked up, rubbed her eyes, and then stretched. She snapped her arms back to her side with a scowl when she saw Trent admiring the pose.

He cleared his throat and said, "Sorry. You're just as beautiful as ever, and..."

"Don't start," Cameron snapped, and stood up. She gestured to the notes on the desk and asked, "What exactly happened to Gerald and Wendal?"

"Gerald came down with appendicitis the day after we opened the first burial chamber. There were complications with the surgery, and he opted to return to the States for treatment. A week later, Wendal started hallucinating the day after we opened the hidden door connecting the tombs. The doctors said he was extremely dehydrated, and that his kidneys were on the verge of failure when he arrived at the hospital. He went back home as soon as he was stabilized, too."

"What does that leave me?"

"Fresh graduates, mostly. A couple have as much as five years of field experience, but they're all young. We weren't expecting anything like this, you know? Mind you, they're all good people, far better than their lack of experience might suggest." He paused and shrugged, offering a smile. "And me."

"Regardless of what I may think of you personally, you're a good archaeologist, Trent. I'm going to need your help in coordinating things. I'm willing to let the past be the past, but there's nothing of the past in the future — if you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," he answered, sounding a little disappointed. "And I need your help in calming things down. Everyone is nervous, whispering about curses. It started with the locals, but it's infected the team as well. They're blowing the coincidence of Wendal and Gerald falling ill when they did completely out of proportion."

Cameron shook her head and sighed, smoothing back her curly hair at the same time. "They're part of the find of the century, and they're distracted enough to buy into Hollywood fantasies?"

Trent threw up his hands and said, "It hasn't helped that we've had a constant string of other minor calamities as well. Scorpions, broken legs..."

"Bury them in details," Cameron suggested. "There's more than enough to keep them too busy to look over their shoulder for Boris Karloff shuffling up behind them and moaning."

Cameron picked up her keys from the desk, unable to suppress the smile that spread across her face. To have the Council trust her with the site so fully made her feel wonderful. Immediately after introducing her to the artifacts, Abasi had left to return to Cairo with reports, and to prepare for the eventual shipment of the treasures. "Go get the team together while I lock up here."

"Will do." He turned, but paused and looked over his shoulder before ascending back into the cool Egyptian night. "Thanks for saving my ass, after all that went on between us."




The Offering



"You're welcome."

Cameron locked the two heavy gates within the tomb, turned storage and research center, and then exited as well. She nodded to the guards who took up positions at the gate on the tomb entrance, and the fence surrounding it, a little nervous around the silent men and their weapons.

Trent's introduction embarrassed her more than enough, but the reaction to her name made Cameron's cheeks positively burn. Each of the young archaeologists had heard of her and her rapid rise, throughout their education.

When the excitement calmed, Cameron recognized a few of the names as the team reciprocated the introduction. The name of the lone female of the team, Cynthia Hedinger, sparked Cameron's memory.

"You're Tina and James' daughter, aren't you?"

"Yes," the strawberry blonde replied with a smile.

"Did they rub off on you at all?"

"It's why I decided to go into field work. I would have been bored silly having someone try to teach me the basics of conservation that I'd already learned by osmosis."

"Perfect. The conservators will be busy with the paintings. I can use your expertise in going through the pieces in storage." Cameron then addressed everyone and said, "I want to know what you think your strengths are, and what you think everyone else's strengths are. Give it some thought, and then get some sleep. We're going to get down to some serious business starting tomorrow morning."

Δ~~~~~~~~~~Δ

Trent walked into the tomb, wiping sweat from his forehead as he tried to ignore the hot, stagnant air. He found the chamber half empty after only two days. Cameron stood staring at the spot between the Ka statues, the entrance to the burial chamber that she could open soon.

"Having a Howard Carter moment?" He asked.

Cameron chuckled and shook her head. "This door has obviously been resealed in antiquity, so here I sit wondering if the burial is intact. This room's organization and my instincts tell me it is, though."

"It's certainly motivated you to clear this chamber out in a hurry. I didn't think we'd have everything moved out until November."

Cameron turned and examined a chest she hadn't been able to see well because the chair that had just ascended to the surface was in the way. "Sealed. As well preserved as everything is anyway, I can't imagine what wonders we're going to find inside these boxes and chests."

"You haven't opened any of them yet?"

"I've had the conservators and Cynthia setting up to preserve anything we might conceivably find inside. We're going to open the first one tonight after we lock down the tomb."

Trent tore his eyes away from the sight of Cameron's sweat-soaked top clinging to her breasts, the thin bra she wore beneath doing little to hide her nipples. His eyes immediately fell upon one of the Ka statues, even less covered than Cameron. He cleared his throat and pretended to examine a Senet board. "When do you think we'll be ready to open the burial chamber?"

"Another three days to put everything here in storage. We'll need the room, because we'll have the whole team plus several representatives of the Council." She walked up between the Ka statues and placed her palm against the wall.

A second later, she flinched away from the sound of beating wings and feathers brushing against her hair.

"Uh... Cameron, are you okay?"

"Did..." Cameron trailed off and looked around the chamber, almost positive she would see a bird flittering around. "A fly must have buzzed my ear."

Trent shrugged, and then said, "We could be ready to open the burial chamber on Halloween, then. That would play well on the news — once Antiquities will let us tell anyone this is here, anyway."

Cameron scoffed and asked, "That's the first thing you think of?"

"I think we had this discussion the last time we spoke."

"I suppose we did," Cameron responded, shaking her head. The difference in priorities and the resulting conflict was exactly what had torn her relationship with Trent apart.

"Doesn't matter, really. You're in charge, so knowledge will have priority over publicity. I'm man enough to admit that it's probably a good thing, even if I don't like it. I'm going back topside. Let me know how it goes with opening the box tonight." 

"I will," Cameron replied, watching his retreating back and wondering if perhaps an old dog can learn new tricks.

Δ~~~~~~~~~~Δ

"Are we ready?" Cameron asked, squinting in the bright light.

Cynthia held up her camera and checked the nearby tables, all weighed down with various preservation fluids and airtight containers. "As ready as we can be."

"Here we go, then," Cameron said with a smile, and picked up her scalpel.

The hardened resin resisted the blade, but thankfully the thin layer didn't require force that would damage the fine wood of the box. The laborious process took long minutes, but finally, Cameron put down the scalpel.

"Moment of truth."

Cynthia checked the video camera recording the process to ensure it wouldn't miss the opening of the box, and then nodded her head, readying the digital camera she held as well.

Cameron opened the box, lifting the lid with just enough pressure to overcome the resistance of friction. She sat the lid down, and marveled at what she saw inside.

Cynthia snapped a picture. "Is that silk?"

"It appears to be," Cameron said, and then picked up a pair of sterilized tweezers and gingerly lifted the silk.

Cynthia covered her mouth and laughed. Cameron laughed as well, no more able to contain her mirth than the younger woman.

Inside the box rested a very realistic ivory phallus.

"Take the picture," Cameron reminded Cynthia between bouts of laughter.

Cynthia managed to stop laughing long enough to snap pictures from several angles. After a few deep breaths, Cameron regained her composure as well.

"Look at how smooth this is," Cameron remarked as she gently lifted the dildo from its case. The carved handle, initially still hidden beneath the silk, left little doubt as to the function of the phallus. "There has to be a royal connection here. There's no way even a high-ranking priestess could possibly afford artisans of this caliber."

"So much for modern technology," Cynthia quipped as she snapped another picture. "I know mine isn't half as nice as that."

Cameron chuckled. "Mine either."

After a few minutes of taking notes and pictures, Cameron returned the ancient sex toy to its box and replaced the lid. She then deposited the entire box in a tub and sealed the lid to keep out moisture.

"Shall we do another?" Cameron asked.

"Absolutely," Cynthia agreed.

Cameron felt a flash of self-consciousness when her eyes fell on Cynthia's perky breasts, well outlined by the thin top she wore. As they worked alone, Cameron had thought she'd noticed the blonde looking at her as well.

Cameron hadn't even thought about the incident in years, but the paintings of the tomb and the close work with Cynthia served to consistently remind her of a short relationship she'd fallen into during college. Just before she met Trent, she and her roommate had progressed beyond friendship into something more. Though the relationship had gone no farther than kissing and touching, the feelings had disturbed her enough to cause her to turn sharply the other way.

Now, those feelings were once more emerging, and carried with them a far stronger sexual attraction than she'd previously experienced.

Cameron took a deep breath and hoped that Cynthia wouldn't notice the stiffness of her nipples as she returned with another of the sealed boxes — yet some part of her hoped Cynthia would notice, as well.

Δ~~~~~~~~~~Δ

Acting on a suggestion from Abasi, Cameron stood in the small chamber between the tombs of Emuishere and Djeserit. She took notes as she translated the hieroglyphs lining the walls and decorating the coffins.

The work thankfully distracted her from her increasingly disturbing thoughts and dreams about Cynthia.

The script told an incredible story, giving great detail about a break-in to the tomb prior to the one after Emuishere's burial, confirming Cameron's suspicions. The thieves had entered while work continued on decorating Emuishere's tomb, bypassing the many treasures in the preceding chambers to seek out the burial chamber of the priestess.

The group had entered the tomb with profit as a secondary goal. The men believed that Djeserit represented a heresy, and meant to punish her by desecration. According to the text, the men had succeeded in reaching Djeserit's mummy, but had no opportunity to violate her corpse.

The six women entombed here, led by Emuishere, acted upon what the text described as a wail of despair from Djeserit's Ba and Ka, their blessed union as Akh destroyed by the penetration of the thieves. Two of the women died in the process of holding off the thieves until necropolis priests arrived to take the men into custody.

Misfortune visited the thieves and their families while the violators awaited judgement, described as the anger of the gods and Djeserit. Everything from boils to plagues of locusts afflicted those associated with the desecration of the tomb. The text almost blissfully described the horrific deaths of the thieves — their genitalia cut off and fed to the crocodiles of the Nile with great public ceremony. The men's names were erased from history and their bodies left to rot, forever denying them a place in the afterlife.

The story did not end there, however. Even restoring the burial to pristine condition did not allow Djeserit's Ba and Ka to achieve joining as Akh. Emuishere and the four remaining women launched into a campaign of prayer and offerings at the altar. Finally, Djeserit's Ba visited the women and communed with them, one and all, before rejoining with her Ka and returning to the afterlife.

The six women, low born and poor, earned a place in the tomb, and riches in the afterlife. The text on one of the coffins revealed that the last of the six committed suicide on the day Emuishere died, to ensure that she did not lose her place in the tomb.

The value of the account to history was incredible, and represented but a tiny measure of the knowledge encrypted in the tomb's texts and artifacts. Cameron stood before the last coffin, gazing down in awe at the mummy of a woman who had made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure her place in the afterlife.

"We're ready to move the final bedframe," Trent said from the entrance to the chamber.

"I'll be right there," Cameron responded with a smile, knowing that with the chamber before Djeserit's burial chamber empty, she would open that holy-of-holies on the morrow, likely tapping into another font of ancient knowledge beyond her wildest dreams. 

Δ~~~~~~~~~~Δ

Though people packed the chamber behind her, the focus of Cameron's world lay in the hammer and chisel in her hand, pressed against the sealed doorway to the burial chamber. She didn't notice the thickness of the air, heavy with the scent of sweat, or the almost unbearable heat, made worse by the crowd filling the chamber. Believing she'd given everyone enough time to prepare their cameras, she struck the chisel.

The ringing sound reverberated throughout the chamber, loud and offensive to Cameron's ears. She struck the chisel again, harder this time, and the tip penetrated the plaster. She could smell the stale air escaping from the chamber beyond, air that had last mingled with the atmosphere thousands of years ago. Her anticipation now swelling, she moved the chisel and hit it again. Four more blows opened a hole about the size of a fist. She lowered the hammer and chisel.

Trent approached and took the tools, replacing them with a flashlight. Cameron turned on the light and leaned in close, peering through one edge of the hole while she shone the light inside with the other.

"What do you see?" someone asked, apparently unable to contain his anxiety.

Cameron pulled back from the hole and wiped a tear from her eye. "At the risk of plagiarization — Wonderful things."

Applause rang out, and Cameron bowed her head to acknowledge it before continuing. "I can see a gilded shrine. The detail is incredible. It can't be more than two or three feet away from the doorway." She gestured to the diggers at the back of the room. "I think I'll let the experts handle this."

The diggers approached, and soon enough, fine powder made the air even more difficult to breathe. The men did their best to suppress the dust by catching the falling plaster in woven baskets, with questionable success.

None felt the urge to leave, however.

More of the gilded shrine within emerged into view with every strike of a chisel. People jostled each other, trying to see beyond the diggers, gasping and whispering in amazement. Finally, the diggers stepped aside.

The shrine depicted the gods and goddesses, as expected, but directly in front of the doorway, the wide eyes of the witnesses beheld something unique. Carved wooden figures of Djeserit and Emuishere — covered in gold and jewels — embraced, their lips pressed together in a kiss, with a two-ended phallus joining them, held in the center by Emuishere.

Cameron fought against the reddening of her cheeks. "Abasi, Trent, will you join me, please?"

"My thanks to you," Abasi said with uncharacteristic excitement in his voice as he approached.

"Thank you, Cameron," Trent agreed when he reached her side, his voice as full of genuine surprised gratitude as Abasi's was with excitement.

The three entered the burial chamber, and almost immediately froze in place. A quiet wail echoed throughout the tomb. Cameron could tell from the reactions of the two men at her side that she hadn't imagined it. A glance behind her showed most of those in the chamber beyond staring back into the tomb, confirming Cameron's estimation of the origin of the sound.

"Happy Halloween," Trent muttered under his breath, prompting an angry stare from Cameron.

Abasi laughed, breaking the tension. "So are the myths of the cinema born — upon the breath of the gods in the desert winds."

"Shall we proceed?" Cameron said with a smile, glad to see that Abasi's words had calmed the crowd.

The gilded shrine indeed filled the chamber, leaving only a narrow walkway to explore the room. The decorations of the shrine were dominated by the most overt depictions of female sexuality yet, with even the goddesses joining in the pleasure with the priestess and her servant. Cameron snapped pictures of the script running all along the shrine, rolling her eyes when she noticed Trent utilizing his own camera on the sexual reliefs.

On the opposite side of the chamber, Cameron saw the door. The seal was intact, the entrance protected by a host of carved goddesses — Bastet the most prominent — and Emuishere. Cameron gasped and said, "Look," pointing to the seal.

"Incredible," Abasi remarked, leaning in close.

Two perfect fingerprints decorated the clay seal. A pair of long, dark hairs likewise protruded from the clay. More hairs lay strewn upon the granite tiled floor.

"Emuishere no doubt mourned here. Few others would have found admittance to this holy-of-holies," Abasi speculated.

Cameron could almost see the bereaved woman kneeling before the shrine — her breasts bared, her hair and face streaked with ashes, wailing as she tore at her hair in mourning. Her voice thick with emotion, Cameron said, "We should preserve everything as quickly as possible before we open the shrine."

All three started as the earth rumbled, shaking the chamber. Cameron could hear gasps and cries of alarm from the adjoining chamber. "Perhaps we should see everyone to the surface," she suggested once the rumbling ceased.

Abasi nodded his head. "Agreed. I will have someone check the integrity of the tomb once everyone is safely above."

"Are you all right?" Someone called into the burial chamber.

"We're fine," Cameron answered. "The shrine and the seals are intact. Everyone head back up, we're coming."

Abasi gestured for Trent and Cameron to follow, the trio watching their step for anything that they might have missed after the discovery of the hairs. Cameron saw the last of the spectators leaving the chamber when she stepped through the doorway of the burial chamber. Another slight tremble from the earth prompted a worried glance from Trent and Abasi. The three fell in behind the now more quickly moving crowd fleeing the tomb.

Cameron could feel tension in the hot air as soon as she emerged into the Egyptian sun. She shielded her eyes, hearing a great deal of murmuring in Arabic, trying to find out what was going on. Her eyes eventually adjusted and she noticed that the local diggers and guards were all universally facing one spot, their faces showing touches of fear.

Cameron followed their gaze and her eyes widened when she beheld the hawk, perched atop the highest point of the nearest tent, staring down on the crowd. Suddenly, the raptor loosed a keen and swooped down into the crowd surrounding the tomb.

Everywhere, people ducked and dodged the hawk as it soared just overhead, screeching as if in accusation. One of the guards nearby Cameron raised his rifle, aiming it at the swooping bird.

Abasi snapped something in his own language, pushing the weapon. The shot rang out anyway, though Abasi had spoiled the soldier's aim.

Cameron scanned the sky, seeking the hawk, but saw no sign of it. With a general panic about to break out, she took charge. "Everyone calm down!"

Abasi repeated the plea in Arabic, and the crowd slowly ceased to shout and cry out at every kiss of the breeze or buzz of an insect.

"We have a lot of work to do, everyone. You know your assignments, so let's get to it. As soon as Abasi's people have declared the tomb safe, I want the photographers ready to begin documenting the shrine. We need conservators ready to preserve some delicate finds as well. We only have a few hours until nightfall, and I want every inch of the shrine and the chamber photographed before we lock up the tomb."

Cameron's calm, forceful directives snapped everyone completely out of their panic. Seemingly grateful for the distraction, everyone turned their attention to following her directions.

"Well done," Abasi remarked, and then gestured to one of the men he'd brought with him. "Ashraf will ensure that the tomb is safe."

"Thank you, Abasi." Cameron then looked around to ensure everyone was making the preparations she'd ordered. Some people still whispered, and a few still bore spooked expressions. "Trent, I think a little relaxation is in order. I know that I said that we have too much to do, but I think you should go ahead with the little Halloween party you suggested."

Trent chuckled nervously and shrugged. "I already have everything here. I've had people bringing things in for a couple of days."

Cameron narrowed her eyes, irritated that he'd decided to go ahead with his plan despite her lack of approval. She sighed and shook her head, deciding that it wasn't worth worrying over, because it had worked out for the best. "Keep the alcohol to a minimum. I don't want everyone so hungover in the morning that they can't work."

"Understood," Trent responded.

Cameron walked to her tent and took a deep breath as soon as she closed the flap behind her. She sat down heavily on her bed and shuddered, her nerves finally getting the better of her. She would never admit it, but the series of coincidences had unnerved her as well. The sound of everyone going about their business outside soon settled her nerves, however.

Cameron chuckled and pulled out the band holding her hair back in a tail, rolling her eyes at her reaction to the hawk. For just a fraction of a second, she'd entertained the thought that the bird was the Ba of Emuishere or Djeserit, come to seek revenge for opening the tomb. She retied her tail and wiped the sweat from her brow, now amused by her unusual descent into superstition.




The Offering



Back on an even keel, Cameron stepped outside to make sure everyone else stayed on course.

Δ~~~~~~~~~~Δ

"Well done," Cameron declared as the last of the photographers exited the burial chamber. Every section of wall and shrine had required three photographs to document due to the limited space between the two, requiring most of the available time between Ashraf declaring the tomb safe and undamaged, and nightfall.

She took the man's camera and hung it over her shoulder, joining the other five cameras already weighing her down. "Go ahead up and join the party."

Cameron walked back through the tomb, already able to hear the music playing from the party above. The announcement of the party had turned around the remaining tension of the hawk, so Cameron decided that the inevitable little problems the celebration would cause were worth it.

The weight of the cameras on her shoulder beginning to tell, she picked up her pace and locked the tomb. A moment after sealing the upper gate, the guard preparing to take his station in front of it snapped his gaze off into the distance, toward the trail leading to the camp.

Cameron turned and noticed everyone else turning to face the same direction as the guard. Though she couldn't hear anything over the music from the party, she could see two of the guards arguing with a group of diggers and other locals. Abasi hurried toward the commotion.

Cameron picked up her pace, and upon seeing Cynthia, slipped the camera straps off her shoulder.

"What's going on?" Cynthia asked.

Her eyes locked on the scuffle, barely visible between two tents, Cameron answered, "I don't know, but I'm about to find out. Can you take these to the computer, please?"

"Of course."

"Thank you," Cameron responded. The music suddenly stopped, allowing her to hear the authoritative voices of the guards issuing commands, Abasi's voice attempting to restore calm, and the agitated voices of the locals. All were speaking Arabic, and the din of the people talking over each other made it impossible for Cameron to decipher anything, despite her relative fluency in the language.

Trent moved to intercept Cameron as she hurried toward the scene. "From what I've gathered, they're family to the diggers. Abasi said we should all stay here and let him deal with it."

"Well, he's going to have to deal with me, as well," Cameron said when she saw one of the guards cuff a dark-haired woman.

Pushing her way past the protesting Trent and around the makeshift decorations of the Halloween party, Cameron closed on the increasingly tense gathering. As she approached, she managed to distinguish individual voices. What she heard offered no comfort, as the diggers were surely on the verge of desertion, spurred by stories of woe from the family members.

The dark-haired woman that the guard had struck again attempted to reach Abasi just as Cameron reached the group, some of whom were already fleeing the area. The same guard raised his hand, but Cameron interposed her body between him and the woman. "Stop it," she demanded.

The guard lowered his hand and returned to issuing orders to the other locals to leave. Abasi was busy trying to calm the locals and keep the guards from resorting to violence. Cameron turned to the woman and asked, "Are you okay?"

The woman nodded, and then her eyes brightened. "Yes, you are the one."

"Pardon?" Cameron responded, her eyebrows arching in confusion.

"You do not seek to desecrate the tomb," the local woman said, reaching beneath the layers of her clothing.

"No, of course not — none of us do," Cameron responded.

The woman withdrew a pouch and said, "Take this. It must be this night." The woman handed over the pouch.

Cameron accepted the pouch with more than a little confusion, but before she could speak again, the woman continued.

"You know what this day is. Turn back the sands of time. You will know the importance."

With that, the woman bowed her head and turned away, walking back across the rocky terrain.

"There is nothing I can do," Abasi sighed. "I will request another group of diggers be sent immediately."

"What's wrong with all of them?" Cameron asked, slipping the pouch into one of her own, situated on the belt at her hip. Abasi answered, "They believe that a curse has been unleashed upon them because of the opening of the tomb."

Cameron sighed and massaged her temples with her fingertips. "We'll just have to get along until you can bring in a new group of diggers." With the locals now dispersing, the tension in the air lessened, though it didn't vanish entirely.

"We selected the men..." Abasi trailed off and snapped his gaze off to the side.

Cameron heard the sound as well, a distinctly feline growl. She saw no sign of the source, however.

"The hell was that?" One of the men at the camp asked.

"Sounded like a cat, over there," another replied, pointing toward a completely different place than where Cameron and Abasi had heard a growl.

With darkness descending, Cameron said, "I'm going to go lock down the tomb."

"I will attempt to redeem myself by calming those who remain."

Cameron nodded and made her way back to the tomb. As she passed through the camp, one of the younger men on the team suddenly spun away and vomited. Cameron scowled at Trent and walked over to him to quietly chide, "I thought you were going to keep this under control."

"Brian wasn't drinking," Trent protested in a hushed voice, and then went over to check on the man.

Despite the sinking of the sun, the air felt especially hot and oppressive. The previously jovial air of the party had quickly degenerated into nervousness. Cameron herself felt a sense of dread, as though something ominous loomed on the horizon.

Cynthia approached from the storage tomb and handed Cameron the key. "I locked up. I could have sworn I heard a cat growling while I was doing it."

"You're not the only one. There must be a stray running around here somewhere. I'm going to lock the tomb. Trent can let you know what happened. Brian was just sick, see if you can find something for him."

"I'm not feeling so well either," Cynthia revealed.

"Go on back to the camp, then. I'll be back in just a couple of minutes."

Cynthia shivered and hugged her arms around her. "Be careful."

Cameron nodded and continued to the tomb, her steps quickening unconsciously from the discontent she felt. She hurried through her inspection of the tomb, ensuring that nobody was still inside before returning to the entrance to lock the doors. She paused at the interior door when an odd sound reached her.

It started as a low whistle, steadily growing in strength. Then, Cameron heard voices raised in alarm. As she fumbled with the keys, attempting to lock the doors so she could return to the surface to see what was wrong, the sandstorm struck.

Cameron spun and gasped as the wall of sand instantly turned dusk into night. Even the lights strung through the tomb dimmed as the sand made its way into the long corridor. Instinctively, she jerked open the door and slammed it behind her, cutting off the sound of the storm and blocking out the encroaching sand.

For a few seconds, she panicked, thinking that she might very well have just buried herself alive. She calmed as the storm continued to blow, and only a thin layer of sand accumulated on the floor of the corridor. The length of the tunnel provided her some relative assurance that even a long sandstorm couldn't possibly prevent her from escaping once it ended. Since the door opened inward, it also couldn't trap her that way. She turned away from the door and followed the corridor to the first chamber of the tomb.

Her hands still shaking a little, Cameron unzipped her pouch to put away her keys, trying not to look back through the glass of the interior door at the swirling sand beyond. The linen sachet that the dark-haired woman had given her caught Cameron's eye. She pulled out the pouch and noticed that it was decorated with an image of Bastet. Now curious, and thankful for the distraction, Cameron untied the strings holding the top closed, and opened it.

"It can't be," Cameron whispered as she pulled out the object inside. She glanced at the altar and moved toward it without thought. Upon reaching the altar, she held the woman's gift above it. The ivory pin on the bottom of the scarab shaped base lined up perfectly. When she inserted it, the thick, two inch phallus protruded from the altar, obviously a part of it.

Even as Cameron pondered how the woman had acquired the artifact, the words she'd spoken sparked memory. This day, Halloween in the modern world, coincided perfectly with a day on the Egyptian calendar — The Feast of Bastet.

Before Cameron could begin to ponder those thoughts, she felt a sharp chill flow throughout her body. A moment later, she heard the hollow, unearthly sound of cats growling. The sound of women's voices joined those of the felines, the words indistinguishable but filled with a combination of pain and anger.

The sounds seemed to emanate from deeper in the tomb, and Cameron backed away from the portal instinctively. She gasped when she saw a flash of movement and glowing eyes. Cameron began to feel ill as she backed away, the lights within the tomb flickering and dimming.

Though the yowls and voices grew no louder, the sounds burrowed into Cameron's mind. With that came knowledge of the meaning.

Thief. Defiler.

Cameron shook her head in protest and mouthed the word no, her vision growing blurry and her balance leaving her. She leaned against the wall, despite her best efforts to avoid touching the paintings.

The onslaught continued, and Cameron slumped down to the floor. She closed her eyes tight and covered her ears, though it did nothing to stop the accusing voices. She continued to shake her head, fighting against the voices and silently protesting that she sought to preserve and protect the tomb, not defile it.

Cameron pulled her hands away from her ears when the cacophony suddenly ceased. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes, and gasped when she saw the cat seated before her.

The silver-furred and spotted Egyptian Mau stared directly into Cameron's eyes, its expression somehow conveying both accusation and curiosity at the same time. The eyes of the cat seemed to suck Cameron in, the rest of the world growing hazy around her. 

A confusing jumble of memories rushed through Cameron's head, as though her life was flashing before her eyes out of sequence. Her memories seemed to linger in some places, while passing by what she would have considered momentous occasions with barely a flash. Cameron reeled, and then started when the images suddenly stopped.

The world around her slowly spread out from the eyes of the cat before her, eyes that had lost the look of accusation. Cameron distinctly remembered certain parts of her tumultuous memory flashes, notably those about this tomb, Tutankhamen, her brief relationship in college, and her attraction to Cynthia.

The Mau stood, stretched, and walked toward the altar in the center of the room. Cameron levered up on her hands, once again mindful that her head was resting against the precious, fragile paintings on the wall. The cat purred as it walked, and then curled its body around the base of the altar.

Once again, Cameron's eyes locked with the shining eyes of the cat. This time, something completely different gripped her. She whimpered as her nipples almost painfully stiffened, pressing hard against her damp blouse. An intense tingle shot through her as wetness flooded her sex. The level of arousal was beyond anything Cameron had ever experienced — insistent, overwhelming.

Her clothing felt like a prison, and she tore open her blouse almost before she could form the thought. Buttons clattered across the stone floor as Cameron panted for air. She shrugged off the blouse and popped the clasp of her bra, freeing her breasts with a gasp of relief. The same unnatural need prompted her to stand and remove her shorts as well.

Cameron stood amidst her discarded clothing, her body glistening with beads of sweat and her labia damp with her wetness. She caressed her breasts with her right hand while she teased her folds with the other — unable to endure the needs of her body any longer without giving in to them.

The cat's purring grew louder, the animal's eyes beckoning Cameron toward the altar. Cameron could feel an electric pulse connecting her to the stone pedestal, almost magnetically pulling her toward it. She took a step forward, and then another. Her pace quickened as she surrendered completely.

Upon reaching the altar, Cameron straddled it without a moment's hesitation, the perfectly smooth ivory phallus now the center of her attention. She parted her labia and sank down, letting out a quiet, high-pitched groan as the thick cock penetrated her. 

Cameron yelped and her eyes popped wide open as the phallus began to vibrate inside her. She grasped the handles of the altar, answering her own question about the purpose of them beyond a shadow of a doubt.

The vibrations steadily grew more powerful, the feeling of stone and ivory replaced by the softness of flesh between her thighs. Her head lashed back and forth, her brown hair whipping as pleasure beyond anything she'd ever imagined permeated her through and through. She heard cries of ecstasy, barely aware that the sounds emerged from her own lips. Her juices flowed from her, creeping through the channels in the altar toward the vessel below.

Though her eyes were closed from the overwhelming sensation, Cameron could see a growing silver light through her eyelids. The light grew so intense that she couldn't have opened her eyes in the face of it, even as the tightly coiled energy of an approaching orgasm swelled within her. Then, the light vanished.

A loud, shuddering moan escaped Cameron as she felt soft fingers gliding up her arms. She opened her eyes to behold a dusky-skinned woman, her form still somewhat transparent despite the obvious solidity of her touch. Emuishere — Cameron knew it could be no other — grew more solid and real by the second, in time with Cameron's approaching climax.

The beautiful Egyptian concubine stroked her fingers over Cameron's breasts, adding yet another element to the incredible pleasure coursing through the young archaeologist's body. The vibrations between Cameron's legs reached a crescendo, her every nerve afire and numb at the same time. She just noticed Emuishere making a beckoning gesture toward the entrance of the tomb before orgasm claimed her.

Cameron screamed in ultimate bliss as she came, her juices gushing from her in a torrent, to flow down the altar into the vessel below. She'd heard of female ejaculation, but had certainly never experienced it. Cameron came and came, the relentless vibration of the altar driving her to multiple orgasms, dimming her vision and drawing screams of ecstasy from wells deep inside her.

Cameron didn't even realize that the vibrations had ceased until she collapsed forward. Emuishere gathered Cameron in her arms, and Cameron rested her head against the woman's firm, dark breasts to pant through the aftershocks of the unimaginable orgasm. 

As she caught her breath, Cameron felt a burst of energy, quite contrary to the exhaustion she'd felt only seconds before. Emuishere smiled at her and stroked her forearms, encouraging her to let go of the handles she still gripped, and rise. Cameron straightened and let the ivory phallus slip from her clinging depths. Emuishere immediately drew her into a passionate kiss.

"Cameron! Are you in here? Are you okay? Everyone's asleep and I can't wake them..." Cynthia trailed off as she stepped into the first chamber of the tomb to see Cameron and Emuishere.

Cameron, on the other hand, was completely lost in the kiss, her hands exploring Emuishere's body even as the awakened concubine did the same. Even when Emuishere pulled away from the kiss, Cameron oddly felt no shock or shame at her nakedness when she noticed Cynthia.

"Come," Emuishere said in perfect English, her tone full of sultry suggestion and desire.

Cameron's pulse quickened as Cynthia approached, hastily shedding clothing with every step. Despite her attempts to ignore her feelings, she'd imagined and dreamed about the blonde's nude body on more than one occasion.

Cynthia lived up to every ounce of her fantasy, and more.

Emuishere kissed Cynthia when she reached them, guiding Cameron's hands between the blonde's legs at the same time. Cameron shuddered from the feeling of Cynthia's moist, velvety folds beneath her fingertips. Somewhere, deep inside, she wondered if this would be how the resurrected concubine would gain vengeance for what she perceived as a violation of the tomb — death through pleasure.

She was too immersed in the sensual ecstasy to care, however.

With Emuishere's guidance, Cynthia mounted the altar. Without a second thought, Cameron engulfed the blonde's left nipple between her lips. She could feel the building vibrations of the altar coursing through Cynthia, and Emuishere's full lips wrapping around the stiff bud of Cynthia's opposite breast only excited both women more.

Cynthia caressed Cameron's back, her voice raised in a constant stream of moans, yelps, and squeals from the pleasure given to her by the altar. Cameron also felt soft, knowing fingers exploring her folds. In short order, she had to concentrate to continue suckling the perfect pink bud between her lips, as her own mounting pleasure distracted her.

Cameron heard a chorus of purrs as she soared toward her peak, and noticed six bronze Maus circling the altar and the legs of the women just as her eyes closed. Cynthia's hot breath tickled Cameron's hair as the blonde exploded into orgasm. When Cameron followed her into blissful release only seconds later, she felt additional hands stroking her sweat-dampened skin.

As had Emuishere, the six servants had awakened. The dark-skinned beauties joined in the pleasure, and the floor felt nothing like stone when one of the women drew Cameron down to it.

The endless stream of orgasms blurred in Cameron's mind. She had no idea how many she had experienced, or given. She knew that she had straddled the altar at least once more, as had Cynthia. When she regained her senses in a moment of respite, the seven dark-haired women lay surrounding her and Cynthia, who kissed and embraced after their most recent climax. Cameron had a perfect view of the altar vessel, now almost completely filled with the mingled juices of nine women, and beginning to glow with a golden light.

The women surrounding Cameron and Cynthia took up a low, sensual chant, joined in a circle of caressing hands. The glow from the altar vessel intensified, forcing Cameron to look away. When the women rose to their knees, Cameron felt as though she should as well. It was then that she and Cynthia saw the two golden Maus saunter into the room.

The cats transformed, before Cameron's eyes this time. One could only be Djeserit, her paintings and statuary having captured her perfectly. The sense of power emanating from the other, unearthly beautiful woman identified her more than her appearance. The nine women bowed their heads, touching their foreheads to the floor in deference to the goddess, Bastet.

Goddess and priestess knelt amongst the awed women, and the pleasure began anew.

Δ~~~~~~~~~~Δ

Exactly three years later...

Cameron and Cynthia finished dressing, and then shared a long, sweet kiss over the altar of Bastet. Cameron removed the phallus from its niche, slipping it into her pocket. The two women shuddered as one, still tingling from their orgasms — their offering to the Ba and Ka of the women to whom the tomb belonged.




The Offering



Cameron looked around at the tomb, many of the funerary goods now returned to their rightful place. All of the artifacts spent most of their time within the tomb, where they belonged, rotating out to the museums on a regular basis. Everything was perfectly preserved, and would remain so for all eternity. 

Though neither remembered anything other than a fog of pleasure from the final encounter those years ago, both somehow knew that Djeserit, Emuishere, and the six other women had found peace in the afterworld as Akh once more. Cameron and Cynthia had awakened the next morning, wearing nothing except blissful smiles and golden chains adorned with the holy symbol of Bastet. Everyone else above remembered little to nothing of the day before. Cameron's inquiries found that the calamities besieging the diggers and their families had likewise ceased.

The names of the women resting here were now as well known — if not more so — than even the greatest of Pharaohs, ensuring the women's place in the afterlife and likely advancing their status there as well. Just as with Tutankhamen, the vast wealth buried in the tomb sparked the imagination of an entire generation.

Cameron suspected the hand of the goddess in convincing Antiquities to agree to what were truly outrageous terms for the display of the artifacts. The tomb itself was accessible only to the cameras mounted throughout, which broadcast to the internet constantly and allowed visitors to control them — except when Cameron and Cynthia returned to make their offerings, and renew their commitment to each other. They had exchanged vows before the altar in the tomb only two months after the magical night of pleasure.

Hand in hand, the couple ascended the ancient steps, Cameron locking the doors behind them. On the surface, priestesses of the reawakened cult of Bastet awaited. Often, they too would make offerings in the tomb, but knew that this special day was for Cynthia and Cameron alone.

Twin silver Maus bounded forward and leapt into the arms of Cynthia and Cameron when they emerged, purring affectionately as they nuzzled the women's necks.

"Let the Feast of Bastet begin," Cameron declared, and then laughed as her Mau meowed in agreement.

The sounds of revelry — and later of passion — echoed both from heaven and earth.

Δ~~~~~~~~~~Δ

Yeah, I know this one is niche within a niche *laugh* Hope those of you who aren't fascinated by ancient Egypt weren't put off by the details, and I hope those who are don't mind me playing fast and loose with some of the mythology and timelines.

Hope I fooled a few of you into believing there were going to be walking mummies, too. *laugh*

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