tagIncest/TabooLust in the City of the Dead

Lust in the City of the Dead

bymadam_noe©

After a long time reading incest stories, this is my first try at writing one. This story is about a brother and sister discovering their love, primarily from the sister's POV. It's short, romantic, and it is also an entry into the 2012 Halloween contest, so please vote. Every vote counts. Also, feedback would be greatly appreciated to let me know how I did with my first incest story. Thanks!

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2613 B.C.E. Dashur, Ancient Egypt

Snefru was trembling. It wasn't the final move that had him crowned as Pharaoh that heated his blood, it was not the approved plans for his pyramid. No, what made the man, the general, the leader of the known world as weak as a young boy was the staggering beauty of Hetepheres, his sister, his bride.

She was as beautiful as any goddess, though he imagined her as Isis, and Hetepheres was every bit as magical. Tonight they had wed on the celebration of Isis, just outside the Necropolis, at the site where his great pyramid was to be built and their bodies would enter eternity.

She came to him bathed and oiled, her wig long and black. Her eyes lined with kohl, her body naked. Her curves were rich and strong. She looked like her mother, his father's first wife, but younger, more beautiful.

"Brother," she said with love.

He could wait no longer and pulled her to the bed. She tasted of t he rich sweet meats from the feast and honey. He wanted to drizzle honey on her and lick it off, worship her as the earthbound deity she was, but there was too great an urgency.

She kissed him back with hunger and need, aroused and prepared for him by the servants. The women had caressed her body, inflaming her, and he had watched as they bathed her, stroked hr, caressed her. Now he rose above her and as she begged, slid inside.

She cried out, finally filled by the man she desired above all others. She had known physical love before, but not like this. Her brother, her husband, and now her lover. His cock slid in deep, stretching her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him weakly.

Snefru began to thrust, each stab of his cock buried deep inside her warm pussy made them both cry out. They rocked together, bodies slick with oils and sweat. He thrust harder, obeying her demands, claiming her. They shared blood and now with the sharing of their bodies their souls mingled.

He felt the peak boil up from his balls and held back, rubbing her, grinding, begging then ordering her to take the journey with him. At last she did, her head thrown back, crying out his name. Snefru let himself go and spilled his seed deep within her, feeling he had touched the realm of the gods with that pleasure.

She fluttered around him, squeezing him, milking him dry, and once done he cried out with renewed joy. Hetepheres' eyes rolled back showing the whites and he braced himself up on his forearms. She was having a vision.

"Together we shall rule in peace and prosperity, we shall be blessed with many children. Our son will build an even greater pyramid, an even greater kingdom. Our bodies will lay in our not into eternity but until a time when two souls such as our meet. In their love and passion we shall again walk the earth."

Her large brown eyes came back into focus and she smiled. "Our love has given me strength I never knew I had."

He kissed her deeply and felt himself hardening again, like a younger man. Vigor he had not known in ten years was his once more. "I live for the future, always with you, sister."

"Always with you," she promised.

1928 C.E. Cairo, Egypt

It was a shame what they had done to the world around them for the shindig. The British Museum members had joined with the Americans for a party. As far as Susan could tell, they always loved a party. Though the Brits weren't nearly as big on Halloween as Americans were, they had agreed to a costume party to celebrate the find from Dashur.

Someone had gotten real mummies for the bash. They were in the great tent of the dig into the City of the Dead, the canvas structure almost permanent. The sand below had been stamped down and covered with Oriental rugs, and all along the tent poles real mummies lay propped up for atmosphere. The centerpieces were the two sarcophagi on either side of the stage, worn with age. The great king Snefru and his wife. The British team had sent them over for testing, and Susan would begin in two days, the Day of All Souls.

All around them native Egyptians worked as waiters, milling about dressed as Desert Sheiks. "God, it's dreadful," she said to her compatriot Ellen Barnaby. They were the only two women on the dig not there as wives or daughters, but as archeologists in their own right.

Susan's young brother Jonas was there as well, but a finer researcher she couldn't think of. The British were trying to seduce him away and the monetary offers were growing every day. A few of his paintings were hung there; he had a talent for bringing the dead to life with a fine eye.

"The British think they are so sophisticated, but my god, they are garish."

Susan frowned and wished she could wear her glasses with the costume. Her sight wasn't terribly bad; they just brought everything into sharp focus. "I spent my summers in London as a child and for the most part the British are delightful. I think it's just this lot. They spent so much time moldering in the jungle before coming to the desert. Perhaps their minds have jungle rot."

Ellen giggled. "Oh, their men do speak so divinely but they refuse to treat us with respect. If I hear Lord Wilson tell me my place is at home one more time I'll scream. At least McConnell seems nice."

"It was nice of him to convince the Brits to agree to this party. One thing I do hate about work is missing the fun at home. I hear New York is buzzing tonight, Halloween is still all the rage."

"You should hear McConnell talk about it. He calls it Samhain and has the wildest tales, Jonas would love it! Speaking of your delicious brother, where is he?"

"Down girl! My brother is only eighteen, too young to seduce."

Ellen gave her a minxish look. "We'll see. He's so athletic, just as gorgeous as you, and so smart. He always treats me like a lady."

"Perhaps because I am such a harridan," Susan quipped.

Why should her friend's interest in her brother bother her so much? Jonas was coming into his own. Over the summer he had grown to his full height over six feet, just like their father. Like her he was athletic and tanned, his hair a bright gold and his eyes a deep green, an all American boy. As much as he enjoyed the sporting life he also adored books and painting. Two semesters into school he showed great promise and was delaying his return to university to join her on this excavation of the simple graves of the common people of a long-dead empire. He had been most excited about Snefru and was likely still in their tent, mixing up oils, trying to give the old king life on the day when the living sand the dead were destined to mingle.

She had been enjoying her freedom as an independent woman, far from her parent's eyes. She didn't tell Susan but she had seduced Lord Wilson and found his vanity extended into the bedroom, the bumbling fool. She was twenty four and had been a woman of the world for some time. Perhaps it was time for Jonas to join the ranks of the adults, but she didn't want her sweet brother introduced to it with the wild Ellen who regarded men as toys to be played with, broken, and discarded.

"What is he dressed as?"

"I don't know," Susan confessed, looking at a mirror behind a mummy at her own costume. Just to be daring before the British she was a harem girl, her pants gauzy and diaphanous. Her hair was piled atop her head and covered with soft purple lace matching some of the scarves making up her pants. Her top was dark peach satin and exposed her toned belly, covered with a vest of the same gauzy purple and red. Her mask was red lace and covered her eyes, a veil of peach below. "I do hope Jonas isn't dressed as a Sultan!"

Ellen laughed. She was dressed as a dove in a shimmering white dress with a hat to match, her mask the same shimmering color with white and silver sequins. At least that night they blended in with the other women. The wives and daughters of the other archeologists were dressed in equally glamorous confections. The Americans and the Irishman were good sports and wore costumes, but most of the British men had declined and instead wore their usual evening suits, looking like penguins.

Susan looked over the crush for her brother but there were many tall men with broad shoulders, all of them either British or costumed. There really was no one quite like her brother, she thought. He was so handsome; he was destined to be a heartbreaker.

"You know, if McConnell intrigues you so, perhaps you should set your cap for him."

Ellen reached for a glass of Nelson's Blood from the tray of a passing sheik and twisted her lips. "Catholics have such damnable guilt."

Susan laughed. "You need to spend more time with the Irish. They're only Catholic when it suits them, and for a beautiful woman like you he'll convert for the night."

Ellen chuckled with her and waved her friend closer. "We're going to have a séance at midnight; Lady Firestone has brought in a medium from Paris. And I have a bottle the good medium brought from Paris and sold to me. Have a taste." She drained her glass and parted the skirt of her dress.

Pulling a flask from her garter she unscrewed it and poured green liquid into the glass, passing it to her friend. "Drink this. They call it the green fairy."

Never one to shrink from a challenge, Susan took a sip. "Strong! Hmm, interesting." She knocked it back and passed the glass over. "What exactly is it?"

"Absinthe, made from wormwood. Come on, let's find your brother."

Susan followed Ellen feeling pleasantly warm. She'd had some brandy while her maid helped her dress and two glasses of Nelson's Blood, the drink du jour perfect for the night, already. The party had been in swing since nine, but they had made a fashionable entrance close to eleven. There was dancing and laughter, but at the end of the day it was a gathering of scientists with adventurous spirits, not inclined to much merry making beyond celebrating a major find.

They were on the verge of s big discovery at their own dig, she could feel it. Perhaps even the answer to how the great pyramids were built. For the past few months a feeling of restlessness had possessed her, feeling every day like she was on the verge of something new and wondrous.

She was waylaid by the son of her boss, Thomas. He'd paid off the band to play the Charleston and they danced the scandalous dance together, laughing. Ellen was drawn into the dance by the Irishman, though she had to teach him the rapid steps.

Some pompous Brit with a title gave them a sneering look and passed money to the bandleader to play a waltz when the rousing song ended. She spent the next half hour dancing with various partners including her boss and lost track of her friend, never spotting Jonas.

The call came at minutes to midnight for those who wished to join the circle to be seated. Giggling and lightheaded Susan grabbed a glass of Nelson's Blood and wove her way to the table. It was primarily women seated, but she saw two men in costume as well as the Irishman with Ellen next to him.

Once seated the others who wished to watch sat in chairs pulled from the tables. Two workers who aided in the dig were asked to leave after a loud conversation about the price mummies were fetching to be used as fuel for the train. The clash of cultures seemed ruffled by the introduction of magic into the night, a testy subject for all.

Finally when it was quiet, and those uninterested sat at the other end smoking and drinking, one costumed woman whom she recognized as Lady Firestone announced Madame Petrinka.

The medium swept in, large and matronly, she was stuffed into a corset that made her top heavy, poured into a tight dress with no visible buttons. It was flesh colored and light, imbued with sequins. Her turban matched, settled heavily above a face that should have been plain, but her intense dark eyes made it somehow captivating.

"Good evening," she said with a heavy Russian accent, pronouncing it good evenink.

"Boy, Houdini would have loved this one," Susan whispered to the woman beside her.

"You don't believe?" the young woman asked, a bit too loudly.

"You will," Madame Petrinka said loudly as she took her seat, staring at Susan.

The chair was pushed in by a young male attendant, beautiful in his evening suit. He stepped back quickly and stood next to a mummy, jumping slightly when he brushed against it.

"My son is sensitive to the dead," Madam Petrinka said without looking. "It is good we have so many open souls here in our circle. Perhaps tonight one will hear the message they seek from the dead all around us. Join hands!"

She brought hers out with flourish, shaking back her sleeves. "Would the gentlemen watching please turn the kerosene low?"

The men in back scrambled to do her bidding as the twelve at the table clasped hands. Susan knocked back her drink and joined hands with her neighbors, feeling nervous as the lights dipped low.

"Good. Now, we will close our eyes and open our souls to the spirit ream. Do not make a sound! The spirits shall come to my voice, manifest within me. Do not be terrified of what you hear or see. Concentrate on happy memories. It will draw happy spirits to us!"

Susan resisted the urge to giggle. A happy thought, a happy thought...her mind settled on a rather startling one. Just weeks earlier she had entered the tent she shared with her brother before he finished his bath. He lay back in the copper tub, his valet shaving him. Above the water the firm lines of his upper body were visible, as starkly defined as any of the workmen.

He preferred to work on his books and paintings by kerosene light, and in the day he worked with the workmen, digging and hauling earth. His skin was beautifully tanned, his hands large and rough-skinned, yet capable of such delicate work. She'd set her hat down and found herself staring at those hands.

Even now she remembered just what she had thought. How would they feel against her body? No shame came with it, she was light headed enough that it seemed no shame could touch her. There was no shame at how she had returned, time and time again, before he finished his bath, delighting. No shame at how she had stopped her own work at dusk to look up and see him without his shirt on, muscles working as he flung sand and earth.

Susan had enjoyed a handful of lovers at college and on the dig. Older and experienced, they somehow left her flat. The thought of a sweet young virgin, a man who truly loved her, was powerfully arousing. Dear god, she desired her own brother more than she had ever wanted a man before.

"Good thoughts, good, good- oh!" Madame Petrinka's cry had them all jerking, eyes open.

The medium's head was rolling around on her shoulders and she was making strange humming sounds. Susan rolled her eyes, thinking people could get awfully silly on Halloween, even in the north of Africa, a world away from most of the parties celebrating the holiday.

"Hello." The mediums voice had dropped an octave and the accent had turned form Russian to untraceable. "I am in your service."

Susan snorted. "My, what beautiful English you speak."

The medium's eyes fixed in her, somehow darker and smaller. When she spoke it was gibberish with a cadence to it. The other women seemed impressed, but the archeologists at the table remained stoic.

"I learn from listening." Her next words were foreign to many ears.

At the fluent Arabic Susan blinked. Then again, saying I also speak Arabic was not that much of a challenge, even for a Russian woman new in town.

"You will not find happiness, little one, until you learn to be brave in your desire. New worlds are built on what our heart seeks most." The medium's head dropped and rolled, the humming began anew. The grandfather clock permanently housed in the great tent struck midnight, making them all jump.

Susan jerked her hands free and stood. Immediately the medium's head snapped up and her eyes focused on Susan. "You break the circle!"

She opened her mouth but realized everyone was staring at her, even the men on the other side of the tent. Flushing, she ran from the tent into the cold desert night.

Outside she was alone. Torches lit their little tent city, and the pyramids rose up in the distance. Further away Cairo was quiet in the cool night. At times like this she considered smoking to enjoy time alone out of doors, but she had tried it once and found it vulgar.

For a moment, when the madam had looked at her with those alien eyes, it was like there had been a spirit inside her who had guessed at Susan's thoughts. No leering, no judgment, just simple honest truth. If it had been a lie, it was a doozy.

"Are you all right?"

She turned an Ellen was there.

"Yes, it's just...you know how I feel about those people. I quite agree with Houdini. Splendid man," she sighed. "He left us all too early."

"Here." Ellen pulled out her flask and passed it over. "Drink more of this. I know you're sore."

Ellen had been her friend at college, and it had been there when the news of her parents' deaths had come. Ellen had been there for the mediums hired to contact them, all the failures. She alone had witnessed Susan's loss of faith.

Susan grabbed the flask and took a long pull. "It's not that. It's just when she asked us to think of a happy thought..."

"Yes?"

"May I finish this?" she asked, an Ellen nodded. "I pictured something I shouldn't have, and it was like she knew."

Ellen took the empty flask and tottered in her heels, giggling. "Some man?"

Susan blushed. "An unattainable one."

"Well, if Madam Petrinka is to be believed, you're going to have to get over those nerves and get your man."

"It's not that simple."

"Well, warm up on another. The one dressed as the highwayman sitting to my right couldn't take his eyes off you."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know. But he has a nice body, good lips. Does it matter? It's Halloween, it's a costume party, we're young, and the world is ours!" Ellen held out her hands and spun around, stumbling in the shifting sands.

"You'd best go in to McConnell, Ellie. You're drunk."

She giggled. "All the better for him to seduce me. Don't stay out too long. Perhaps the madam will revive the mummies, you won't want to miss it!"

At the gruesome image Susan shuddered. She waggled her fingers as Ellen stumbled back in, and then Susan adjusted her veil. She couldn't get the image of Jonas out of her head, those hands, that body. Squeezing her eyes shut she prayed to a god who had never answered, asking for strength.

"Here," a deep voice said as something heavy settled around her shoulders.

She opened her eyes and it was the highwayman, being a gentleman and offering her his cloak. Embarrassed to be caught with tears in her eyes, Susan had no urge to reveal her identity. 'Thank you," she said with a British accent.

His gloved hand reached up and gently he brushed her tears away. "Why is such a beautiful woman so sad?"

That voice. The highwayman was Jonas!

She stepped back and stumbled, falling in the sand. Pain shot through her ankle and she cried out. Instantly he was there, kneeling. "Are you all right?"

"My ankle...it's twisted."

He undid the strap of her shoe and set it down, massaging the aching joint. She cried out at a sharp pain. "We should ice it. Can you walk?"

"I don't think so," she said softly.

He nodded and before she knew what he was about he lifted her in his arms. She gasped at the feel of his strong muscles holding her with ease. "Where is your tent?"

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