Nebemakst Betrothed

She liked it. She wanted more. She parted her lips, inviting him in like a shy lover. He pulled her harshly into him. Her breasts crushed flat against his strong chest. She smelled the sweetly musky sweat from his day's labors wafting up to her nose, as his tongue entwined with hers, moving into her mouth to mimic the other, even more wicked act she secretly desired.

Her hips burned for far more than just a kiss.

* * *

The hand that held his own released it, to slip up behind his neck. With it she pulled herself up to his full height, helping to press her delicious lips more firmly against his. For his part, he let his freed hand drift into her unbuttoned shirt. She'd loosened it earlier in the day, shamelessly, discomforted by the heat on the hike to the entrance. There was no one there to see but the professor, she'd said, and he was so stolid and proper and well behaved that he would never look.

He didn't look. Not yet. First his hand crept inward, to touch and to fondle and to explore.

* * *

The awesome strength behind the hand on her breast sent shivers through her. No other man had ever shown the power the professor had. His strength, his protection, everything about him projected masculinity like no other weakling of a man ever could. He was like a god to her.

She pushed her body up into his, trying to press her tit into his hand, trying to make him feel and enjoy the hardness of her nipple digging into his palm. She wanted him to know how much he excited her, how quickly and completely he'd brought her woman's body to life. She was no longer a young, naive co-ed.

She pressed her hips hard against his, feeling the bulge there. Even that was powerful. The feel of his engorged cock against her own wet, lonely pussy excited her like nothing she'd ever felt. Only he had the strength to satisfy her. She knew it in her heart. She'd never properly considered it before, because she was a young fool of a girl.

She wanted and needed a man. She'd never admitted to herself how much she wanted and needed a man inside her. She'd hidden in books and scrolls and artifacts, hiding from what she truly desired. But what she truly desired was always there, right there, with her.

She wanted the only man that could sate her, right here, right now. She wanted the sweet old professor. She wanted him inside of her.

She broke the kiss to look up into his eyes, pleading with him to take what he wanted from her.

* * *

He felt a strength coursing through him, in a way he hadn't felt since his youth, if ever. She was fragile and pliant in his arms, as she should be, his student, his supplicant and his slave. He squeezed her breast tightly, as if taking it for himself and owning it forever. She moaned under his touch, as she should.

He looked into innocent, deep, dark brown eyes. She knew what she wanted, even if she was too shy to admit it, to him or to herself. He could give it to her, and he would. It was natural that she should want him. She probably always had, and should have. It was undeniable.

His hand released it's hold on her waist to move to her crotch. He let one finger touch her, pressing firmly upward below the opening of her pussy, to give her an early, easy thrill, and to hint of so much more to come. She gave him a delightful squeak.

His hand slid upward from there, over the course fabric of her field shorts, pressing against the inviting depression between her cunt lips, implying his entry into her. She quivered under his touch, biting her lip, until his hand reached the snap at the front, removing his touch from her only to expertly release it.

* * *

Before her shorts had reached the sandy ground, in the same moment that she stepped quickly out of them, she ardently, almost frantically eased herself down and back onto the floor. The hunger in her body was like none she'd ever felt. Her pussy burned and dripped with excitement beyond any she'd ever considered. She felt she couldn't wait another moment.

The cool, sandy floor touched the flesh of her ass. It would provide an unyielding platform to withstand his powerful thrusts. The thought excited her more. She ached to feel the awesome strength of his plunging cock, and his ravishing hands, and his consuming mouth. His strength was captivating.

She wanted him to take her, totally and completely. She spread her legs for him in needless, shameless invitation, as she watching him hurriedly drop his pants, exposing to her his fully erect, burly cock.

* * *

Her impassioned screams echoed about the chamber, starting the first moment he entered her. He should have been gentle and tender, like a guardian, or a father, but he didn't feel like a gentle, tender man, or lover. His thick fingers gripped her shoulders like talons, almost ripping into their curving flesh, perfectly shaped to provide purchase with which he could leverage his body, and the driving, skewering thrusts of his inexorable cock.

He filled her in one fast, brutal stroke. His cock was magnificent. It was living power, and virility, and domination. He filled her, and fucked her, with one long, fast, invasive thrust after another.

She was so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. He needed to please her. He needed to please this sweet, young girl. He knew he could better than any man, and would. He was too strong for any woman to resist for long. But she was so marvelous, so enchanting, so perfect, she deserved him at his best.

He withdrew his cock, then plunged into her again, drawing another delightfully loud scream, followed by resounding echoes reverberating off of the walls, as if he'd fucked her with the strength of a dozen men, and she responded with the pleasured cries of a hundred rapturous women.

* * *

The professor filled her body in ways she'd never imagined. His strong hands pinned her tiny frame in place beneath his bulk as his cock, his long, thick, trespassing cock stretched her beyond her limits.

"Professor..." she panted, trying to form words. "Professor..."

Each time she spoke, he filled her again. His cock would be yanked from her, then shoved deliriously up inside her, as his grip pulled her down onto it. He threatened to rip her apart with his power, and yet she lay entirely submissive beneath him, trusting him as she trusted no man to take her and pleasure her and meet her needs, without any fear of injury or loss. He would never hurt her, or leave her.

He was her mentor, the professor. Now he was her lover. He wielded the most incredible cock any woman had ever experienced.

"Professor... Professor... Oh, God!" she screamed, filling the chamber with repeating, accusing echoes of her pleas.

Her eyes opened wide, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, as his mature, stiff cock raged into and through her body, bringing her wave after trembling wave of orgasms.

* * *

She convulsed in his embrace, her small legs wrapped tightly around his back, screaming incoherent expressions of love and lust straight into his ears. He grinned madly as he felt his cock surging with power and filling with his incomparable wealth of masculine seed.

She needed his love. She longed for his love. He knew it, and he gave it to her, with his mouth and tongue all over her neck and shoulders and delightful breasts, and with his cock plowing into her tight, heavenly cunt, and then, in a moment of godlike exhilaration, with wave after pulsing wave of the torrential flood of his cum.

His body seized up like a mighty, ancient machine suddenly frozen in action. His hips were held against her own, bone on bone, imprisoning his enraged cock deeply inside the blazing embrace of her pussy. His fingers felt like they were tearing at her flesh, yet he couldn't relax his grip. His teeth bit into her shoulder, gently, he hoped, but harshly, he knew, as the strength of his orgasm shattered his thoughts into tens of thousands of spinning stars in a black, desert night sky.

He stayed there, buried inside her, just as they were buried together under the earth within this tomb. He stayed still as he emptied himself into her with a feeling of ultimate release, only now finding the cohesive thought to speak to her in a deep, breathless voice.

"My love, my Annette, my sweet darling, my love..."

* * *

She smiled as she listened to his words. Once the mind conquering sensations had passed, once she was able to control her own body again, her hands began to move over his broad back, tracing loving paths up and down and across and back with her fingertips, seeking to give him the slightest of pleasures in compensation for the series of thunderous climaxes he'd given to her.

Her lips found his ears and neck, bathing him in warm, light kisses. She whispered into his ear.

"Thank you, Professor. Thank you, thank you."

His finally relaxing form stiffened again at the words. She stiffened too, as her mind awakened, and she realized what she just said, and what they'd just done.

* * *

The guilt attacked him, devouring his soul like nothing he'd ever experienced. As the fog eased from his mind, he forced himself to think the words.

My God, he thought. My God. The poor, sweet, innocent girl. What had he done?

He moved his hips to withdraw his still hard cock from the sweet embrace of her forbidden cunt. As he moved, his cock resurged with life. Most of the shaft was withdrawn. Her illicit body held only the head of his prick, when he paused. His mind focused on the bathing warmth of her loving, wet pussy just kissing the head of his cock. He felt the tremendous beauty in the act, and in her.

His still hard cock felt as if it hardened further. His balls tightened, as if resisting his exit themselves. He held himself poised, inside her, ready to release her, ready to free her from his wicked grasp.

* * *

The sudden fury with which he plunged back into her shocked and thrilled her. She'd held her tongue, panicked and sad that he was taking his marvelous cock from her, but too ashamed and guilt ridden to plead with him to stay inside her. She wanted to tell him it was where he belonged. She wanted to tell him that she desired it more than anything.

She wanted to tell him to fuck her again.

And then he did. He filled her and stretched her like before, with the same mighty strength and power and indomitable passion. He fucked her over and over, sending her quickly into the throes of ecstasy, making her beg again and again for more and more of his cock.

* * *

He'd come four times now, already. He had no idea how much time had passed as he thrust in and out of her. She was pinned to the ground beneath him, spent and exhausted. Her lips were almost parched, even though her cunt was as hot and as wet and as enticing as when they'd started.

He gazed at her with a mix of animal lust and fatherly compassion. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to, but he did, and he couldn't. Every time he came inside her he felt a moment of clarity, a moment when he knew who and what he was, and what he was doing, and that he had to stop. But it didn't last. He couldn't withdraw his cock from the precious, fantastic, bathing warmth of her body.

He fucked her over and over again, with complete, unending abandon.

She screamed for him, and she loved it, and so did he.

* * *

She lay panting, recovering, as much as she was allowed. Was that the eleventh time, or the twelfth? She'd lost count. In the brief moment of clear thought that she attained after he'd come inside her, after the warm, glowing, triumphant feeling of having him fill her with his seed, she tried to say what she had to.

"Professor, please..."

She wanted to ask him to stop. That's what she meant to say. She wanted to help him to find the will to end this. The words came out all wrong.

"... Fuck me again. Please, Professor, fuck me again..."

He was so fucking strong, the most powerful man on earth, and he sought only to please her, and it was all that she wanted.

* * *

Fifteen, he thought. The hours were passing. Soon they would be dehydrated. He thought they'd pass out by now, but that showed no signs of happening. They were going to die this way. He'd come to that realization some time before. They were going to die in each other's arms, just as Nebemakst and his own pitiable daughter had.

In the scraps of time that he had to think while his body recharged and resurged, he remembered the inscriptions. He remembered the spells. He remembered the symbols, if not entirely their meanings. He couldn't think clearly enough to find a way out. Nebemakst never had. He almost surrendered to the crushing thought.

His bag of tools lay just beyond her head. He didn't try to withdraw his cock this time. He didn't try to stop. He grabbed the bag. He reached inside to quickly grab the sturdy scissor shears. He had them in his hands when the passion took him again, and he fucked her like no other man ever could or would.

* * *

Sixteen. He wasn't sure he had the strength. He fought in the fleeting moment he had to take his hands from his lover, to extend his one hand, pressing his ring finger between the blades of shears. He doubted that he had the strength to do it, either the physical strength, or the courage.

"I love you, Professor," she whispered into his ear. "But we have to stop. Please, Professor..."

She gave him the strength. He felt his cock surge again, coming back to life, growing and hardening. He felt the power in him, the insatiable lust, with the indomitable feeling of absolute, unconquerable strength. In that last moment of lucid thought, he knew without question that he could do anything.

He pressed on the handles of the shears, feeling the blades dig into his flesh, and hearing the crack of the bone as it snapped under his own awesome strength.

His screams and whimpers echoed through and around the walls of the tomb like an army of scarabs, scrabbling about in search of a way out to the desert.

* * *

Annette scrambled out from under him, suddenly free of her feelings and passions. She sobbed as she looked down at the finger, mangled and lying on the ground beside his ruined hand. Blood poured from the stump, pooling and sinking into the layer of sand on the stone floor. The ring glistened on the severed finger in the lamplight.

His pained cries filled the room.

She hurried to find the medical pack, and water, stumbling to the ground with her own weakness along the way. He lay on the floor, unmoving, utterly spent, probably dying, back in the chamber. She pushed herself up. She pushed herself forward. She cried tearlessly as she ran through the halls, frantic to save his life.

* * *

He lay on his bed, still weak, his hand finally showing some warmth in hers. She'd recovered quickly, and well. Her dehydration was minor. It really hadn't been long at all, four or five hours, although the ordeal had seemed to last for days.

They could have died.

She looked away, out the window. Every time she thought about it, she had to look away. They'd talked, for hours, about it. She'd cried endlessly. For the first time in her life, she'd seen him cry. She knew he had when his wife had died, he must have, but she hadn't seen it.

She looked at her own hand. The ring was still there. It wouldn't come off, and probably never would, until she'd died. To protect her, the professor had hidden the other. At his instruction, before leaving the tomb, she'd placed another trinket on the dais, one selected from another room. It was a shame, an act of academic and historic sacrilege, to mislead and betray the archeological community that way. But it had to be done. He wouldn't risk letting another man ever put on the matching ring.

She smiled at him. To the end, he was strong and brave. He said he'd failed her, as a teacher and a guardian and a friend. He'd betrayed, and abused, and failed her. She told him that wasn't true, but he kept apologizing, and she was too shy and embarrassed to tell him some of the things she really felt and thought.

They'd both need so much therapy to overcome this, she thought, but whom could they ever tell? How could they be honest? A magical pair of rings, buried for thousands of years, had slain its first bearers, and forced them into a painful, almost deadly, improper, passionate, seemingly unending union.

Whom could they tell? The secret was theirs, alone and forever. That secret, and others, like the one she kept from him.

She could never admit it to him. She felt a crushing guilt when she admitted it to herself. But she had enjoyed it. She'd never really thought about it, but he was always the most powerful, trustworthy man left in her life. He always was, and always would be, until the day he died, and being taken and pleasured by him was a sensation that could never be matched by any other man.

"I failed you," he'd said.

"No, Professor. No. Nebemakst was the richest, most powerful and courageous man of his time. He was a mighty warrior and priest, with magical powers. But what did the ring do to him?"

He hesitated, searching her eyes for the point of her question.

"It killed him. Shamefully. And his beloved daughter, with him," he said to her, his voice almost cracking with the unspoken thought that they could have shared the same fate.

"But it didn't kill us," she told him, "because of you. Nebemakst was powerful and courageous, but not as powerful and courageous as my dear Professor. He couldn't make himself do what had to be done. What you did. For me. Professor."

She said that last word with an adoration and pride that melted him before her eyes. She squeezed his hand then, feeling the stump of his bandaged finger in her grip. She smiled warmly into his sad eyes, and he smiled weakly back into hers.

She had her secret, the one she couldn't bring herself to share with him, not yet, maybe never. She had enjoyed it. She told herself it was only the ring still on her finger that made her think that, but she didn't really believe it. The nightmare of that day was a memory she would cherish forever, recalling it fondly, in private, in the darkest of nights. And, deep in her heart, she secretly hoped that he had enjoyed her as well, and as much.

Maybe some day he would tell her that he had, and then they wouldn't need the damned rings to do it again.

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