My Scarab Collar

Thank you to MSTarot and AMoveableBeast for your help.

*

The night I met Ammon Fayed, he gave me what I thought was a small, blue rock. He hadn't introduced himself yet, so I was surprised and a little annoyed when he took my hand, palm up, and closed my fingers over the stone. He'd looked amused by the scowl on my face. That was six months ago at a party for my former linguistics professor's birthday.

He didn't look amused tonight when I met him at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, right in front of the Temple of Dendur exhibit. The intensity of his glare sent a flurry of butterflies through my stomach, but I smiled and strode across the marble floor, my heels announcing my approach. I could see his dark eyes appraising my outfit. The black flounce skirt lay flat around my hips, but flared at the bottom, allowing it to move while I walked. The black, three-quarter sleeved blazer I wore covered the black lace bralette beneath it, leaving more cleavage showing than I would have chosen myself. My hair was in a sleek chignon, exposing my bare neck. I wore no jewelry, as he'd instructed, except the blue Met button on my lapel to signify my having paid the suggested donation to enter.

When I arrived in front of him, he took my hands and kissed me on the lips without speaking. His kiss was long and soft, with just a flick of his tongue over mine. My hands were cold and clammy against his warm fingers. I looked up, hoping to see him smile, but there was no crack in the intensity of his armor. Tonight was not about frivolity, and he wasn't going to indulge me.

He led me by the hand to the entrance of the Temple of Dendur, steadying me on the stairs when my knees shook. I stopped briefly to look at the view of Central Park in the fading daylight. The large room was far from empty, but that was his plan.

On that first night we met, I'd begun the day engaged to my high school sweetheart, even though I feared he could never make me happy. By nightfall, wanting adventure, a thrill, some good, hard sex, I was single. Before the party, I'd removed the half-carat diamond from my left hand and left it on my fiancé's nightstand. He knew it was over. He'd been avoiding me for days. I ended it without his input. Without his consent. It felt like freedom.

At the party, I got drunk as quickly as I could, determined to celebrate my liberty from the shackles of boredom, from a decision I made when I was too young and inexperienced to know what I wanted, what I needed. I celebrated. I danced wildly and sang out of key. I made toasts to people I didn't know. I told jokes that would have mortified my mother.

And then Ammon Fayed placed the turquoise scarab in my hand, his dark eyes gleaming with mirth. When I realized that he'd given me a fake insect, I was tempted to throw it right at his face, but something in his expression stopped me. I allowed him to lead me outside onto the terrace where we talked for hours over bottles of Aquafina.

Thirty-five years old, second-generation born in the United States, Egyptian scholar, professor of Arabic, tall, dark, and handsome. I did my best to sober up in a hurry to avoid looking like an imbecile. I was a twenty-four-year-old receptionist at headquarters of a major corporation on the Avenue of the Americas, watching my masters in linguistics go to waste before my eyes. If I hadn't been plastered, I would have wondered what this god of a man saw in me that made him spend the rest of the evening listening to my tale of woe, but when I woke up in his bed the morning after the party, it didn't matter.

That he held my arm was the only sign that we were at the museum together once we broke our kiss. We didn't speak. I imagined that we looked more like colleagues than lovers. He carried a briefcase; I had a leather folio, perfect for note taking. Perhaps other museum visitors thought we were professor and student. Maybe boss and secretary. Certainly not two people about to fuck in the antechamber of the Temple of Dendur in New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art.

I wanted to tell him that I was nervous. That maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. What if someone saw us and knew what we were doing? What if a guard or a security camera caught sight of our lewd act in public? What if someone from his department saw us fucking in the museum exhibit? Wouldn't it damage his reputation? He had much more to lose than I. I was screaming these questions in my head, but I wouldn't make a sound without his permission. I had to be good and do what I was told, or he'd take my hand and march me right out of the museum. This was my fantasy, after all, and I had to earn its fulfillment.

At least, I thought it was my fantasy. When we discussed it, my wrists and ankles were bound tightly to his bed. He was teasing me with a feather that looked like a cat toy, and by the time I spewed it, I would have said anything just to get him to fuck me and let me come. "I want you to fuck me in public." I surprised myself more than I surprised him. I didn't know I had an exhibitionist streak in me, simmering below the surface, and at first, I thought I was offering this adventure solely for him. Making him happy had become my greatest pleasure, and I found myself submitting to his sexual desires and then making them my own.

Of course, being tied up probably had something to do with it as well.

We entered the antechamber to the temple, and he began to lecture, as though I were his student, dutifully taking notes of his scholarly observations. There were three other people in the structure with us, tourists, I guessed, and he pulled me to the corner near the front, talking about the inscriptions there as if studying them was our goal. He was tall enough to see over the partial wall at the front of the antechamber, and he could see most of the exhibit hall. The tourists exited, and there was a brief lull in the traffic in front of the temple.

Ammon stood behind me and bent to whisper in my ear, "Do not make a sound. Continue to write your notes as I speak until I tell you otherwise."

I nodded and swallowed hard. My stomach was churning and my heart was pounding. I'd masturbated to this very scene over and over, and now it was happening, right here. His hand on my shoulder, providing the authoritative direction I craved, sent a flood of heat between my legs, and I knew I'd do exactly as he instructed.

He reached in front of me and unbuttoned my blazer. I felt naked when the cool air rushed through the lace of the bralette, turning my nipples to hard nubs. His warm hands caressed my breasts through the lace, and he rubbed his fingers over my nipples, moving the lace with them to stimulate my arousal.

The beginning of a moan escaped my throat, and his hands dropped to his sides. He paused his lecture, and said, "Perhaps we should get something to eat. I'm starving."

My body stiffened with disappointment. I closed my eyes and forced myself to move my pen against the paper in my folio, ever the good student, not saying a word. After a moment, he said, "No. Dinner will wait." His one hand returned to my breast while the other pointed to the inscription in front of me. When he leaned, I could feel his erection pressing into my back. I felt it twitch against my skin when a middle-aged couple entered the antechamber. He squeezed my nipple, testing to see if I could remain quiet.

I held my breath as his hand dropped from my breast to the hem of my skirt in the front. He lifted it enough to get his hands under the fabric and between my legs. "No panties," he said, louder than was safe. "Good girl." His approval made me flush with pleasure, as it always did.

The couple in the temple with us was speaking a language I didn't recognize, and I felt as though they were standing right behind us, waiting their turn to see what was etched on the wall where we stood. They must have assumed that they'd find some important treasure there if this professor was giving private lessons to his conscientious student, who was writing each word with loving care. I gave a quiet sigh of relief when I realized that they probably didn't understand what Ammon said. I saw them leave out of the corner of my eye.

He slipped his fingers between my lips, into my cunt. "Dripping wet, love. You want this, don't you?" I nodded silently, and he moved his fingers to my clit. I fought to stay still. To wait for his attention to the erect nub. My pussy burned with the need to come, but I couldn't until he said it was time. That was our agreement. My hips wanted to move, but I stood as still as the replica of the Sphinx next to the temple, waiting for his instruction.

Instead, he moved his finger back to my opening, and pushed two fingers inside me, his fingertips brushing my G-spot. I craved movement, but I remained in place, screaming silently in my head, "Oh my god just rub my fucking clit." After six months of his training, I knew. The anticipation made the orgasm hotter and sweeter. It would be worth the wait.

He pulled his fingers out of me and placed them on my lips. "Taste yourself, love," he said, not bothering to whisper. We were alone in the temple for a moment. I parted my lips and took his fingers into my mouth. He spread his fingers so that one went to each side of my mouth, and I could taste the salty flavor of my own cunt spreading across my tongue. I licked them clean, sucking on them, trying to drive him to fuck me.

"Take your folio in your left hand. Leave it open. Take your right hand and put it between your legs," he said, still in a tone loud enough for other visitors to hear. "Good girl. Don't move your fingers yet." I was worried about my skirt being lifted in the front, but his large frame hid my body from the tourists that popped their heads around the corner to see what was in the temple. The museum would be closing in forty-five minutes. They didn't have time to linger in the ancient structure.

I was overcome with lust. I needed to come, and I couldn't stand still much longer. My nipples were so hard they ached, and I imagined that I could feel my clit throbbing against my fingers, harder and harder, the hard nub ready to explode. My arm was tiring from holding the folio up for so long. He finally took it from my hand and held it, making sure it hid the raised front of my skirt.

A large group of loudly squawking tourists entered the exhibit hall, their voices echoing off the marble walls and floors. Ammon leaned forward again, and spoke clearly into my ear. "Rub your clit, slut. Rub hard and fast. Get yourself to the edge before they get here, but don't come without my permission. Nod when you get there." I rubbed my clit. Hard. Fast. Knowing I had only seconds before they reached the steps.

Ammon had done this to me before. If I didn't get there in time, he might not let me come at all. He spoke in my ear as I masturbated. "Good girl. Get yourself off, right here in the museum. Oh, my little slut. Here comes the tour group. Are you ready?"

I nodded.

He paused.

I continued to masturbate, waiting for his direction, carefully maintaining my arousal without driving too close to the cliff. If I came before he was ready, he wouldn't let me come until he decided I'd been punished long enough. I had no idea how long that could be. Weeks, probably. Not worth the risk.

The tourists' voices swirled around me like a frenzy of starlings overhead. I didn't know how many strangers were in the room as I fingered my cunt, which dripped with my viscous desire. I didn't think I could hold back, but I knew I had to. I had to hold back, to stop myself before I exploded in a flash of red, hot lava, flowing down my legs, wetting my skirt and my thigh high stockings.

Cameras beeped and flashed as the tourists documented their brief visit to the temple. There were so many of them, piling in and filing out of the stone doorway. I felt Ammon's hard cock on my back when they bumped into him. Each time drove me closer, fueled the giant orgasm that was coming.

I wondered if he'd make me wait to come until the tour group filtered out, but we were running out of time. He handed the folio back to me, and I felt his hands at his belt, bumping into my back as he opened his pants and removed his cock. He pressed his hips into me to hide his nakedness in the flounce of my skirt. The tourists had to know what we were doing. Maybe they were taking pictures of us too. Maybe they'd get on their tour bus and show their friends the crazy Americans fucking in the museum, too stupid to realize that everyone could see them.

They were still walking by when I felt a draft on my bottom. He had lifted my skirt, exposing my buttocks for a moment. I felt one of his hands on my ass for a moment before he used it to guide his cock against me. His other hand was on my back, pushing me gently forward. Again, he spoke into my ear. "Spread your legs a little."

His cock poked my flesh several times, trying to find the spot. He was taller than I, and this wasn't the most convenient position for us to fuck. As he slid into my warm, tight cunt, I bit my lip to keep from crying out. His erection was much thicker than my ex-fiancé's, and it still filled me with a shock I didn't expect, even all these months since that first night after the party. When his pubic hair tickled between my ass cheeks, he said, "Now you may come, my little slut. Do it fast. It won't take me long."

The last of the Asian tourists entered the temple as he began fucking in and out of my cunt. The pleasure was so intense, I no longer cared what they thought. I arched my back a little bit, pressing my nipples against the lace of the bralette. He took the folio from me once again and let it fall to the floor. I knew that the remaining tourists would turn to look. I could feel their stares burning right through our façade of normal behavior. "Put your hand in the bra cup and pinch your nipple," he said. I complied right away, pinching harder than necessary. I tried not to make a sound as the sensation in my cunt swelled in time with the pain in my nipple. "Good girl. Come for me, slut."

My fingers moved in a blur against my clit, and I was fucking back against him, trying to take him deeper despite an angle that prohibited such motion. I was on the brink of coming, pinching and rubbing and bucking my hips.

"Hey, professor! How are ya?" I heard a man's voice coming from over the wall of the temple.

I froze, my belly full of red-hot fear, but Ammon nudged me. "Keep going," he said in a regular voice, as if I were actually taking notes, and he didn't want me to waste any time. "Hey, Jerry," he said to the man. "Holding down the fort?" I guessed it was a security guard on the other side of the wall. Ammon spent a lot of time in the museum, lecturing, assisting with artifacts, consulting on exhibits. He knew everybody in the Egyptian department.

My thoughts raced. He was fucking me and talking to a guard. He was making fucking small talk with his cock in my cunt. The juxtaposition of the banal and the erotic drove my arousal to its peak, and before Jerry could answer, I came. I held my breath and hoped that Jerry didn't peek over the wall and see my hand in my bra, my naked torso, my skirt lifted above my hips in back and in front. I kept rubbing until my pussy stopped contracting, and then I relaxed. But only a little.

Ammon stopped pumping me from behind while he made chit chat with the guard, but his cock still filled me, increasing my desire for another hard orgasm. I heard Jerry's voice turn in another direction for a moment, and Ammon took the opportunity to resume fucking me. Jerry called a goodbye over his shoulder, and Ammon went for the kill. One, two, three more hard pumps to my cunt was all it took. He could not stifle his grunts as he came, spurting his warm semen deep in my pussy. "Ung. Ung. Ung." Over and over he grunted until he finished.

"Good girl," he said as he pulled his cock out of me. "Very good."

I went to fix my clothes, but he stopped me. "Just a second. Stay right where you are."

I complied. I always did.

"Stand up straight," he said. I did, even though my breasts were still visible and his cum dripped from my pussy, down my thighs to my stockings and the floor.

He picked up his briefcase, opened it, and removed something shiny. A necklace, I guessed. I was close. He held it in front of me so I could see the details. It was a silver choker, about one-quarter inch in height, with a green stone dangling from the front. I inspected it closer and found that it was a jade scarab, just like the one he'd handed me that first night. Green instead of blue. Hanging from the back was a tiny padlock and a key with a heart on the handle.

"Do you know what this is, love?" he asked.

I knew. "It's a scarab beetle, signifying rebirth and eternal life in Egyptian mythology." I felt proud of myself for being an attentive student.

"Yes, but do you know what this piece of jewelry is? What it means for you and me?" he said.

I shook my head, suddenly afraid to speak.

"It is your collar. It means that you belong to me, love. You've earned it."

I smiled, happy that I'd pleased him. He put his arms on my shoulders and turned me to face him. He had zipped up his pants and smoothed my skirt. He kissed me as he buttoned my blazer.

"It looks perfect on you." He smiled. "My good little slut."

I smiled too, knowing he was right.

*

Merry Christmas, sheablue. This one's for you.