Pharaoh's Taboo Gift

Though, to be honest, Mom looks a lot more like Lara Croft than Harrison Ford. Thank God. She's even got the gun. Though she has smaller boobs.

"So how is the professor doing?" he asked, belatedly remembering the reason his sister had been forced to go back to Luxor. "Is he going to be okay?"

"He's fine. He's got a broken leg, just like Mom said. I'm not sure if they're going to release him tonight or keep him around for a day or two. When I find out I'll let you know."

"Where are you going to stay?"

"I've got enough cash for a hotel room for a couple of nights. And my credit and debit cards." Through the phone, Chris could almost hear his sister's grin. "Or maybe I'll take the professor up on his marriage offer. I bet he hasn't forgotten how to show a girl a good time."

"Boy, you're something." He shook his head with a rueful smile. "All right. Let us know when you know what the plan is, all right? And keep us in the loop about the professor. I know Mom is just aching to tell someone about all this stuff, but most of it would go right over my head if she tried to explain it to me."

"Will do. I'm going to try to find something to eat. But I'll give you guys a shout before I go to bed tonight. You guys take care out there. I'll be thinking about you when I'm in my nice, clean, air-conditioned hotel room."

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

"No," he sighed. "I don't. See you soon. Love you."

"Love you back. Bye."

"Bye." His stomach gurgled as he hung up the phone. It was high time to eat, he decided. Quietly, in case his mother was asleep, he walked over to her tent.

The last light of sunset was bleeding out of the sky, gilding the white cloth of the tent in red and gold. Some of the light shone through, making her skin glow.

Not just her skin, Chris thought, as he froze in place, one hand raised to pull the tent-flap aside.

On the flesh of her long, brown legs.

On the ripe mounds of her breasts.

On the sweet curves of her buttocks.

And on her fingers, which were rubbing in slow, sensual circles on her groin, her soft purrs of pleasure easily carrying to where he stood, numb with shock.

Holy fuck. My mom is masturbating!

And it's hot as fuck!

~How long have I been asleep, my priestess?~

"I don't know," Zahira answered, pitching her voice low, so Chris couldn't hear. The last thing she needed was for her son to hear her talking to invisible voices. "Because I don't know when you fell asleep. Who are you? And how did you get in my head?"

~You can hear me because you are wearing the necklace and you are of the bloodline of the priestesses of Hatshepsut. Otherwise you would be deaf to me.

~As for who I am, I think you have already guessed. Now.~ The voice hardened. ~How long?~

Zahira opted for brutal honesty. "If you are not merely a phantom of my imagination, my lady pharaoh, your reign ended thirty-five centuries ago."

~Thirty-five...~ Her mind-voice trailed off, and Zahira was filled with a sense of terrible loss. ~The gods, it seems, have a sense of humor. I thought I was so clever. That I could escape mortality by having my soul, my ka, bound to an object in the mortal realm. Anubis would never have the chance to weigh my soul. And I could still experience the joys of love and desire through my priestesses. Tell me,~ she asked, her tone sharpening hungrily. ~Have you a husband? A mate?~

No.

~Then we shall have to find you one. How about the young man I saw earlier? So tall! Is the rest of him as...impressive?~

He's my son!

~So? That just makes it more enjoyable,~ Hatshepsut purred. ~What better way for a man to please his mother than in the bedchamber? We are priestesses and royalty, sweet Zahira. There are no taboos for the likes of us. We can do as we wish, and it is not proper that we sully our bloodlines with those of other mortals. My husband was my own brother, though he was born to a lesser wife than my own noble mother. I wish I had born a son of my own body. Then perhaps I could have put aside my brother's child and created a dynasty that would have been worthy of my name.

~But Thutmose disapproved of my ambition. And of my...appetites. I don't know why. Desire is a gift of the gods, and one I explored to the fullest. Men or women, it mattered not to me. But even in a court not known for its restraint, I was considered...extreme.

~I thought I would be safe. How could he have known that I intended to cheat death? Perhaps he didn't. Perhaps he simply didn't want to leave any evidence of his aunt's unnatural lusts. One day soldiers came to the temple and ordered the priestesses to leave. I was sure they would come back someday. But they never did. Eventually, I slept. Until today, when you woke me.

~And now that I am awake, I intend to enjoy myself again. With your willing cooperation, of course.~

With a start, Zahira realized that her hand, without her intending it, had moved between her legs.

~So long,~ Hatshepsut whispered. ~Let me feel again, sweet Zahira.~

She jerked her hand away, her belly shaking. "This is madness," she whispered.

~Is it madness to walk a path of pleasure? This harms no one. And gives us both joy. We are female. We are woman. How long has it been since you lived for yourself, my handmaiden?~

Her words were hypnotizing. For a moment, a vision swam in her eyes. A dark-skinned woman, middle-aged or a few years older, her face handsome rather than beautiful. Black hair, tightly coiled, hung to her bare shoulders.

But it was her eyes that caught her. Black as coals, they blazed in that haughty face. Blazed with a wanton, carnal hunger. A hunger that did not make excuses. A hunger that she obviously considered no less than a divine birthright.

~What is the harm, my child? How long has it been since you have let yourself truly feel the pleasure you deserve as a woman? No mate, no husband, no lover, nothing but your own hands to pleasure you? What kind of life is that? Trust me when I tell you this. Life is short. And when the cup of desire comes to your place at the table, only a fool would let it pass by.~

Zahira closed her eyes, tormented. But it was too hard to resist. Sitting up, she stripped off her blouse and bra, then lay down, slipping her panties down her legs to lay in a moist heap of satin on the floor of the tent.

Oh. When she touched herself, her fingers tentative, she didn't know whether the whisper of delight came from her own lips or Hatshepsut's mind-voice. But the feeling of her nether-lips under her fingers was somehow more arousing than it had been in a very long time. For months, if not years, masturbation had been almost a chore. Something she did when it was late at night and she wasn't quite ready to go to bed. A jilling-off session could pass the time and relax her enough to go to sleep. But it wasn't as if she made a production out of it, either, like some of her girlfriends. No candles or incense, no bath-oils or perfume. Just a book and her own fingers or maybe a vibrator.

And her body was responding. Far more quickly and strongly than she was used to. Almost, it seemed, she was a teenager again. Or during those first few happy years with Greg, when neither of them could get enough of each other and they used any excuse to tumble into bed for an hour or two. The sweltering heat of the tent was not the only thing to blame for the dampness between her legs. It was not sweat that slicked her labia, but pure arousal.

~Your customs are really quite strange,~ Hatshepsut commented from her seat in the back of Zahira's mind. ~You do not shave your head, but you have hardly any hair down here.~ Fingers explored the rise of her mons, and the small strip of pubic hair that she allowed. ~Are you too poor to purchase a wig? I can show you hidden treasures that will make you as wealthy as any woman in the kingdom.~

I am not shaving my head, Zahira snapped. Things have changed, my lady. People of this time do not fear lice. So there is no need to scrape our skulls bald.

~You are quite pert, for a commoner.~

If you don't like it, I can take the necklace off and leave you on the altar, Zahira retorted. Or maybe just leave you in a display case in a museum. Good luck finding anyone who will listen to you then.

Her only answer was a grudging silence, and Zahira allowed herself to relax for the first time since she had awoken in the temple, with Chris' face hovering worriedly over her.

My son. As her fingers danced across her labia, she turned to the side, lifting her leg to give her fingers a better angle on the narrow, uncomfortable cot. He was so handsome, a true son of Egypt, not a pale, pinch-faced academic like her husband had been. Chris had the body of an athlete - tall, long-legged, and lean-waisted, with a strong chest and shoulders that were beginning to fill out as he reached maturity.

Mature. And virile. She moaned, her fingers seeking out the sweat-slickened flesh of her breasts. Her nipples were achingly sensitive, and she toyed with them in turn, teasing them into a stiff rigidity that made her cleft grow even wetter. Chris would be able to plow her furrow, fill her with his strong male seed. Her own fertility would waken in response to his call. Together, they would create new life where all had been barren. Yes. Perhaps even tonight. She panted, imagining his face over hers as he labored, his shaft filling her channel.

Zahira never knew why she chose to open her eyes just then. Perhaps it was fate. Or perhaps Hatshepsut, with her otherworldly senses, was able to feel his presence. But when she opened her lust-glazed eyes, it was to see Chris standing just outside the flap of the tent, one hand frozen in the air.

Her breath caught, but she gave no other sign that she knew her son was out there. Eyes barely cracked open, she watched him as she continued to masturbate. She was close now, the muscles of her belly trembling in anticipation of her climax.

And Zahira would have had to be blind to miss the bulge in her son's pants. It almost seemed to throb in her sight, an imprisoned treasure that wanted only a word to bring out into the light. Chris stared at her, his eyes wide, his fingers twitching. He almost seemed to lean towards her, as if it would only take the smallest nudge for him to stumble into the tent.

~His mind is fighting it. But his body has already made the decision. He wants you. Badly.~

His body would react the same way if it was any naked woman, Zahira retorted weakly. But even she did not believe it. And she could not hide the boiling tide of lust that threatened to unmoor her mind.

It would be so easy. All she had to do was let Chris know she was watching, and that she approved of his desire for her. A minute would see the deed done. He would walk in, take off those horrible, confining pants, and slide his long, thick cock deep into her. She would fuck him, fuck her son, her own flesh, and bind him to her with chains of desire. It would be won-

Two things happened at the same instant. Zahira's climax, long delayed, broke over her like lightning from a midnight sky, searing her senses. Clenching her thighs shut on her hand, she was barely able to keep her scream of release from breaking past her lips.

And her son's cell-phone rang. Jumping like a scalded cat, he whirled and took a spinning jump away from the tent, clearly terrified that she would hear and discover that he had been watching her masturbate.

~Well. That was completely unacceptable,~ Hatshepsut commented. Though Zahira thought that some of her waspish tone had been alleviated by the satisfaction of sharing her orgasm. ~We almost had him, and then he was scared away. What was that hellish noise, anyway?~

Naked, sweating, and with her body singing with the results of her best climax in months, Zahira sank back onto her pallet. How was she going to be able to sum up thirty-five hundred years of progress for this woman?

"Mom?"

She snatched up her shirt and tried to cover herself. Luckily, Chris was hanging back, away from the tent, out of her eyeline. "Yes?" she answered, jumping off the cot and jerking on her panties.

"That was Sabah on the phone. She has some news."

"All right." She ran a hand through her hair, wishing for a comb. "I'll be right out."

~What is that?~ Hatshepsut's voice was almost a snarl as she picked up her clothes and began to dress.

This? It's called a bra. It...supports my breasts. So they don't sag as I get older.

Blank incomprehension met this statement. ~And are your breasts in need of such support? They are of a goodly size, but not so large that they will hang down to your navel when you age. And think you, sweet Zahira. I am Hatshepsut. My power is small. But it is still mine. I will keep time's ravages from your body as long as I am able. I absolutely forbid you to chain yourself in such a hideous device. Your body is lovely. Do not hide it. Flaunt it.~

But...

~No.~ The bra dropped from her fingers as her hands came up to cradle her breasts. Even now, in the aftermath of her climax, Zahira could not keep a soft, breathy moan from escaping her lips as she tugged at her nipples. ~I will concede to your wisdom in some places. But not in this.~

Fine. She picked up her discarded blouse. I hope you can find some way of explaining this to Chris.

~Explain? We will explain nothing. Let him draw what conclusions he will. He is your son, and therefore under your command. His job is to obey.~

Oh, boy. Do you have a lot to learn.

When Chris' cell phone rang, he didn't know whether to scream in frustration or be secretly grateful. The buzzing noise had nearly caused his rock-hard cock to erupt in his pants, so aroused he had been by the incredible sight of his mother masturbating.

It was wrong, he knew. Wrong and perverse and twisted. But somehow he could not force himself to look away. There was just something that was so incredibly arousing about watching a beautiful woman masturbate. Something that went beyond the sexual. Chris had never considered himself a romantic, but in his mind, there was nothing on Earth that was more lovely than the site of a naked woman enjoying her own body. The fact that it was his own mother fingering the lips of her pussy and squeezing her breasts just made the experience more perversely arousing.

Because Zahira was beautiful. The setting sun, shining through the white walls of the tent, cast everything in a bronze glow. It picked out the baby-fine hairs on her arms, brought out copper highlights in her night-black hair, and gilded the tips of her erect nipples in gold. His cock stiffened, growing achingly erect in a matter of seconds.

His mother turned, rolling to the side. Chris shifted, ready to bolt if her eyes opened. But what could he possibly say if he was discovered peeping on her like a dirty old man sneaking around the side of his neighbor's house?

"Ah." It was barely more than a whisper, a mere puff of breath between her lips. But it was hot and carnal and needy. Chris stared as a leg rose, exposing the place between his mother's legs. His mother's labia were thick and puffy, and unless his eyes were deceiving him, were slick with her female nectar.

Oh, fuck. His cock was hard as steel, straining at the zipper of his pants. It would only take a brush of his fingers to make him explode.

A brush of his fingers. Or, his traitorous imagination hinted, the feel of his mother's skin. He stared, enthralled, as a hand softly kneaded her breasts, dancing from one to another in a pattern that only she knew the rhythm to. Not huge, no. But more than enough to fill a lover's hands. More than enough for him to worship as he ought. He could imagine what her skin would taste like, lightly salted with sweat, and thick and tangy between her legs. He should go in right now. Yes. Go in and bow before her, become her lover in truth, lower himself to his knees and worship at the altar of her holy, divine sex.

His weight was actually shifting forward, his cock guiding him, as if his mother's body was a magnet and his groin a piece of steel, when his phone rang. The trembling vibration made his shaft tickle pleasantly, but the sound dashed cold water across his fevered mind.

What the fuck am I doing?

Chris jumped away, his leap turning into a scrambling, stumbling crawl as his feet went out from under him and he sprawled face-first on the ground.

Swearing under his breath, he turned over and dug his cell out of his pocket. "Yeah," he snapped.

"It's me," Sabah said.

"Yeah, I know it's you." Somehow he forced calm into his voice. "Who else would be calling me? What's up?"

"Well, they're going to hang on to the professor for tonight," his sister said. "But unless there's some sort of crazy complication, they'll release him tomorrow or the next day. But he's not going to be going anywhere for a couple of weeks, at least. I was in his room when he asked the doctor how soon he could come out to the dig, and the guy just stared at him and shook his head.

"So then he gave me a list of things a mile long to look for that I should give to Mom. I guess he thinks he's going to run things from his hospital bed or the hotel room. I told him he should go back to his apartment in Cairo, and he damn near bit my head off."

"What?"

"Oh, he's just cranky and hopped on painkillers, is all. And when he wasn't hitting on the nurses, he told me the worst joke," Sabah giggled. "Did you hear about the farmer who married a prostitute?"

"No," Chris said warily.

"Yeah." Sabah was snickering now. "She stole all his tools and ran off. So now the poor guy is completely hoeless."

"Oh, God."

"Right?" Chris knew that if Sabah was in front of him, she would have tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks.

"All right." He sat up, running his hand through his hair. He wrinkled his nose as he caught a whiff of his own smell. "So when are you going to be able to get back here? Tomorrow?"

"Maybe. Once they release Gonzalo, I'm going to help get him set up at a hotel. As soon as that's taken care of, I'll be heading out. Do you guys need me to pick up anything, since those creeps bailed on us?"

"A couple coolers full of ice and some soda would be nice," he suggested. "All we have here is water and juice."

"You got it. How's Mom?"

"Last I saw she was taking a nap," he lied.

"Good. You take care of her, hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he drawled.

"And don't forget to...oh, crap. Here comes another doctor," his sister said disgustedly. "God, it's like I'm his mother or something. All I want is to get a decent meal and go to bed. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure. Be safe out there."

"You too, little brother. Bye."

"Bye." Chris cut the connection and sidled over to the short row of tents. "Mom?" he called out hesitantly.

"Yes?" his mother answered.

"That was Sabah on the phone. She has some news."

"All right. I'll be right out."

Thank God. Or whoever. Somehow it seemed that he had not been caught. Chris couldn't imagine how uncomfortable that conversation might have been.

By the time his mother came out, he was back at the table, setting out plates for their belated dinner.

"Thanks for taking care of this, honey," Zahira said, picking out some vegetables and loading her plate. "So what did your sister say?