The King, the Priestess, and the Queen
Ntuk knelt — It was not customary to kiss royal feet, so the gesture was as unusual as it was sensual : Part 2 of 3
An exotic erotic collaboration between Posy Churchgate & JK Mill
Continues from The Priestess and the Queen, but can be read alone
Ntuk found herself irresistibly drawn to the herbal area of the royal gardens. It was not necessary for her to gather the leaves and berries in person, but she commandeered the task because it provided opportunities to watch the young prince at play, his chubby legs and arms were sturdy and burnished bronze from playing outdoors in the sun.
Under the watchful eye of Queen Sefideh’s handmaidens, he explored his surroundings, was spoiled with cuddles, and treated to sweetmeats. Ntuk’s arms ached to stroke his dark curled hair and embrace him, but the secrecy around his conception forced the priestess to content herself with watching from afar. Her part in his life, as the womb that had carried the royal baby, had passed.
Her hands fluttered over her stomach, which had once swollen to hold the prince’s tiny body to gestation, but she hurriedly gripped the tops of her arms which were decorated with beaten gold bracelets shaped like king cobras. Jealously slithered in Ntuk’s stomach, like a writhing mass of bitter snakes.
She had done her duty as a fertile vessel, with no concept of the longing she would feel to keep the babe close once he was born. She was deprived of a moment to hold him or nurse him to her swollen breasts, instead, Rahmun had been cleaned and swaddled, then presented to his father King Hepsekar, and his wife Queen Sefideh. So the lie of his parentage began.
It was as she watched Rahmun run unsteadily near the narcissus flowers that the plan to correct the falsehood bloomed. With a final, longing look back at the prince, she went to the farthest end of the herbal garden, where the most powerful flowers and herbs grew. It didn’t take her long to find what she sought: the white datura plant.
In small doses, the seeds of the plant, mixed with dates and administered ever so carefully by the priests and priestesses in the temple, helped bring on visions of the gods.
Ntuk smiled a cunning smile and sang to herself as she picked the plants.
Queen Sefideh had been content to ignore Ntuk’s existence in the three years since Rahmun’s birth, bathing in the radiant smile Hepseskar always wore now that he had a son and heir, and immersing herself in his renewed lust in their marriage bed. She avoided the temple and that troublesome, disturbing girl. Sometimes, however, thoughts would intrude, visions of abundant curves, of large breasts, capped by dark berries, of a heavenly cleft….
And now, a servant had just announced the haughty and bizarre priestess requesting an audience. Sefideh waved a hand dismissively.
“Allow her entrance,” she ordered. “Walk to the other end of the palace, and then return to escort her away; I suspect our conversation will not last long.”
Without realising what she did, she ran her hands through her hair and adjusted her gown, ensuring it flowed elegantly over her narrow frame. It was with purpose that she flattened her lips and narrowed her eyes in a scowl as Ntuk entered the chamber.
The last time the queen had seen Ntuk she was screaming in agony, pushing her son from her womb as Sefideh looked on, as immune to the screams and pain as a statue of Anubis. But the vision that often woke her, sweating, in the night was of Ntuk astride her husband’s hips, his rod notched to the hilt as he luxuriated in her fecundity.
Today Ntuk looked properly obsequious in the presence of her queen.
““Iy, my queen,” Ntuk said. “Ra’s blessings upon you.”
“What brings you here?” Sefideh’s tone was chilly, even as hot oil gathered at her cleft.
Ntuk acting contrite and subservient was quite the aphrodisiac. She’d love to break the young woman’s habitual haughtiness and make her beg for a taste or a touch. But the queen maintained her mask, a bored smile painted on like the kohl that elongated her eyes.
“How is Hepsekar?” Ntuk lowered her eyes to the floor as she asked.
“Your King is in good health, resplendent and vigorous,” Sefideh bristled.
Was this woman, this servant to the gods, underestimating her? Did she presume to have some connection with Hepsekar after that one, torrid night? Or worse, did she know something, had been witness to a portent of ill health? Sefideh’s mind raced while she struggled to keep her face neutral.
“And you, my Queen, are you … fulfilled?”
Now the priestess’ huge dark eyes flicked up and connected with Sefideh’s, in an unwavering stare that made her squirm in her carved chair. When Ntuk dropped slowly to her knees, her diaphanous gown skimmed across ample breasts topped with mouth-watering berry nipples. She lowered her head, making the beads in her braided hair clack softly as she leaned forward to press her lips to Queen Sefideh’s feet.
It was not the custom to kiss the feet of royalty, so the gesture was as unusual as it was sensual. Ntuk’s warm lips and moist tongue paid homage to the smooth upper planes of Sefideh’s feet, while the priestess’ slender fingers began to stroke softly, but insistently up her ankles weaving patterns around her calves as they rose.
Initially, Sefideh’s lips parted in surprise, but quickly they were brushed with fast breaths and soft moans. She gave herself over to the sensations elicited by Ntuk’s mouth and tongue. How could this be happening, such a rush of feeling in so short a time? Simply from the other woman’s caresses. She did not invite this, she barely liked the …oh …oh…
It was upon her! A hectic, dizzying climax that gushed through Sefideh’s loins like water over a weir.
When suddenly both women heard the soft slap of sandals, they reacted with haste. Ntuk pushed away from Sefideh’s feet, and in synchronicity the Queen rose, standing to face the servant, returned from her prescribed circuit.
“I cannot make a decision now,” Sefideh ad-libbed, with unidentified passion in her voice. “Come again, at the same time tomorrow,” she told Ntuk. “I will consider your request.”
Ntuk’s look was complicit, a familiar flash of power in her gaze. The queen, in her vanity, mistook its meaning. And so it began, the priestess visiting her queen, to consult with her on matters only the two of them could know.
This continued for weeks thereafter; the queen and the priestess meeting every day to satisfy their lust.
And to hatch a plot against the king.
They lay for hours upon the queen’s bed, exchanging tender and truculent touches as they fought for dominance, even as they sought to satisfy their carnal needs. Afterward, Ntuk would whisper into Sefideh’s ear, planting seeds and grafting devious ideas to grow, as she would in the herbal garden. She weaved elaborate dreams of ruling Egypt alone.
Sefideh was not Egyptian, but a bride from another land, and was thus not familiar with all of the customs of the country. Ntuk kept this in the forefront of her mind as she spoke, stroking Sefideh’s hips and legs as they reclined.
“So you see, my beloved…Hepsekar has served his purpose in precisely the way I have, he as the seed, I as the vessel. Now you have a healthy, strong prince you may raise to take his rightful place years hence,” she said. “With Hepsekar….removed…you, and you alone could rule Egypt as you please.”
Making love to Ntuk had weakened the wall of her queen’s imperiousness, brick by brick, and the priestess sensed she was close to breaching it. Now she could enter her mind and soul, and pillage…
“A superior ruler,” Sefideh said, her voice as harsh as Ntuk’s caresses were soft. “I would rule far better than him. I would grow the army, expand our territory, and bring much glory upon Egypt.”
“I have no doubt,” Ntuk said. “Our people will welcome it. I would act as your intercessor on Ra’s behalf when I become High Priestess.”
‘Yes, yes,” Sefideh said, waving her hand as if to brush away an insect. “You will have your title as well.”
Ntuk was silent, but continued caressing Sefideh, her hands tickled across her belly, and cupped her breasts as she began to prize apart the older woman’s thighs, to lap like a cat with her tongue. Should she try to crumble too many bricks with too much haste, she would make her queen suspicious.
“But how shall we do it?” Sefideh asked when she could finally breathe without gasping from Ntuk’s forays into her silken depths.
“We lie with him together, my love,” Ntuk said and licked her lips. “We both know he would welcome nothing more: His wife and his vessel in obedience to his wishes, pleasing him together, as one. Then, I shall use a hollow, poisoned needle to prick him. He shall bleed inside his body, and die later when we have left him.”
“But would he not feel the sting of the needle?” Sefideh asked. Even with her dull wit, she deduced they would be suspected. “Your plan seems to have faults as deep as a canyon, girl.”
“No, my dearest. If we are skillful enough with the needle he will not feel it, especially when we create a cloud of lust in his mind. We will obscure his thoughts, and all feeling but for that between his legs. But for the physicians, you will add a tincture in his honeyed drink to induce a harmless rash, and his death shall occur hours later, and be a mystery to all.”
“I would join in the nation’s mourning, and my grief would be genuine,” Sefideh said, staring dully at the ceiling of the chamber. She entertained visions of herself on the ancestral gold throne surrounded by courtiers and accompanied by Rahmun as a young, strong man. Her son as the future king was Sefideh’s most glorious imagining.
“But one day must end before another, more glorious one can dawn.”
“I have a surprise for you, my Master,” Sefideh used a silken tone, almost wheedling as she pressed her slender body against the King’s back.
Hepsekar’s toned muscles rippled under her questing fingers, and he startled when she delved beneath his loincloth. The heat of her hand made his passion stir and swell as her grasp encompassed his girth.
“What kind of surprise?” Hepsekar was indulgent and curious, liking this playful side to his wife.
“Something old and something new,” she answered cryptically.
Sefideh unfastened the clasps at the shoulders of her robe, which dropped to the floor so she stood before him, naked and smiling.
King Hepsekar quickly shed his loincloth and stepped closer, fascinated by the patterns inked on Sefideh’s skin. His rod hardened in appreciation and anticipation, but a movement in his peripheral vision made him stop.
The priestess Ntuk had stepped from behind a curtain. Her naked body was adorned in the same way as his wife, with curlicues and whorls that made her plump flesh both hypnotising and beguiling. He felt compelled to explore the mysteries of each woman in turn, the fecund and the lean, the familiar and the fresh.
“Something new, my lord,” Ntuk spoke softly, “for you have no recall of the night your son was conceived.”
“No, none at all,” his voice, deep but smooth, held a trace of wonder.
Sefideh turned to a side table to lift an ornate bottle waiting beside three goblets. From her standpoint, she could see that the one decorated with malachite and ruby had powder in its base, so she tilted the bottle to pour the drink into that one first. She offered it to her husband with lowered eyes.
“A toast to us,” she suggested, “to celebrate our union.”
Now the king understood. Excitement lit his face and pumped blood to his burgeoning erection. Two devoted women to pleasure him all night would be a delightful interlude, perhaps adding substance to the ethereal impressions that lingered from the breeding ceremony.
The Queen took a sip from her goblet, letting the sweet drink coat her tongue, but Ntuk tilted her vessel toward her chest, letting the liquid flow in rivulets. Hepsekar watched with fascination as it tracked the swell of her full breasts and dripped onto her stomach and hips. When his wife sank to her knees and began to lave Ntuk’s belly and underbreasts with her tongue, lust bloomed between his thighs to bead at the tip of his shaft.
All Sefideh’s anxiety about their plot abated when she embraced Ntuk’s hips, following the trails of nectar-sweet liquid that coated her skin. She could worship this body with her tongue for hours, had they not done so in her bedchamber? An audience to her sapphic ministrations seemed to enhance the sensations, so when she pulled at one of Ntuk’s puffy nipples she was gratified to hear her husband groan almost as loud as her lover.
The Priestess widened her stance, an invitation to Sefideh to press be-ringed fingers to her heavy labia, already pouting and glossed with excitement. When the queen teased her slit, Ntuk almost growled with pleasure, instead she bit her ochre-tinted lip and tilted her wide hips forward, thrusting her little pearl to be grazed by the caress.
The tableau before Hepsekar’s eyes drew one hand towards his member, which he stroked with languid movements. He appreciated the lascivious actions of his wife as she pleasured the younger, riper priestess. Her nimble fingers coaxed sighs of bliss and licentious rocks from Ntuk’s hips.
Sefideh turned to her husband, licking wet from her fingers in a cat-like manner, and beckoned him closer.
“Will you taste my lord?”
Again she buried three fingers to the hilt in Ntuk’s channel to offer them to her husband, sticky with her lover’s building arousal.
“Yes,” he answered, his voice deep and distant with lust, his eyes fixed on the hand that had thrust in and out of Ntuk. He sucked on her fingers, savouring the cyprine fluid.
“Does it please you, husband?” Sefideh asked, reaching down to replace the hand on his member with her own, stroking it at a faster pace.
“It does,” he said. “I want to drink directly from the font!”
“Yes, my king,” Ntuk said. “Lie on the bed. Our queen can continue to pleasure you as you indulge.”
Once he was upon the bed, Ntuk lowered herself upon his face, with the same, smooth motion with which she had sunk upon his rod during the ceremony. The king made decidedly unregal noises as he lapped and slurped at her soaking folds. Sefideh made common primal noises as she sucked and licked hungrily on his rod, causing the king to groan into Ntuk’s hot core.
She could not help but look up along his torso, to the skin near the plates of his chest muscles where the needle would pierce his flesh.
Again her head filled with intoxicating visions of herself on the throne, and her eagerness for that moment catalysed a renewed fervour. She moved her mouth rapidly up and down the length of his member.
Her gold-trimmed vision of the throne room was shattered by Ntuk’s screams, as bliss overcame her. The holy woman ground herself down on the king’s face, seeking out every vestige of contact with his rapid, questing tongue. She quaked as the pleasure coursed through her, and then stilled Hepsekar with a hand on his head.
“Gods! I must have one of you!” Hepsekar exclaimed. “Now!”
Quickly, Sefideh moved beside him on all fours, and raised her narrow rear end, presenting her enflamed lips for her husband. He wasted no time rising into position behind her, grunting as his member slid into her wet, waiting channel.
The priestess, briefly satisfied but not fully sated, positioned herself at the queen’s head, offering her slick lips. Sefideh lapped eagerly, devouring the nectar. As much as she tried to remain aloof, she knew in this moment, licking Ntuk’s folds, flicking at her pearl, that the haughty and dark priestess, the mother of her child, would always stir her loins.
She moaned as Hepsekar thrust into her with abandon, eager to cool the boiling cauldron in his scrotum.
The room echoed with their moans and pants, each reaching for the height of bliss while seeking to give release to another.
Ntuk screamed her ecstasy first. Her hand was in Sefideh’s black hair, pushing her head upon her as she had pushed herself onto Hepsekar’s tongue and lips. She shivered and quaked beneath her queen, which in turn caused the king to explode, emptying his fertile seed deep into Sefideh’s barren womb with a final, brutal thrust. Her scream joined his as she too found release, the moment all the more transcendent because she knew it would be the last time she satisfied and failed him at the same time.
The king fell to the bed, breathing hard, and the women nestled against him, one on each side, their legs draped over his, running their hands over his proud chest to encourage his recovery.
It took only a few minutes before his member started to become rigid again, with both the queen and the priestess using soft touches to encourage its stiffening.
“You’ve had the old, and now…does it please you to partake in the new?” Ntuk cooed into one ear.
“This time, you shall be able to savour the experience,” Sefideh murmured into the other. No hesitance remained; it would be now, while he fervently copulated with the priestess, that they would put him to death.
“Sit up, your majesty,” Ntuk’s voice was honeyed with seduction.
Her slender arms pulled at his shoulders, drawing him up to a seated position on the raised bed, then she was swaying sensuously as if music played in her head. She lifted her arms as she danced, making her pear-shaped breasts shimmy hypnotically. As Ntuk undulated her hips her belly palpated, charming the king as if she were a serpent.
Ntuk continued to dance, and Sefideh knelt between her husband’s thighs, closing her mouth around his straining sceptre, coated with the familiar tang of her fluids. Now was the turn of the priestess: While they shared the pleasure of this moment they’d also carry the burden of the blame. His rod nudged the back of his wife’s throat but she did not pull away. Instead, she pressed further, until her mouth and eyes watered, and Hepsekar sucked in a breath.
The king rested one hand on the back of Sefideh’s head. It was heavy without controlling how she worshipped his straining flesh with lips and tongue. He could not pull his attention away from Ntuk, who swayed just out of reach, like a reed in the breeze. She cupped her breasts and twisted her nipples, making his heart thud in his chest as never before. He had to bed this enchanting woman, he felt intoxicated by her forbidden fruit. With his wife servicing his manhood, licking his balls while massaging his perineum, the king’s sap rose and swelled his throbbing dimensions.
“Tease me no more,” his voice cracked and his eyes flashed with the certainty of a man used to being obeyed.
Sefideh backed away from the bed, letting Ntuck step closer. The fruit and musk fragrance of the priestess’ arousal made Hepsekar’s cock twitch. Ntuk’s engorged labia winked, pink and dewy as she straddled the hips of her ruler, but still she held herself a little out of reach.
“Help me, Sefideh,” she crooned. Her body’s thirst pierced like a physical pain.
“Our master is big and my channel is tight.”
When Sefideh stepped close, her breast brushed Ntuk’s shoulder. She applied her fingers to her lover’s wet folds, holding the priestess open and spread for the king’s first thrust. She also rotated her thumb against the swollen stalk of Ntuk’s clit and was rewarded with a groan of delight.
“Take me, my king.” Ntuk threw back her head.
She thrust those berry-tipped breasts in his face as she angled her hips to better accommodate his size.
With a roar, Hepsekar thrust up into her, he was a hunter staking his prey, claiming his prize and soaking himself with her juices. Ntuk thrashed in eager response, she bounced in his lap, jouncing on the rigidity that Sefideh had coaxed with her mouth.
The queen was stirred to touch herself as she watched Ntuk rise and fall on the king’s priapic staff. As their breathing became ragged and their movements more intense, she stood, pinching one nut-brown nipple while rubbing her fingers within her own sticky cleft before remembering she had a task to complete. She reached under the edge of the bed for the long, thin needle that the priestess had provided.
While Hepsekar pounded into the molten lava between Ntuk’s spread legs, Sefideh moved to stand on the side of the king where his heart was beating, then she leaned closer, to tickle his ear with her tongue. She splayed slim fingers on his chest, brushing one peaked nipple as she located the cage of his ribs. Then she pressed the needle into the flesh between two ribs, while she simultaneously snared his nipple in a pincer-like grip and bit his earlobe with the intent to bruise.
Several things happened in that key moment. When the king cried out from those three sharp pains, Ntuk tightened her muscles to speed her climax, jerking her hips and leaning her weight back so Hepsekar could drive deep and find completion himself. Sefideh rotated the needle within his chest cavity, intent on spreading the essence from the datura plant and causing internal bleeding. She removed the needle and dropped it, kicking it under the bed. She flicked both Hepsekar’s nipples insistently, keeping his body in the throes of euphoria, but as she studied his face, with his eyes closed and his mouth arranged in a beatific smile, she was already seeing his death mask.
Ntuk was in the throes of la petite mort herself, her nails digging into the king’s chest, her visage a vision of ecstasy, as he gave his final, brutal thrusts, depositing his seed a second and final time into the priestess.
Having provided the sting, Sefideh applied the salve, stroking the king’s hair gently with one hand, and his abused chest with the other as he descended from his height of bliss. She looked at Ntuk with a proud smile. Unlike Hepsekar, the priestess was not still in the drowsy haze that carnal satisfaction brings to most. Her eyes flashed deep within her kohl sockets, her face a hideous parody of triumph.
“It is done,” she said. Hepsekar understood her to be speaking to him.
“It is indeed,” he said. “I am too drained to continue this night, but there shall be many others, with you both here to sate your king’s lust.”
“But of course, my love,” Sefideh cooed as she continued to massage his head and his torso. “There are so many delights yet to come. Aren’t there, Ntuk?”
“Yes, my queen,” she replied, dismounting the king to lie next to him, her hands joining Sefideh’s on his chest, caressing the very spot he had been punctured. She confirmed no blood had leaked from him, though even now, the blood spilled inside him.
“Pleasure each other,” Hepsekar commanded.
His eyes looked hooded with drowsiness now that his passion was spent, but he sighed contentedly as the women gave a tender display of kisses and caresses. They nibbled earlobes, licked at salt on each other’s skin while rubbing their breasts and thighs together. His eyes drifted closed and he slept.
“You must wash the goblets,” Ntuk told Sefideh when the king’s breathing became gentle snores.
“I?” Sefideh was even less inclined to do manual labour than she was to take commands. That they were co-conspirators did not change the proper way of things; she was still the queen, and soon to be the sole ruler of Egypt.
“There must be no trace of the powder that will induce the rash.”
“And what will you be doing?” Sefideh’s words dripped with disdain.
“I shall apply honey to his puncture wound and dispose of the hollow needle.”
“Very well,” Sefideh said, her tone making it clear it was decidedly not. She used a basin in the chamber to rinse both goblets as Ntuk spread honey upon the spot Sefideh had punctured the king, then donned her robe.
“Now leave us,” she said, her voice cold as a crypt under the sand. “I would be alone with him in his final hours.”
Ntuk waited until the chamber door slammed behind her before she made her quiet but vehement retort, hissed into the empty corridor like a viper: “And yours.”
[To be Continued …]
This story was a joint collaboration with JK Mill writer of original erotica and owner/editor of the magazine The Smut Mill.
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