The Priestess and the Queen
Vengeance and the Breeding Ceremony: Part 1 of 3
An exotic erotic collaboration between Posy Churchgate & JK Mill
The lamps flickered making shadows leap, and the hieroglyphics on the walls of the temple seemed animated as Queen Sefideh knelt beside her young husband. This was a closed ceremony, only the royal couple and the seven handmaidens to the gods occupied the hallowed space. Outside the heavy doors, Nubian slaves stood guard, having pledged their lives to the protection and veneration of King Hepsekar.
The King’s usually tan skin looked unhealthy in the gloom. Sheened with sweat, he trembled and began to shake, as the bitter herbs ground into an essence that he had recently swallowed began to assault his system. His groan was muted, he would not have shown weakness, but his stomach spasmed and the chamber see-sawed while his vision became shadowy.
Two female celebrants came to his aid, standing on either side of him. They had rare permission to touch his royal person, so they supported his arms and lowered him to a rug in front of the altar before he passed out and fell. His wife rose from her knees and was guided away to sit on a golden dias by another of the High Priestess’ handmaidens. From this vantage point, she would watch them enact a fertility enhancement ceremony on Hepsekar.
Her mouth was dry with anticipation, but when she saw Priestess Ntuk approach her husband, with nothing to conceal her slender nakedness except the ancient mystical symbols etched on her body with grease paint, she felt more alive than she could remember.
It was more than the possibility of an heir that excited her, though she knew that would relieve her husband’s heart. A year had passed since they were married in a ceremony far more lavish and public than this one, and Sefideh had yet to quicken with child. The worry weighed on Hepsekar like a pyramid stone, and the young queen knew the fault was her own.
An heir and a content king were enough to lift her heart, but as she watched Ntuk place her hands on her husband’s wide shoulders, chanting softly, she realised the lightness in her being was more than that; she wanted to watch this ceremony, to bear witness to the act that would produce her a child.
She swallowed and licked her lips to relieve the dryness, spellbound as Ntuk slid her hands from her husband’s shoulders to his hips, then to his ankles, and back to his shoulders. Hepsekar was now unconscious, but the priestess’ touch and her words were having an effect: his manhood growing erect, his chest rising and falling with faster breaths.
Sefideh’s eyes locked onto Ntuk’s full lips as she intoned ancient chants and prayers known only to a handmaiden to the gods, such as she was. Her fascination grew as Ntuk’s long-fingered hands made delicate strokes that hovered over her husband’s heart, then splayed over his taut stomach, before finally grasping the priapic evidence of his potent lust. Perhaps she should have been jealous to watch another woman touch her master, their king, in such a way but at first she was not. On the contrary, her mouth watered and heat bloomed between her thighs watching the intimate contact, until she shifted to the edge of her throne with excitement.
Ntuk was standing over Hepsekar now, raising her arms in supplication to the spirits of his ancestors, her breasts undulated like ripe fruit. Sefideh imagined herself slipping one dark nipple between her teeth to draw the succulent berry into her mouth. Unconsciously her hand slipped from her thigh to the heat of her intimate folds as she watched, and she stroked herself with rhythmic rotations.
The priestess Ntuk was absorbed in the task of grasping and massaging her king’s throbbing cock, coaxing precious seed into his testes while calling on Annat the goddess of fertility for her blessings, and Bes god of childbirth and sexuality to charge and anoint his rod. She swayed her wide hips as she pumped him with long, slow strokes and was aware of how her own loins flared with lust.
She poured blessed oils into her palms then worked a finger into Hepsekar’s back passage, massaging the nodule of ultimate pleasure and release secreted there. The young king groaned but his eyes did not open, and Sefideh wondered what visions danced behind his eyelids as Ntuk straddled his waist, aiming him toward her own glistening entrance.
Sefideh and the priestess sighed as one as Ntuk lowered herself onto the king’s rod. Now Sefideh enjoyed visions of her own; of the many times Hepsekar had bedded her in their chamber, beginning on their wedding night. His youth allowed him to give her his seed several times in the course of a night, their enthusiastic coupling lasting far longer than the reed wicks of the candles which shone upon their glistening skin.
She could almost feel what Ntuk was feeling now, the slow invasion of the king’s cock, opening and filling her as she took more and more of him inside. Almost without thought, she stopped stroking her folds, and pressed two fingers within her, as if to match the sensation in Ntuk’s own loins.
Sefideh also had an intimation of what Hepsekar would feel, were he awake because she had already explored the channel leading to the womb that would carry her child.
When her king had suggested a fertility ceremony following four full seasons of barrenness, Sefideh was wracked with guilt, so she had eagerly agreed, though the king didn’t require her permission. He did not seek it, either; one morning he simply announced he had directed the High Priestess Khepri to make preparations, including finding a suitable candidate. The High Priestess herself was far too old but suggested Ntuk, her apprentice since she was eight years old. Now, a dozen years later, Ntuk was already expected to succeed Khepri.
Once Sefideh learned Ntuk was to lie with her husband, she visited the temple. It was dark and smelled of incense, but also stranger, foul-smelling herbs. Sefideh was alarmed that the ceremony was to be held in such a foreboding place, but understood the favour of the gods would be needed if she and Hepsekar were to have an heir. Coupling was normally a joyous, light-filled act, more suitable for the bed chamber or even outside, in Ra’s bright rays. But for a king and queen, it is also a deadly serious matter. Without an heir, rivals would circle like the vultures in the desert, ready to feast on lost travelers.
The queen found the priestess naked in her cell at the rear of the temple, bathing with a swatch of linen and a bowl of water.
Sefideh did not apologize for the intrusion, and Ntuk made no motion to hide her nakedness. As the next High Priestess, Ntuk did not serve in the temple one month of every four like most clerics; she had lived there since she was a child, chosen before she even became a woman. So she had grown accustomed to having her own space, away from the others, and followed her own routine.
“Iy, my queen,” Ntuk said. “Ra’s blessings upon you.”
“Would that Bes and Annat bless me instead,” Sefideh replied, her tone as bitter as the herbs being burned in the temple. “So, you are to lie with my husband? To bear my — our — child?”
“I have been chosen,” Ntuk replied, her voice even. “I will obey the command of the King.”
“No doubt,” Sefideh said.
Her eyes narrowed as she inspected the naked girl in front of her, just two harvests younger: long, shapely legs, small breasts, those nipples like dark berries, her eyes decorated with galena and malachite, her lips with red ochre. “It seems modesty and virtue are of little concern to you, after all.”
Absurd that she should be envious of this lithe creature, pledged to a life of servitude and piety in the temple, but heat inflamed her cheeks nonetheless.
“I am here to ensure you are suitable,” she said. “I will not have my husband lie with an inferior girl.”
“Like me, you have no choice,” Ntuk replied, and used the linen to wash her breasts, the cold water causing her dark nipples to harden. Her eyes did not leave Sefideh’s own. “The King has made his decision and his decree, and preparations have begun.”
“All the same, I will conduct my inspection. Unless it is your intention to disobey your Queen?”
Sefideh realised that her passion, in that moment, was attraction and lust commingled with resentment and jealousy. With a tilt to her chin and a flash in her dark eyes that left no room to back down, she cupped the priestess’ right breast as if it was simply produce in the market. She assessed the other breast the same way, giving no indication how touching the soft flesh thrilled her. She prowled behind Ntuk and scowled at her swollen hips and ripe buttocks, the queen was not blessed with such an abundance of curves.
“Bend over,” she growled, and even though Ntuk was already beginning to comply, she pressed on her lower back, asserting her dominance.
This posture displayed the folds of the priestess’ genitals, plump like a glistening pink purse. Sefideh bit back a sigh, her attraction to this woman was alarming in its intensity. She was in danger of losing her composure and kneeling to lap at her greedily. She gnawed her cheek as a distraction while pressing her thighs together.
“Are you good breeding stock?” she asked, almost rhetorically, before reaching forward to insert a finger between Ntuk’s outer lips.
The priestess sucked in a silent breath, but did not move. Sefideh began sliding her finger in and out, luxuriating in the handmaiden’s heat and lubrication, and savouring the sucking noises her thrusting produced. Sefideh’s own thighs moistened with cyprine emissions as she fingered the inner and outer labia presented to her. Now her pulse was a steady drumbeat between her ears.
In the centre of the temple, as the handmaidens watched, their faces like the stony statues looming above them all, the King groaned again.
But he did not wake as Ntuk placed her feet on the floor to provide her more leverage. Now that she had sunk deep on the king’s rod, she prepared to spear herself vigorously upon it, to draw out his seed.
Sefideh was aware the handmaidens could see her, but the sight before her was too arousing to care; she continued to match Ntuk’s movements, plunging her fingers in and out of her own wet channel as Ntuk rose and fell on Hepsekar’s cock, her pants echoing off the walls and louder than Sefideh’s quick, shallow breaths.
Sefideh moved her eyes from Ntuk’s heavy, swaying breasts, to her flushed face, before looking at where she was joined most intimately with her husband. Now she felt the cold claws of jealousy on her hot skin, even as she pleasured herself to the sight. Was the harlot enjoying herself? Surely she was no simple cleric merely performing her duty! Her eyes flashed with lust, sparking diamonds set in the centre of two black kohl circles. Her nipples stood out shamelessly, and as her gasps grew louder, brazen, they drowned out the blood rushing in Sefideh’s head.
The mixture of lust and resentment would drive her mad, surely. One moment she wanted to kiss Ntuk, to feel those hot breaths in her own mouth. The next, she wanted to seize her, free the king from her velvet grip, and claw the eyes from her head.
It was at that moment that something shifted in Hepsekar. His whole body tensed as his back arched up from the temple floor. When his eyes sprang open, they were dark, frighteningly dark; the bitter herbs of the fertility potion had blown his pupils wide and pulled his mouth into a rictus grin. His usually handsome face seemed gaunt in that flash when he became present in the ceremony, but his body did the opposite of protest. It responded, to swell in the liquid heat of Ntuk’s cloaking channel. Hepsekar began thrusting his hips in a manic rhythm, fucking upwards and grunting with the exertion.
Ntuk, for her part, rose and fell, retaining some grace in her undulations against the young king’s rampant lust. But she bit her lip, his forays were brutal and he was surely bruising her as he jerked between her spread legs with all the urgency of a painted dog.
Something spiraled inside his wife, Sefideh as she watched this coupling. It lit the touchpaper of her arousal until she was consumed in flames which enveloped her in a body-wrenching climax. Her copious juices ran around her fingers to track down her legs. But she continued to drive all four knuckles deep into her opening. She yearned to experience the same brutality as Ntuk, because she could not deny the sense that this priestess was stealing something that should have been hers.
The phalanx of blessed handmaidens, who had remained mute but watchful throughout the proceedings so far, sensed that their king’s moment of fruitful expulsion drew near. They began to chant, intoning prayers and entreaties to the gods Ra, Bes and Annat for blessings on this union, for human seed to be sown, for it to grow and ripen within the vessel that Ntuk provided. Their hopes and pleas wove into a thrumming chant which they offered with piety and reverence. All the while, the naked couple writhed and bucked before them, intent on consummating their union with abandoned ferocity.
As if responding to the rising volume and urgency of the chants, Hepsekar grunted louder and his rhythm escalated into a frenzy, his fingers digging into the flesh just above Ntuk’s hips bidding her to match the pace of his passion with her own movements.
To Sefideh, whose mind was a swirling storm of euphoric satisfaction, continued lust, and envy, everything then happened at once, an assault on nearly every one of her senses.
The prayers of the handmaidens and pants of Hepsekar, Ntuk, and herself filled her ears; her fingers filled her soaking channel, and the sight of her husband straining to lift his hips from the floor and bury his cock as deep as it may go in this harlot priestess, filled her sight.
Ntuk and Sefideh screamed in unison as ecstasy overcame them, and then Hepsekar added a lion’s roar to the wanton chorus as it overcame him too. Spent, his body slackened, and he merely lay there, panting, the deed done.
Stillness and silence gathered around them like a cloak. Ntuk made no movement to dismount her King. Rather, she moved her head slowly, turning to face Sefideh as an asp might track its helplessly exposed prey: a woman overtaken and shamed by giving into lustful temptation a second time. And this time, in front of these holy handmaidens, compounding the dishonour of being supplanted as her husband’s vessel.
Ntuk’s lips formed a hideous replica of a smile, her eyes still shone in their black holes, and Sefideh felt chilled down to her bones, despite the flush in her breast and the hot liquid running down her thighs.
“I have obeyed,” Ntuk said, lips curled in a hyena’s snarl. “May Ra bestow his blessings upon this child, that he fulfils his destiny.”
[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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