The House of Bondage
The day was scorching hot. The desert sands blew in the face of the Taskmaster as he oversaw the labourers. They were making good progress he thought - increasing their rations seemed to have had a positive effect - the bricks were being made and put in place faster than ever, and soon there would be a new pyramid, one that he could finally look up at with pride and say - "yes. This one: this one is mine."
The heat was getting to him, and his loins were beginning to feel it - he hadn't had a fuck in days. He went into his tent to find the water pitcher empty. He went to the entrance and stopped a passing slavegirl. She was carrying mortar in a container on her head, wearing a loose linen dress that stopped just above her ankles; her feet, brown from the sun, must have been hardened from beneath, for she wore no shoes. Her arms, strong and tanned, showed a little as she reached up, steadying the load she carried. Despite the demands of her labour and the battering of the middle-eastern sun, she remained strong, determined and, as seemed to be the way with the Israelites, dignified. Yes, this one would do nicely, he thought. This one would do very nicely indeed.
"You. Slavegirl," he called out in Egyptian. "Fetch me some more water from the river."
She turned, slowly removed the ceramic jar from her head and lowered it to the ground. She placed it carefully by the side of the road, went into his tent to retrieve the jug and went back out again.
He stretched out on his bed, awaiting her return. He watched the way her hips moved under the loose fabric as she walked through the entranceway, and the way her anklet caught the sunlight. The arid air was stirring him, and he looked down to see that he was swollen underneath his robes. He thrust a hand into them, feeling himself harden as he held himself in his hand, and waited.
Five minutes later, she returned. Setting the water down on the carved table, she glanced at him, saw him looking at her and turned to go.
"Stop. Come back here." Slowly, tentatively, she turned again. She glanced over to where he lay, saw his hand moving inside his robes as he watched her, and she knew what he was about to say.
It wouldn't be the first time. As an Israelite, modesty and chastity were key - "it's what keeps us apart, makes us a holy nation," they had drilled into her from a young age. But as a slave, she was subject to the whims of her overseers. She remembered the first time they had called her in for something like this, how he had thrown her down onto the bed, pulled up her long dress and inserted himself deep inside her. Of course, she would never breathe a word of this to her family: she was a "daughter of Israel," good and sweet and kind. She had whispered it to a friend one night, in a deserted lane on the way home from working - told her how she had gasped with fright but soon became accustomed to the sensation of something hard moving fast inside her body, and how before long she had started moving back, wanting more. A few times later and she had started waiting for it, eyeing the taskmasters as they stood watching them work, bare-chested in the sun, and she felt that warm sensation between her thighs. She had started to walk slower as she passed them, hoping they would notice her. And now she was here.
The Egyptian, still lying down, looked at her, saw her looking at him, pulled his robes apart and gestured.
"Come here," he said, "and suck my cock." It wasn't a question.
She moved forward, climbing up onto his bed and positioned herself between his legs. She bent down to where his cock stuck out, and she saw that it was already hard. She took it, and she glanced up at him for just a second, and he grabbed her head with both his hands and pushed it down hard, repeating, loudly, "I said - suck my cock."
And she opened her mouth as he pushed her face into him, and she felt his long, hard cock slide into her throat. It felt so good to have a dick in her mouth again.
She started sucking, slower at first and then faster, harder. She pressed her face against his body and felt him touch her tonsils; she sucked it until tears came into her eyes, sliding it right down to the back of her throat, stopping only to come up for air. She was choking on it when the entrance of the tent opened and another Egyptian walked in.
"Ah, Amasis. Here you are. I have something I need to discuss with you."
"Sa-ptah. It's been a while, my brother."
He moved her off him, dragging her to stand up while he talked to his friend. They spoke for a while in rapid Egyptian and she could barely follow, until there was a pause, and the second man spoke.
"I see you have quite a good little whore here. Do you mind if I..." The question wasn't addressed to her.
"No no, by all means, have a look. But don't fuck her. I prefer to keep my whores to myself as far as that goes."
"Naturally, Amasis. I wouldn't dream of fucking your slut. But you do have a knack of choosing the best ones, I must say."
And he turned to her, looking her up and down, before saying "well. Get your tits out for me, slave. Let's see you."
She looked at Amasis to make sure she should obey - she was required to take orders only from one taskmaster at a time.
"Yes, go on, Israelite. Get your tits out."
So she put her hands up to where her dress was fastened at the neck, and untied it. She pulled the fabric down, until, gradually, her breasts were entirely exposed. Both Egyptians looked at them, and she stood there in the tent wondering, somewhat excitedly, what they were going to have her do next.
"Excellent rack," said the second man, walking over to inspect her more closely. "Yes, I must say - do you mind?" His hand was poised over her right breast and he looked questioningly at Amasis, who nodded to one side. It appeared he was proud of his selection, and had no qualms about showing his friend what an excellent choice of whore he had made.
She did indeed have magnificent tits. They were huge, rounded and soft, pert, and they stuck out in the centre of the tent. She had big nipples, and they had become hardened as the men stared at her. Sa-ptah put his hands on her breasts, one hand on each, and squeezed.
"What I came here to tell you, brother," he continued, and began a lengthy explanation of some logistical problem they were having with the pyramid, and as he spoke, he continued squeezing her breasts, occasionally putting his fingers around her nipples, squeezing them between his thumb and forefinger so that they became even harder. She relaxed into it, enjoying the sensation of strong, muscular hands on her body, She became wetter and wetter, until she was sure she was about to start dripping down her legs, and eventually she was no longer able to control herself, and a moan escaped her lips.
"Ahh, I see she is enjoying this, our little slut."
"Ahem." Amasis looked at him.
"Apologies, Ams, I'm sorry. Your little slut. It appears she - yes," and he lifted her skirt, which still hung around her waist, and slid his hand in between her steaming thighs. "Yes, Ams, she has become quite wet - look." And he brought his finger out to show his friend, who smiled and laughed.
"My my," Amasis remarked. "You're not supposed to be enjoying it, whore." And he strode over to where she stood, tits out, in the middle of the tent. He pulled her skirt off her, and suddenly she was entirely naked, in a tent with two Egyptian men staring at her body. Amasis dragged her towards the bed and pushed her down and said "show me."
She knew what he wanted to see. She opened her legs, sitting back a little so there was room to spread them as wide as she could, and she reached between them and pulled her lips apart. Amasis stepped closer and leaned in, and as he did so she exposed for him her dripping pussy.
"Yes. Come here, Sa-ptah, this is something you need to see."
And the second man moved closer also, bringing his face down to eye level with her pussy and staring at her right between the thighs.
Amasis thrust his hand inside her, and laughed at her as she inhaled sharply and moaned with pleasure.
"It appears the Israelite women are far less chaste than they would have us believe."
And he kept moving his hand inside her for a few moments while they concluded the rest of their business talk. By the time they had finished, she was holding herself back from begging them to fuck her.
"Haha - and now, slut, you will be punished for your lewdness." He pulled his hand sharply out from where he had been fingering her, and said, sharply, "turn over. Get on your hands and knees." Again, as before, it wasn't a question.
And she stayed on her hands and knees on the bed, with her ass out, thrust towards them, while the two men took turns to spank her. It stung, and she was sure that her cheeks were burning red, but she found herself pushing her ass back towards them to greet the oncoming hand. He spanked until, once again, she was dripping.
They laughed as they heard her moaning in pleasure, and they spanked her hard.
Eventually, Amasis turned to his friend and said "Okay Sa-ptah, you may go now. I want to fuck this whore without your watchful gaze, thank you."
Sa-ptah left the tent, and Amasis moved onto the bed, lying lazily on the pillows; he pulled her from her position on all fours and rammed her down hard on his waiting dick.
"Okay you little Israelite slut. Dance on my cock for me. I'm waiting."
And she sat on top of his dick, and saw that he, still wearing his robes, was waiting for her to do her job as his whore. She began to move up and down on top of him, and when she did so her huge tits bounced up and down as he watched. She pulled up, until he was only just inside her, and then moved sharply downwards so that his dick ran up the whole length of her pussy. She did this a few more times, and soon she was moaning again; then he got up and pushed her over so that her ass was in the air, and he thrust his cock inside her again, ramming it hard. He smacked her ass again and again as he fucked her; an Egyptian woman walking outside the tent heard the sound of his hand against her skin, and her cries as he called out "yeah, you little whore, you love it, don't you, I know you love it."
"Yeah," she responded, forgetting herself for a moment - "yeah, I love it! Fuck me, Oh! Fuck me!"
And then he exploded inside her, warm and thick, and she let out a cry of ecstasy.
"Well, slave, you fuck good. I see you have done this before." She shied away as she pulled her dress over her head, tying it securely around the neckline and letting it fall so that it covered her ankles.
"Do you have a name, slave? I might call for you again."
She paused at the entrance to the tent, before disappearing back into the day.
"Yes," she said. "It's Miriam."
After the intense encounter, Miriam felt a deep desire for release once again. She slipped into the shadows, away from the watchful eyes of the Egyptians. In the dimly lit corner of the desert, she found a small, hidden alcove. Inside, she saw an erotic painting depicting scenes of BDSM and aroused figures. The image of a woman wearing a panty garter belt and stockings stirred something inside her. She admired the woman's confidence and the sensual power she exuded. Miriam, too, wanted to feel that power.
Inspired, she returned to her tent, where she had hidden a small collection of items. She found a pair of lace panties and a matching garter belt, the sight of which sent a shiver down her spine. She slipped into them, feeling the silky fabric against her skin. Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw a transformation - she felt empowered, intrigued, and excited. She closed her eyes and imagined herself as the woman in the painting, taking control of her own pleasure.
As she touched herself, she thought of the Taskmaster, his dominant presence, and the intimate encounter they shared. She imagined him watching her, his gaze darkening as she moved closer, closer still. She heard his voice, whispering dirty secrets in her ear, and she let herself go, surrendering to the erotic image in her mind. With every moan and gasp, she felt closer to release, this time a sweet and powerful orgasm fueled by desire and imagery.