• Home
  • /
  • Stories Hub
  • /
  • Erotic Horror
  • /
  • A God of Old Ch. 11

A God of Old Ch. 11

12

Ancient Egypt:

How long was I in that cell?

Nahanit looked around as the wagon trundled through the city. Memphis was still familiar, but it was obvious that much had changed.

The forceful eviction from her cell would have been enough excitement for a long time.

But the guard who had dragged her out had then shoved her onto the back of a line of fellow prisoners. While most were similarly forlorn, none were as wizened as she was. The line had grown longer behind her as more prisoners had been roused from their cells; every so often, the guard who had entered the cell would recoil in disgust and close the door hurriedly.

Eventually, when enough prisoners had been added to the line, they then had been led through more corridors.

Nahanit had been willing herself to keep up, but as she had been languishing in the cell for however long, her body had quickly betrayed her.

The first time she fell, a large prisoner with a shaggy beard knelt to help her back up.

"Are you alright?" he asked, a concerned expression on his bedraggled face.

"No talking!" a guard barked, shouldering through the other prisoners.

He curled his lip when he saw the emaciated heap on the floor.

"Get up, crone," he spat, yanking her up roughly, ignoring her squawk of pain.

It was only a few minutes later that she fell a second time. The same guard growled in frustration, again treating her like a sack of grain.

The third time, he gave up.

"Carry her," he ordered the large prisoner, who had been shadowing her.

With little effort, the large prisoner took her in his arms. She felt like a child, weak and helpless, the pain mingling with humiliation. Even with his surprising gentleness, the impact of just his steps on the floor jarred her.

Finally, they had been led outside, where a large wagon awaited.

Once they had all piled into it, they set off.

She drank in all the details around her, even as her eyes, accustomed to darkness, were forced to squint against the sun. There seemed to be a tense atmosphere; guards were posted here and there, the people passing by looking at them out of the corners of their eyes, as if doing so directly would draw their ire.

Where being carried in the large prisoner's arms had been uncomfortable enough, riding in the wagon resulted in more pain, sharper aches springing up from the wheels rolling over the terrain. She managed to keep her groans of pain quiet, hoping to mitigate her humiliation.

The wagon stopped a few minutes later, in front of a nondescript building. They were herded out, made to form another line, Nahanit again scooped up by the large prisoner.

More guards appeared on either side of the line, and then the group walked inside the building, turning here and there, until they reached an equally nondescript door.

Another guard waited in front of it alongside a bored-looking man.

The guard who had led the group pointed at the first in line.

"You," he grunted, gesturing then to the door as the bored-looking man opened it, "inside."

With a nervous glance behind him at the rest of the line, the prisoner scurried through.

"Put me down," Nahanit murmured to the large prisoner.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He obeyed reluctantly, watching as she swayed uneasily, a hand moving out slowly to rest against the wall. Her legs wobbled, but she waved off his attempt to support her.

I'm too weak. I need to be able to at least stand on my own two legs.

Eventually, the first prisoner came back out, a relieved expression on his face. As he was herded away, the next one in line was ushered through the door.

Nahanit was the ninth in line, and as such, had to wait a while before it was her turn.

When it came time for her to move, her legs failed again, still too feeble to carry her weight. The large prisoner was quickly at her side, lifting her easily despite her hoarse protests. The bored-looking man waved him through the door.

Inside was a small room, with a table up at the front, a middle-aged man sitting behind it. A chair was in the middle of the room, with thick ropes attached to the arms, four guards arrayed against the wall behind it.

The large prisoner was directed to bring her to the chair. His movements were slow and careful, but even with that characteristic tenderness, her body ached. He was quickly ushered back outside. The guards stayed back against the wall, regarding her with a mix of curiosity and pity. None, unsurprisingly, made any move to secure her to the chair.

She peered up at the man behind the table. Numerous scrolls littered the top of it, the expression on his face something between tiredness and determination.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Nahanit," she answered, taken aback by the weakness and hoarseness of her voice, far from the sultry, husky one she had once possessed.

"And why were you in the cells?"

Her hesitation made the man sigh heavily.

"What did you do to Enkartep?"

"I...I betrayed him."

"As did others in those cells. What specifically did you do to merit your punishment?"

"We...we had a plan, but I had my own, so I betrayed him. I thought him dead, but when I saw him next, he was different."

"Different how?"

"He looked different, and acted different, more confident. And he had powers. He used them to do this to me."

The man tilted his head in interest.

"To do what exactly?"

She took the time to gesture to her state, the wretchedness of her once-gorgeous body. A shudder ran through her, at the memory of her punishment, the way that her pert figure had so quickly been turned into a gnarled wreck.

"He made me like this."

The man arched an eyebrow.

"You did not age into this? He made you this?"

She nodded slowly, the motion causing a sharp crick in her neck.

"When was this? After the Battle of Khezresh?"

She shook her head this time, again feeling an ache erupt.

"I do not know how long ago this was. Ten, twenty, thirty years..."

"You said he had powers?"

"Yes," she said, "strange ones."

"You say that as if he did not already have them."

She frowned.

"He did not. I saw no such powers before that. And I knew him well enough."

"You knew him before he had his powers?"

She nodded.

The man's eyes widened for a quick moment.

"That...that was over a hundred years ago."

His next words went unheard, as her mind began to think back to her time in the cells, the time spent languishing in darkness, forgotten by all who had once known her.

A hundred years...

When she heard him saying her name, her attention went back to him.

"So, he turned you into a crone, and then threw you in the cells?"

"Yes."

He nodded in interest, noting something on one of the scrolls.

A thought occurred to her.

"What is this? Am I being freed? Has he decided to show mercy?"

The man chuckled, a smile appearing on his tanned face.

"This is not his mercy. He no longer rules Egypt."

She drew back in surprise.

"Is he dead?"

The smile receded.

"No, not dead. But trapped where his followers cannot get to him. Egypt is no longer under his heel."

He watched her take in the news. Relief filled her, but there was a current of curiosity, as well as a reluctance to celebrate.

I might be set free, but I do not know what this one plans to do with me.

"How did you come to know him?" he asked after a few moments.

"I...he served my husband."

"Who was your husband?"

"The Pharaoh Mersekhemre."

It was his turn to draw back in surprise.

"The last pharaoh?"

She nodded slowly.

"You are his wife?"

"Was his wife."

The man slumped back in his chair, blinking in surprise.

"I would say you lie," he said then, leaning forward, "that such a thing would be impossible, but he did much that I am sure was once thought impossible."

"Why would I lie?" she asked tersely. "What good would this do me now?"

He nodded sagely, waving off her question.

"It matters little whether this is true."

"It is true."

He chuckled drily at her assertion.

"Leave us," he said then to the guards and the bored-looking man.

After a few moments, they were alone together in the room.

He looked over her, as if appraising her, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"I must ask you to clear something up," he began.

"What?"

"Enkartep spread his version of the story of how he received his powers. According to him, the Pharaoh Mersekhemre grew jealous of his influence and standing among the people and tried to have him killed. He was chased into the sacred chamber by his would-be assassins, and when he beseeched the gods for help, they granted him his powers. His first act after foiling his assassins was to kill Mersekhemre, in the name of the gods and the Egypt that the pharaoh was corrupting. The only mention of you in this story is that the pharaoh's wife, when offered a chance to serve him, chose instead to take her own life. Now, what I would like to know from you, is what actually happened."

Nahanit hesitated. Her betrayal of her husband, the then-pharaoh, was likely to be met with judgement.

I could be free...what can I say to answer him?

Her questioner was perceptive, however.

"Listen, Nahanit," he said, "I must know the truth. I was already going to set you free and let you go off to die before I learned of who you are. But now, I may have use of you."

She still hesitated, worrying that the truth might ruin her chances of freedom.

"What could I do to you that would be worse than what you have endured for the last hundred years? You have already suffered imprisonment, and death I imagine would be welcome."

She sighed, nodding at his point.

"Enkartep and I had a plan in place. He was to poison the pharaoh, and we would rule together. He was easy to seduce and easy to convince. But I had my own plan in place: I would blame him for my husband's death, in so doing sentencing him to a grisly death, and would then play the grieving widow. Mersekhemre had no children, so those who might succeed him would need some legitimacy, which could be provided by taking me as their wife. I would have their ear, and thus, I would have more power and influence than with Mersekhemre, who only considered me a bedwarmer. I thought my plan a success, but then Enkartep returned with powers, and did this to me."

He nodded.

"Very interesting. So, Enkartep poisoned the pharaoh?"

"Yes. I gave him the poison, but he was the one to do it."

A small smile appeared on the man's face.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, surprising her.

"For what?"

"You might help save Egypt."

She frowned.

"What? How could I do such a thing?"

He leaned back in his chair.

"It has been almost a month since we deposed Enkartep. We...did not realize how beloved he was among the common people, and even some of those higher up. Those that we put in place until a new pharaoh would be chosen are having...difficulties with getting everyone in line. There is unrest and uncertainty. What we have rescued, what we have saved, could very well be destroyed soon."

"And just what can I do?"

His smile grew wider.

"We are right now in the process of choosing the next pharaoh. Whoever we choose must have some sort of legitimacy for the people to have faith in him. If he has as an advisor the long-thought-dead wife of the last pharaoh, who Enkartep poisoned, that would greatly help with any claim of legitimacy."

She blinked in surprise.

"I would advise the pharaoh? Even thought I betrayed the last one?"

He chuckled, shaking his head.

"That fact will not leave this room."

More relief filled her. It did not escape her understanding that she would have what she had wanted back then, the ear of the ruler, a presence at the side of the seat of power, the ability to guide and advise. Already, she felt a certain confidence returning, minus the sultry charm that she had once used to seduce hapless men.

These men will only see me as a weak crone. I can grow my power all the same without them noticing.

"How do you know that the people will believe that I am who I say I am?" she asked suddenly.

"As I said, much was once thought impossible. You do look as old as the wife of the last pharaoh would. And many know that Enkartep did cruel things to those who wronged him."

She sat back in her chair, already imagining the life ahead of her, advising the next pharaoh. It was likely that it would merely be for show, the wise old crone at the side of the next ruler, but even if she no longer possessed beauty and grace, her intelligence and cleverness was still there.

Even if I have not had use for them in a while, besides catching rats.

The man rose from his seat, and walked over to the door, opening it to say something to the guard on the other side, who then said something to someone over his shoulder.

The large prisoner came into the room.

"He's next anyway," the bored-looking man said from the other side of the door.

"I need him," Nahanit told her questioner. "It will take me time to strengthen my legs."

He nodded, waving off the bored-looking man.

One of the guards who had been posted inside the room was also waiting outside.

"Take these two to my lodgings," her questioner told him, "and tell my servants to bathe and feed them."

The guard nodded at him.

She allowed herself a smile as she was carried out and down the hall, her new life ahead of her.

Present day, in Cairo:

Enkartep stood on the balcony, a light breeze tickling his bare chest. The sun was arcing higher in the sky, its brilliant light easily overwhelming the nearby clouds, a warm morning taking place. A flock of birds circled nearby in search of a meal.

His mind was in many places.

There was the future to consider. When he had first ruled, before his betrayal, he had been content to control Egypt and the surrounding lands. The world outside of that area had not seemed to hold much promise.

But now, the world had become a ripe, fat fruit. The priestesses who had been awaiting his return had a plan in place to return him to power. While it was indeed a smart plan, the politics involved bored him. Such things he had left to others when he had ruled.

There was also the past to consider.

As powerful as he was, he had made a grave mistake in underestimating those who had plotted against him. It would have been easy to stop the traitors from finishing the Binding Ritual. A gesture would have crushed their throats, a thought would have turned the words into gibberish, a word would have burned them into ash in mere seconds. But his arrogance had allowed them to complete their betrayal.

Much had happened during his time away. Much that had happened needed to be righted.

There was of course also the present to consider.

Enemies had presented themselves soon after his return.

If my priestesses waited for me for so long, surely others did as well.

Those who had challenged him in the market had met a grisly fate, save the one languishing down in the cells.

The next step involves him.

"Master?"

He turned to see Amina joining him on the balcony.

"Good morning, my priestess."

She was naked, fully revealed to him, any previous bashfulness eradicated by now.

"I wish to apologize, Master," she said softly.

"For what?"

"For last night. For begging you to break me, even for a day."

He chuckled.

"There is no need to apologize. Such a fate would tempt any woman."

She shook her head firmly.

"I am not any woman. I am your High Priestess. It was a failure of mine to hope to abandon that duty, even just for a day."

He chuckled again, reaching out to draw her into an embrace.

"Again, there is no need to apologize. It was a moment of weakness, and that moment has passed."

She gazed up at him, smiling in gratitude.

"Thank you, Master."

He smiled down at her.

"I have a feeling that many of your sisters will have similar moments of weakness."

Her laugh was happy and bright, and her body warm, the fullness nuzzling deeper into his embrace.

Nearby, not much later:

Salome woke up to a sunshine-filled room. Surrounding her were three naked bodies, each still fast asleep. The events of the previous night came back to her quickly.

I'll probably wake up like this often from now on.

Amina was nowhere to be seen, while their master was on the balcony, looking out into the sky.

A peek at the bedside table's clock showed just past ten. Her shift in the security room was at noon, giving her time to get ready for the day.

She heaved herself up and made to shuffle off the bed.

Halfway there, arms encircled her, and the combined strength of her new sisters easily brought her back down. They grinned at her, each one nude, each one undeniably alluring.

"Were you going to leave so soon?" Victoria asked with a pout.

"Stay with us," Kristin whined.

Stacy said nothing, already kissing her way down Salome's thigh, her target close by.

"I have a shift soon," the Colombian woman protested feebly.

"Somebody else can do it," Victoria suggested.

"I have to get ready. Let me up."

The trio did not listen, and a moment later, her next words became a soft sigh, as Stacy reached her slit. The other two giggled, pressing themselves closer to Salome, their hands running all over her, their mouths quickly alighting on her breasts. Her body bucked in response, Stacy groaning as her prize slid along her cheek, smearing sticky dew there.

This still felt new, receiving such love from these women. It was thanks to their master that she now saw herself as beautiful, but the attention that they lavished upon her so readily helped to let her know how right he was.

The two women at her breasts locked their lips around her nipples, making her cry out weakly. The mouth at her sex was eager, slurping and sucking here and there, funneling more pleasant sensations into her body. Her juices quickly began to flow, Stacy pouncing on each trickle. Salome let her hands roam, squeezing and caressing the women at her chest, assessing their curves, appreciating their assets. Their own moans rose in response.

"You taste so good," Stacy breathed, moving up to slither towards Salome.

Her fingers quickly replaced her mouth, two of them pushing through the slit, making Salome jerk. The subsequent squeal was muffled by a kiss from the priestess. On either side of them, the other two reacted differently: Victoria stayed at her mouthful, sucking happily, while Kristin, distracted by Stacy, switched to one of her swaying breasts, latching her lips on to a pert nipple there.

The stimulation from the eager priestesses quickly triggered an orgasm. Salome cried out, her back arching as the ecstasy rolled over her, her cunt creaming around the insistent fingers.

The broken minds that these three shared in common seemed to think as one. They moved together, the still-rational priestess forced to keep up. Kristin straddled her head, while Victoria tackled Stacy onto her back and began to kiss her way down her body. Salome was met with a dripping cunt, and did not hesitate, leaning up to suck at the drenched folds, slurping up mouthfuls of sweet nectar. The groan that she heard in response was light and sultry, a breath of desire that only enticed her to work harder. Next to her, Stacy was making similar noises, her fit figure wriggling restlessly.

Those folds were soft and wet against her mouth. She let her tongue peek through the slit, meeting more warmth, more juices trickling out. A hand settled in her hair as the hips atop her began to work slowly. Kristin was content to keep a lazy rhythm, swaying gently, her pussy twitching at the movement of that tongue.

12
  • Index
  • /
  • Home
  • /
  • Stories Hub
  • /
  • Erotic Horror
  • /
  • A God of Old Ch. 11

All contents © Copyright 1996-2023. Literotica is a registered trademark.

Desktop versionT.O.S.PrivacyReport a ProblemSupport

Version ⁨1.0.2+795cd7d.adb84bd⁩

We are testing a new version of this page. It was made in 12 milliseconds