Nebemakst Bound

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This story belongs to three genres: Incest, Fantasy, and Erotic Horror.

This particular story is the original version. Each version of the story is very similar, so you can choose any one of them to read, depending on your personal preferences.

The versions of the story are:

Nebemakst Bound — father/daughter

Nebemakst Buried — brother/sister

Nebemakst Braced — black man/white woman

Nebemakst Banished — white man/black woman

Nebemakst Betrothed — older man/younger woman

— The Author

Annette sneezed once, her sinuses irritated by the four millennia old dust now stirred up in the ancient tomb. She avoided her father’s glare, a silent admonishment at her disrespectful intransigence, as if she were a wayward little girl who had done it on purpose. She loved him dearly. He was her very own adventurer professor, but he was a pain in the ass, too.

She double checked all of the connections once, hurriedly, having spent too long positioning the transmitter and receiver around the bizarre sarcophagus, and connecting the generator and the computer and the monitor. She’d never really had the patience this job required. Her father teased her about it. The artifacts waited for thousands of years to be found, and she couldn’t wait five minutes.

She scampered from one piece of equipment to the next, being sure that everything was properly set.

Heedless, her father’s eyes roved over the faded inscriptions painted on the walls, calmly deciphering them in his head. He occasionally looked over at her with an air of quiet skepticism, obviously fighting back the urge to mutter deprecating remarks, while at the same time doing a poor job of hiding his own actual fascination with her efforts.

Technology like this was going to change archeology.

He cleared his throat, before the deep baritone of his voice echoed back and forth between the stone walls of the room.

“You really think that will show us something valuable? You can’t just wait to get it into a lab?”

He knew damn well what it would do. He’d demanded a demonstration before he shelled out his precious budget money to buy the damn thing. The fact was, though, that even dentists were using digital X-ray machines these days. Between the speedy computer processors, the fabulous imaging software, and the dropping price of all electronics, the gizmo was both a steal and a godsend, and he knew it.

“Father, I don’t know why you even come into the field with me anymore. You want to do everything in the comfort of the bowels of a museum.”

“Darling, you know that there’s nothing like actual in-person grave robbing.”

She froze for a moment on her hands and knees, in the middle of struggling with a finicky wire, while smiling at his backhanded teasing.

“You’re just saying that to piss me off, and it’s not going to work. It’s not grave robbing, it’s archeology, and you know it.”

“We’re in a secret, hidden passage off of an ancient necropolis, buried and forgotten for more than forty centuries. Something was so special about the deceased that his tomb was set hundreds of yards from all of the others, at the end of a meandering hall. It was so well hidden that even the real grave robbers never found him. We’re the first. The first!”

“But we’re not grave robbers.”

“Oh? How much of this will be left here when we’re done? When we’re gone?”

Annette looked about. The chamber was littered with gold and ceramics, from jewelry to urns to eating utensils. This was such a major find that they might even quickly get permission from the authorities to remove the sarcophagus itself. Certainly, before they were done, this entire set of rooms would be emptied. It was destined for museums, instead of for sale, but it was going to be taken from here, from the original owner, one way or the other.

“He was rich and powerful,” her father continued. “And peculiar. Very peculiar.”

That was too true. The whole complex was a puzzle. The overlarge sarcophagus was like none anyone had ever seen. It depicted not one person, but two, entwined in an embrace, implying that perhaps two people were entombed within it, not only one. The inscriptions on the walls were unusual, too.

“Look here. Come, Annie, come look.”

Annette rolled her eyes, grateful that no one else from the University was with them today. She hated when he called her Annie. They’d had that fight a hundred times. She wasn’t his little girl anymore, at least not here, not now. Here she was the respected Dr. Annette Bennings, with a PhD in archeology and ancient Egyptian culture, not little Annie.

She brushed the dirt and dust from her knees before making her way to the old coot’s side.

“Annette, not Annie,” she mumbled.

He smiled at her, and condescendingly leaned down to kiss the top of her head, which made her smile against her will.

“Yes, darling, an accomplished woman of intellect and skill. You’ve had your doctorate for almost a whole year. Yes, yes, yes, I know. Now look here.”

He yenimahalle escort pointed to a familiar set of glyphs and pictograms beside the deceased’s cartouche. The man’s name had been Nebemakst. What followed that held the key to the mystery of the man’s life. Her father was the expert at ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, but she knew it well enough herself to read at least some of the ancient pictorial writing without a stack of books handy for reference.

“The father and daughter, bound by rings, bound in matrimony… Wait, that doesn’t make sense. The Egyptian males married their sisters to keep the royal blood pure, or to keep the wealth in the family, but never their own daughters.”

“I think he was a priest, of sorts, and a general, as well. And look, here…”

“It looks like the usual stuff. Magic spells to help them pass their trials on their way into the afterlife. References to curses to scare away grave robbers.” She gave him a sidelong look with that. “But that’s strange. That warning curse stuff usually goes at the entrance, where it could do some good, not way in here with the entombed.”

“And this part?”

“That’s… what is that?”

“It resembles the funerary spells.”

“But what’s this word?”

“‘Vanity’. And ‘awesome power’. Then ‘forbidden’. Then ‘to separate’. Well, not exactly. More like ‘to drive apart’. Or maybe ‘divorce’.”

“And this?”

“‘Two bracelets’. Or ‘bands’. I’m not sure.”

“And this?”

She pointed to an elaborate pictograph. In Egyptian hieroglyphics, the people and animals always faced the start of the sentence. That was how you knew which direction to read in, left to right, or right to left, or top to bottom, because it wasn’t always the same. You had to look at the writing to tell where to start. But in this particular pictograph, two people faced each other, positioned a little too closely.

“That one’s beyond me. What does it mean?” she asked.

“I don’t quite know. I’ve never seen it, or anything like it, even. It almost looks like…”

She knew what it looked like, and she didn’t really want to hear her father say it out loud. She turned away abruptly, before he could continue, to go back to the comfortable familiarity of her equipment.

“Weird,” he said from behind her. “Just weird.”

“Come on, old man, I’m ready to fire it up. Come have a look at the four thousand year old weird man. He’ll make your own fifty eight year old husk look young.”

“You love making me feel old, don’t you, dear?”

“As long as you keep calling me Annie, yes, I do.”

He smiled at her. She tried to be angry with him, but she couldn’t. His smile always made her knees weak, ever since she’d been a little girl. Her mom had said his smile did the same to her, but in a more sensual way.

Damn him, he always made her feel like his little girl, and the problem was, as often as not, she liked it. Being an independent, full grown woman was all she had ever wanted growing up, and now the men in the department all ran from her because of it. Her father was the one man that made her feel like a woman, yet want to be a little girl again.

“Okay, ready?”

“Please, just hit the button, or whatever it is you do.”

* * *

Annette and her father were checking the side passages, looking for clues. That in itself was a clue, that there were so many side passages. The guy had had a lot of money. He could afford side passages and extra rooms, and he could afford to fill them with a lot of expensive things. He was also powerful enough to be able to afford the strangest sarcophagus and burial practice anyone had ever seen.

That sarcophagus was going to make them famous. On the outside, it depicted a man embracing a woman. The woman was young, petite, and attractive, while the man was mature, tall and kingly. Even back then there were gold diggers, she thought to herself, young women that married older men for their money, and older men that wanted the beauty and charms and affection of a younger woman.

What was odd was that the depiction of the woman’s legs were wrapped around his in a very suggestive way, which was unusual for the EgyptianEgyptians. They were actually quite fond of representations of overlarge phalluses in their religion and culture. There were a number of myths and rituals that involved them. But depictions of sex acts were completely unheard of, except in one surviving papyrus scroll now found in Turin, Italy, a sort of Kama Sutra of the Pharaohs.

Such graphic sexual depictions had certainly never been found in a tomb. That by itself would make them famous.

But the clincher, the most amazing thing, was the contents of the sarcophagus. The portable X-ray machine showed it clearly. Her old codger of a father had made her take a number of shots after the first, all from different angles, to be certain. There was no doubt about it.

It contained not one mummy, but two. More than that, the two were locked in a sexual embrace, arms and legs ankara escort entwined, just as depicted on the sarcophagus itself.

But there was more. The X-ray had clearly showed it. There was no doubt, and no denying it.

His penis was actually still inside her. Mummified, yes, probably the longest lasting erection in the history of sex, Annette thought to herself, fighting back a sinister grin.

They were going to be the most famous archeologists in the twenty first century, and her father was never going to be able to live with the shame of it all. She grinned to herself as she explored, imaging him sweating and fumbling through conference presentation after conference presentation about the Egyptian pharaoh addicted to sex, and his mummified penis.

* * *

The walls of the next room were covered in murals. A variety of scenes depicted the departed general’s victories in battle, and feats of daring. Here he conquered a great army. There he battled a ferocious lion, armed only with a spear. There, a crowd of exotic, dark skinned women lavished themselves on him, depicted as a virtual giant in their midst, as the vanquished dead lay scattered about his feet, dripping with blood. Over there, a group of rebellious priests cower on their knees before him, with some of their fellow priests slain at his feet. In the distance, one sinister figure points a crooked finger the general’s way as he reads from a book, with the gods gathered about him, scowling.

He was quite the action hero, Annette thought to herself. He would have made a Hollywood director very proud, and a lot of money.

The man’s entire life was a story of courage and power and domination. She wondered how much of it was true.

* * *

“Annette! Annette! Come! Come!”

“Where? Where the hell are you?”

“Fourth turn, second room, second door, at the end.”

Annette mumbled the instructions over and over as she made her way through the maze of rooms. It was really very, very elaborate, far beyond what was usually done for anyone but a pharaoh. She wondered who the hell this guy had been.

Annette walked into the chamber and stopped cold in the entrance. This room was clearly unlike the others. The others were filled to the brim with all sorts of things, from stacks of cloth and food for use in the afterlife, to wealth and jewelry and even the remains of dogs, cats and monkeys, a whole menagerie of favorite pets he couldn’t bear to be parted from in death.

This room was empty. Well, almost empty. In the center was a raised stone dais, and on the dais were two simple gold rings.

Her father stood beside them, grinning at her.

“No one has worn these rings in four thousand years!”

“Grave robber,” she said accusingly, but with a wicked grin of her own. “Why are these in here, all by themselves?”

“Obviously there’s something special about them. Remember the inscription in the main room? ‘Two bracelets’? Or ‘two bands’? I think it was ‘two rings’. These two rings.”

Annette looked from her father, to the rings, to her father again. He had a strange cast to his expression, to his entire demeanor. She’d been worried about him of late. Since her mother had died, he’d withdrawn. He’d lost energy. He’d lost his zest for life.

She knew that she was the only thing that kept him going. While she was alone, and single, he felt he owed it to her. He was company for her, almost a surrogate husband. Yes, he pushed her, constantly, to find a man, and she pushed back, constantly, telling him she would in her own good time. She was more than attractive enough. Every graduate student new to the department hit on her within a week, then recoiled in shame and fear when he discovered that she was the department head’s daughter.

After that, they kept their distance. They all did, because of who she was, and what she said she wanted for herself. She was too much of a woman for them, she told herself, and was happy with that.

So her father was her sole male companion. But he’d been worn down by the years, and the loss. He was an old clock, slowly winding down, in some ways merely passing the hours until the mechanism finally stopped.

And then came this find, this whole series of puzzling, wondrous finds. Her father was beaming. He radiated an energy and a vibrance that she didn’t think she’d seen in him since she was a child. It was heartwarming, to her. It made her want to hug him.

Annette moved to the dais, beside him, to be close to him in his moment of glory. He picked up one of the rings. She bit back the automatic recrimination for disturbing an artifact before it had been properly photographed and cataloged.

“Four thousand years,” he said, looking through the center of it at the far wall.

On impulse, Annette picked up the other ring. They shouldn’t be doing this, she thought. It should all have been photographed, first. They were trained archeologists, professionals entrusted with a sacred duty, and they were behaving like children that had found their christmas presents hidden under their parents’ bed.

She looked through her own ring, as he did through his. In the exact same instant, they looked at each other, grinning from ear to ear. They didn’t have to say it. They were thinking the same thing.

“Why not?” she said, as her right hand slowly, inexorably guided the ring toward the ring finger on her left hand. Her father did the same, his dark eyes staring into hers in the flickering lamp light, and hers into his.

The cool metal slipped easily over her finger, over the first knuckle, then over the second, to fit snugly on her hand. The metal strangely warmed quickly, turning from cool to hot. Her entire body warmed with it, as if hit with a sudden fever. She felt a bead of perspiration trickle down her temple, which was odd in the cool, if dry, underground air.

Four thousand years, she thought, with her eyes still locked on her father’s. That couple had been making love for four thousand years.

* * *

She was so beautiful, more beautiful than her mother had been. He’d always thought so, but in this moment, in this place, in this light, her beauty magnified for him a hundred fold. His wife had never shared his interests, his eccentricity, the way Annette had. Indeed, he often felt his wife was jealous of their daughter. The father and daughter shared something the husband and wife never had.

Annette’s mother respected him. She loved him. But they were different souls, sharing a life together in very different ways. She wasn’t an academic herself. She was a wife and a lover. She wanted to socialize and to travel, but not to study. She didn’t understand the thrill of discovery and understanding the he loved, and Annette loved, too.

His daughter, though, was a magical woman, so very beautiful, and intelligent, and as curious as he. He watched almost jealously as man after man sought after her. Eventually one would interest her. Soon one would snare her heart, and he’d lose her to him. But until then, she was his, a companion, a friend, and a consort of sorts.

His daughter was so very beautiful.

* * *

She looked up into his weathered eyes. He held a wisdom no man she’d ever met could match, but with a boyish flair and charm that rivaled the best of them. He had a life about him that the youngest man could never match. She’d never told him, too, how handsome she found him.

She called him an old coot, an old man, an old crone, but he was no such thing. Not many men his age could hike in the desert heat, or live day after day in a desert encampment, and then rummage their way on hands and knees through cramped, meandering, long dead passageways.

And he not only did it, but he did it with intellect, and passion, and a lust for adventure. She felt an odd charge whenever he took her hand to help her through a tight squeeze. He was the strongest man she’d ever known.

Now he stood before her, looking at her, melting her with his loving gaze. He was so brutally handsome to her, like no other man would ever be.

She stepped up to him. Her hand reached out to take his, which met hers half way as they once again shared the same thought. Flesh touched flesh, and gold touched gold. His ring was hot, like hers, pressing against the skin of her fingers.

She looked up into his eyes as their faces drifted closer together.

* * *

Her hand was warm to the touch, and soft. It had been so long since he’d felt the touch of a woman, let alone one as young and as vibrant as Annette. Her breath brushed his lips like a warm evening zephyr. One little kiss couldn’t hurt. A father could show his love for his daughter with a kiss.

* * *

His hand snaked around the small of her back, pulling her close. The kiss had started innocently enough. She wanted it that way, at first. But now his lips were strong and masculine, almost overpowering. They moved over hers as a newlywed husband’s would. His kiss was intensely, inappropriately sexual.

She liked it. She wanted more. She parted her lips, inviting him in like a shy lover. He pulled her harshly into him. Her breasts crushed flat against his strong chest. She smelled the sweetly musky sweat from his day’s labors wafting up to her nose, as his tongue entwined with hers, moving into her mouth to mimic the other, even more forbidden act she secretly desired.

Her hips burned for far more than just a kiss.

* * *

The hand that held his own released it, to slip up behind his neck. With it she pulled herself up to his full height, helping to press her delicious lips more firmly against his. For his part, he let his freed hand drift into her unbuttoned shirt. She’d loosened it earlier in the day, shamelessly, discomforted by the heat on the hike to the entrance. There was no one there to see but her father, she’d said, and he would never look.

He didn’t look. Not yet. First his hand crept inward, to touch and to fondle and to explore.

* * *

The awesome strength behind the hand on her breast sent shivers through her. No other man had ever shown the power her father had. His strength, his protection, everything about him projected masculinity like no other weakling of a man ever could. He was like a god to her.

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