Читать книгу Holiday Affairs: An Erotica Collection - Various, Glenda Jackson - Страница 6

‘So whose tomb are we robbing?’

Sir André Walden frowned. ‘We’re not robbing anyone’s tomb,’ he said, turning around from the front seat to fix his niece with a stern schoolmasterly look. ‘And I trust you and Peter won’t make me regret my decision to allow you in.’

Val matched his frown and nodded with exaggerated seriousness. ‘We understand, sir,’ she said.

Beside her Peter stifled a laugh and cupped his wife’s shapely bottom, making her squirm.

The jeep crested a little rise and sand swirled around them in the warm umber glow of the desert sunset. The Sphinx and the Pyramids were far behind them now and if they were travelling along any kind of road it wasn’t at all obvious.

André said something to his assistant, Hossam, in Arabic and pointed off across the horizon. Hossam glanced back at his passengers and shook his head, shifting gears roughly and making the jeep lurch. A heated conversation ensued which neither Peter nor Val could understand. The Egyptian seemed unhappy with the destination and from André’s patronising tone Val guessed that her uncle was telling him off over some silly local superstition.

Eventually Hossam gave in to André and waved a dismissive hand. Peter and Val exchanged a look and shrugged.

‘Sorry about that,’ André said, turning back to them. ‘My assistant objects to “outsiders” being allowed into the tomb before it’s been fully explored. He’s afraid you won’t show the proper respect.’ He made it clear by his tone that he shared Hossam’s concern.

Peter rolled his eyes. ‘Honestly, what is the big deal? We’re not bloody grave robbers. We’re not going to dig up some mummy and cart it back to London to display in our front room. We just want to take some pictures in the tomb.’

‘Yeah, and anyway,’ Val said sweetly, ‘it’ll be great publicity for you. Maybe some rich Egyptophile will give you more money to preserve the tomb. Or whatever.’

André arched an eyebrow at her. ‘Or whatever,’ he echoed. ‘Yes, more publicity is just what Egypt needs. After all, it’s not as if thousands of tourists descend on the desert every year, tearing up the landscape and defacing the sites in the hope of stumbling across some priceless find that will make them rich.’

‘Come on, we’ll be good, we promise. Won’t we, Peter?’

‘Of course we will. And we promise not to dig anything up. We didn’t even bring a shovel.’

‘There wasn’t any space left in the first-aid kit,’ Val added with a wink to her husband.

André eyed them as though certain they were making a joke at his expense. Then his features softened and he shook his head with an indulgent smile.

Pressing the advantage, Peter said, ‘So tell us whose tomb it is, then.’

André relented. ‘Very well. Her name was Akhenekhbet.’

‘Gezundheit,’ Peter said with a laugh.

‘Who?’ Val asked.

André gave them both a withering look. ‘Akhenekhbet,’ he repeated, pronouncing it slowly for them. ‘She was a priestess of the vulture goddess Nekhbet.’

‘Eww,’ Val said, wrinkling her nose.

‘You may think “eww”, young lady,’ André said, ‘but the vulture was sacred to the ancient Egyptians, along with plenty of other creatures you’d probably have the same reaction to, like scarab beetles and scorpions.’

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Please go on.’

André told them all about the tomb and its patron goddess while Val snuggled up against Peter, smiling mischievously. The bouncing of the jeep through the hot sand had created a subtle vibration underneath her seat and she’d been squirming through most of the long drive as she felt herself growing ever damper with lust. Peter had picked up on her excitement and given her a surreptitious caress whenever her uncle wasn’t looking. And as André rambled on about ancient Egyptian burial customs and funerary rites, Peter slipped a finger inside Val’s sodden knickers and stroked her pussy lips. Each flick of his finger made her gasp and twitch and by the time they reached the tomb she was so aroused she could hardly walk.

They had already ascertained through carefully worded questions that there were no CCTV cameras or guards. No one to interfere with their plans, in other words. This was her uncle’s find. His dig; therefore his jurisdiction. They were being let in because he had vouched for their trustworthiness.

‘Well, here we are,’ André said, gesturing grandly into the dusty cave entrance.

Peter shouldered their bags and peered into the darkness. ‘Hmm. It’s smaller than I expected.’

‘And just what did you expect?’ André asked, clearly offended. ‘A lavish film set, something out of Indiana Jones perhaps?’

Val was quick to pacify him. ‘No, no, it’s perfect! It’s the real thing. That’s what we want. Something authentic. Something that obviously hasn’t just been knocked up in a studio.’

‘Absolutely,’ Peter said, nodding his approval as he looked around. ‘I just meant that – well, it might be crowded with all four of us …’

Hossam was lingering in the doorway and watching them closely. It was clear he didn’t trust them.

‘Yes, yes,’ André said irritably. ‘I know you want privacy for your – art.’

Val giggled at that. Art. Oh, if only he knew.

The tomb was no less impressive for its cosy intimacy. The walls were decorated with hieroglyphics and above the doorway was a carved figure of what Val guessed must be the goddess Nekhbet. The vulture-headed lady spread her wings out to either side as though sheltering the occupant of the room, watching over her faithful priestess for all eternity.

In the centre of the floor lay a stone sarcophagus carved with more hieroglyphics. They had no doubt once been brilliantly coloured but now the symbols had faded and the stone had crumbled away in places.

‘Is she in there?’ Val asked in an awed whisper.

André smiled proudly. ‘She is indeed. Asleep these many thousands of years.’

Peter aimed his camera at the sarcophagus and snapped a few pictures. ‘Are you going to let her out?’

‘In time,’ André said. ‘These things must be done carefully and in stages. We’re a little more respectful than the Victorians who charged in and plundered the great tombs like thieves in the night. But don’t worry. I don’t think you’ll wake her up.’

Val grinned as he gave her an uncharacteristic wink. Maybe the old boffin had a sense of humour after all.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,’ he said. ‘Will two hours be enough time?’

‘Plenty,’ Peter said.

‘Very well.’ He looked as though he was itching to tell them – again – not to touch anything, but finally he replaced his hat and waved goodbye as he left the tomb.

They listened until they heard the jeep’s engine rev and then drive away. They were alone at last.

‘How awesome is this!’ Val exclaimed with a little spin as she took in their surroundings.

Peter smiled and slipped his arms around her from behind. He cupped her breasts beneath her light cotton dress, squeezing them firmly. The heat outside had been phenomenal but inside the tomb it was cool. Her nipples stiffened at his touch and she leaned her head back for a kiss.

Peter obliged her, then gently pushed her away. ‘We’d better get started so we have something to show for our adventure.’

Val glanced back at the doorway and listened for a moment to make sure the jeep wasn’t coming back before pulling her dress off over her head. Immediately the cool air of the tomb caressed her sweat-dappled skin and she shivered with pleasure. She folded the dress neatly and laid it on top of her bag in a corner of the room. Then she unhooked her bra and slipped her knickers off. The simple act of undressing here felt wildly transgressive, if not blasphemous. But the feeling was so erotic she didn’t care. She kicked off her sandals and tiptoed, naked, over to the sarcophagus.

‘Beautiful,’ Peter said, admiring her body. ‘Just beautiful.’

‘As beautiful as Akhe– … as her, do you think?’

‘A vulture priestess?’ Peter scoffed. ‘How could she possibly compete?’

Val laughed but she felt a little uneasy mocking the lady in whose tomb she was standing stark naked. She glanced nervously up at the winged figure over the doorway and smiled meekly at it as if to apologise for their behaviour.

When she looked back down Peter was opening the oversized first-aid kit he’d brought with them. A flurry of anticipation ran the length of her body as she watched him take out the first roll of bandages.

‘Are you ready, my dear?’ he asked, giving her his most wicked smile.

She nodded, nervous and excited.

Peter crouched down and began winding the gauze carefully around her foot, then up around her calf, then her knee, then her thigh. When he reached her pelvis he split the trailing end of the gauze down the middle, wrapped it back around her leg and tied it off. Then he grabbed another roll of bandages and started the same process on her other leg.

Val sighed at the sensual pleasure as the gauze swallowed her inch by inch. It was soft as silk against her bare skin. There was something strangely soothing in the constriction of the material tightly wound around her, both minimising and intensifying her sense of touch.

When he reached the delta of her sex again she moved her hips in a sinuous figure eight, gyrating like a belly dancer. Peter grinned and kissed the shaved mound of her sex, teasing her for a moment with his tongue before returning to the first-aid kit for another roll of bandages.

‘Not yet, my sweet,’ he said. He held out his hand. ‘Your arm, please.’

Val gave a little moan of desire and frustration before doing as she was instructed.

All around them the figures on the wall stared with inscrutable eyes, their bodies in stylised profile, their heads cloaked in fantastic headdresses, their feet and hands sensuously bare. In one corner a woman played a harp while a jackal-headed god lay, large and imperious, above her. They were surrounded by arcane symbols, as though they had somehow tumbled inside a book written in a code they could never hope to break. Falcons and owls, ankhs and ostrich feathers, gods and goddesses whose names they didn’t know. Her uncle had mentioned funerary texts. Were they prayers? An epitaph? A history? Or possibly – as her romantic and adventurous imagination couldn’t help but wonder – a curse?

Peter had finished wrapping both arms, hands and each individual finger and now he was winding a new roll of gauze around her neck. He paused to give her a kiss before feeding the bandages under her arms and around her chest. When he pressed the gauze against her breasts Val gasped and writhed a little at the teasing contact. She felt her nipples tighten and she whimpered, widening her eyes pleadingly at Peter, urging him to touch her. But he remained focused and carried on with his work, manfully ignoring her entreaty as he encased her torso in bandages.

André had said that servants and pets were often mummified along with their masters and mistresses, so that they might continue to perform their duties in the afterlife. Val closed her eyes and imagined that she was the favourite slave of a powerful pharaoh. She would be wrapped like a gift for him, a plaything to take with him into the underworld. She would dance for him and pleasure him and serve him throughout all eternity.

Suddenly she felt the pressure of the gauze between her legs and she gave a little cry as Peter pulled the bandages tight up against her sex and tucked them into a strip he’d looped around her waist. He made several passes, winding the gauze tighter and tighter before tying off the end. The tension made her cunt throb with desire and the slightest movement was almost unbearably stimulating. She pressed her thighs together, flushed with heat. Her heart began to race as she realised they were nearly there.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply before starting again at her neck and this time working upwards. He wound the bandage around her mouth, her upper lip, her nose. Val tried to slow her breathing and calm herself as she felt herself disappearing bit by bit. He left her eyes till last, winding the gauze over the top of her head and underneath her chin before bringing it back around the back of her head again, pulling it tight so it wouldn’t come undone.

‘I love you,’ he whispered. Then he drew the last strip across her eyes, blindfolding her.

Val stood very still, balancing in the dark as she waited for what she knew was coming next. She relaxed as Peter gathered her in his arms and laid her down on the sarcophagus. The stone was rough and cool beneath her. She could feel both through the bandages but she could no longer feel the movement of air in the tomb.

With her ears covered, all sound was distorted. She thought she heard the harsh cry of some animal out in the desert. The rush of blood in her ears might be the currents of the Nile and the clicking of Peter’s camera the beating wings of great birds soaring above the pyramids. She could make out flashes of light behind her eyes with each photo Peter took and these she imagined were the blinking eyes of the sun god, Ra. How strange that depriving her of her senses should only serve to make them more acute!

She squirmed atop the stone coffin, wondering if the lady sleeping beneath her – Akhenekhbet, that was her name! – had had a lover like hers. She was a priestess, so perhaps sex was denied to her. Did she then pleasure herself in secret and ask forgiveness of her goddess? Or did she surrender to the temptation of her beautiful handmaidens and stroke their soft wet folds, kiss their dusky pink nipples?

Val’s body tingled with every stimulating thought. She flexed her feet, wriggling her bound toes. She arched her back against the unyielding stone, relishing the extreme denial of her senses.

After a while she heard a peculiar muffled sound and it took her a moment to realise that it was Peter’s voice. His voice seemed to reach her telepathically. He was asking her something. No, he was asking her to do something. Spread her legs.

She felt herself grow warm as she obeyed, gripping the edges of the stone lid with her bandaged hands. In her mind the little slave girl obeyed too, splaying her long shapely legs for her master.