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.
