Lust Of The Mummies

Thousands of years ago, Queen Hotbox of Egypt died, some said from excess carnal activity. Whether that was the case or not, her ministers knew she was much given to the pleasures of the flesh, and they felt duty bound to let her continue her wanton ways in the Afterlife. Her favorite stud, Rammer, was brought into her tomb and informed that his duties to the lady would continue, even after her death and his, which was about to occur.

That was great news for him, because his queen was truly a hotty in every way, and he didn't want the fact that she was dead to interfere with their sexual escapades. He eagerly drank the potion that was offered and lay down so his corpse, after the poison turned him into one, could be prepared by the royal morticians. They processed the body of Queen Hotbox and, by the time they were done, Rammer was dead, so they did similar things to him. With their jobs finished, they left the two bodies close together in the tomb so the dry heat of the Egyptian desert would complete the process of mummification.

Being basically a commoner, Rammer was wrapped in cheaper cloth, as was customary for someone of his rank, and laid directly on the stone floor. The queen was prepared as befitting her position when alive, with perfumes and jewelry and the finest linens, and placed in a casket on a stone dais. When they were done, the morticians wished the couple good luck and a long Afterlife and took their departure, sealing the tomb after they left.

Things remained that way for thousands of years, until a team from the British Archeological Society located the crypt and broke the seal. When they saw and read the inscriptions, it confirmed their expectations that the tomb was that of Queen Hotbox, who was a minor monarch as such things are determined, but they were surprised at the presence of the other mummy. Further inspection of the inscriptions told them the reason it was there, and all but one of their number chuckled at the quaint and silly superstitions so often held by the ancient Egyptians.

Doctor Patel, who had been born and raised in India, was the only one of their number who put any kind of credence in the inscription.

"There are a multitude of things in this world we know not about," he reminded his associates. "The ancient ones of this land knew many things that we are only now learning."

However, he was of lesser rank than they, and had not been educated at University in England, so the others ignored his opinion. After paying the usual bribes to the appropriate government officials, the archeologists packed both mummies off to be put on display in London.

Although a minor queen, Hotbox had been a genuine monarch and, as such, she was placed on exhibition in a major museum. Rammer did not fare so well, and his mummy was taken to a more remote spot, little more than a carnival or freak show, where people paid a small amount of money to come and look at him in his cloth bindings and have their pictures taken with him.

Most of those archeologists were not as smart as they thought they were. For many centuries, Hotbox and her consort had enjoyed their existence together in the Afterlife, and neither liked the idea of being separated. After just a few days of enforced celibacy, Rammer began thinking of himself as being remiss in his duties, since he was no longer bestowing his sexual favors upon his queen. He felt the need to do something to compensate for this laxity. He had not been very bright when alive, and was even less astute when dead, and the only thing he could think of to do was to start fucking other women who looked as if they wanted or needed his attentions.

There was certainly no shortage of them. Every day, dozens of women, some hornier than others, came by and gawked at his cloth-wrapped body. Many of them even pointed odd little box-like things at him, or stood next to his earthly remains while others wielded the strange devices. A few days after his arrival at the carnival, when all of the gawkers had gone home, the spirit of Rammer reactivated his body, pushed open the strange box that held it, and climbed off the wooden platform. He was determined to seek out women with whom he could do his duty to his beloved queen.

His activities were reported in the newspapers the next day. The more staid dailies reported a series of mysterious sexual assaults in the vicinity of the side show. The tabloids did the same, except they interviewed the victims and took great glee in reporting their descriptions of the attacks.

The story of Gwen Brown was a good example of what the violated women said: "It was rilly strange, y'know, I'd just left this pub where I'd had a coupla little drinks, and this guy comes up to me. I thought he was a sailor, cuz he was wearin' all white, and I ast him 'Hey, Sailor, d'ya wanna have some fun?' He ditn't say nothin' but he must of wanted some, cuz he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into an alley. 'Hey, Sailor, take it easy,' I tole him.

"He ditn't wanna take it easy, though. He pushed me down on the ground and held me down while he pushed up my skirt. Well, that was okay, cuz he was gonna do what I wanted anyhow. I wasn't wearin' no knickers. I never do when I'm drinkin' cuz I gotta pee a lot, and they just get in the way, doncha see. Anyhow, I was layin' on me back and he must of took out his thing, but I ditn't see it. The next thing I knew, he shoved it into me.

"I fucked a lotta guys, but he was the best ever. He had a rilly big thing, and he rilly knew how to use it. I ain't never had it so good, and if he wantsa do it to me again, he sure can."

The cops all said Gwen Brown and the other victims were hysterical from the trauma, and didn't know what they were talking about. All the women were treated with the tender, loving care due a rape victim, even though none of them asked for anything more than to go home and rest, because they had to go to work the next day.

During the course of the TLC, they tried to take semen samples for evidence, but were able to find any. Some said the rapist may have used a condom, but there was no trace of latex that would have been deposited in the pussies or on the clothing of the victims. It was concluded by the police experts that he must have somehow been using a large dildo or similar artificial penis.

All of the victims said that was a stupid idea, because they knew a real cock when they felt one, and the man who had assaulted them had the best any of them had ever gotten inside her. As is usual with cops and social workers, who had also became involved in the cases, the women's opinions were quickly dismissed as being no more than displays of their ignorance.

Some evidence was found on the women's persons at all scenes. Tiny scraps of thread and fabric were stuck to their clothing, the same kind on every victim. Combined with the descriptions of their attacker, that was how the authorities were able to be certain it was the same man all three times. The cloth and thread seemed to be a form of cotton, and tests were to be done to determine its origin. The police needed to find out as much as they could about the monstrous and horny villain who had dared to assault three innocent English women on the same night.

Whoever it was, he struck again on the following night, this time raping two women in the same vicinity. Both of the victims told virtually the same stories as the three had the previous night. "Blimey," one of them had said. "If he wants to have another go at me, he's sure welcome. He was the best!"

Once again, the women's statements were dismissed as being no more than hysteria, maybe even a form of battle fatigue. Nobody could possibly enjoy being sexually assaulted, and the fact of the women originally inviting the man's attentions wouldn't change that one bit. The descriptions given by the women, combined with the presence of similar bits of thread and cloth, made the police sure it was the same man, and that he had now struck five times. They feared he would strike again and again until he was finally brought to Justice, and they cautioned all women in the area to avoid being out alone or allow themselves to get into situations where they might be among the next victims.

There were other strange goings on in the great metropolis of London. At the museum, whose name will not be mentioned, which had received the mummy of Queen Hotbox, a ghostly figure was reported to be haunting the Egyptian exhibition. Guards and other men working late reported seeing a form, clad all in white, roaming about among the sarcophagi and other exhibits. They had even heard her voice, and they were sure it was that of a woman, and she seemed to be complaining of a lack of something. They did not know what that lack was, and nobody had stayed around her long enough to find out, or even to get a good look at her face.

The sightings of the ghost and the sexual assaults continued for several days, with two or three women being attacked every night. The descriptions and circumstances were all the same; the alleged victims of the rapist said it was the best sex they had ever known, and traces of cloth and thread were always found, but no other evidence. The haunting of the museum continued too, but was less worrisome. Those who had seen the spectral woman earlier said that she seemed to have become even louder and more insistent and even more threatening, because she didn't seem to be finding whatever it was that she was looking for.

The white garments being worn by the assailant and the white attire of the ghost were the only thing the two mysterious beings were known to have in common, and it didn't seem to most persons to be enough to connect them. Mostly, they didn't even consider such a possibility. Wandering spirits or ghosts had traditionally worn white, and the odd attire of the rapist was seen as nothing more than further evidence of his deviancy, which would be fully explained when he was apprehended. And, the cops were confident they would catch him, and do so before long, thereby ending his reign of terror.

In the meantime, there were scores of women who read what was written about the sexual attacker, and they wandered about the area in hopes of being his next victim. A few of them were successful, and those attacks were reported in the newspapers, with the news items slanted according to the philosophies of the individual publishers. Some of the newspapers even wrote about The Museum Specter, as she was starting to be known, but nobody, including police, social workers or journalists made any connection between them.

Nobody, that is, except Doctor Patel. "The ghost is Queen Hotbox and the rapist is Rammer, her consort," he declared. "They're both horny people, even though they're dead, and they have been separated for long enough that they miss each other. The Queen is complaining about not getting any sex because her long-time partner is missing, and she hasn't been able to catch up with anybody in the museum. The men there are all afraid of her. Rammer is free to roam the streets where there are plenty of women available to him."

Well, of course, everybody thought Doctor Patel was crazy. His colleagues, in particular the ones who had been with him on the expedition that had brought back the mummy of Queen Hotbox, said much the same thing, but in more polite words. "He is not British and the poor soul didn't go to University in England. Therefore, he can't help but be hopelessly ignorant," was the gist of the opinions they expressed.

However, there was at least one dissenter. The Egyptian ambassador, who didn't much care for having the ancient ancestors of his people put on display like freaks in a sideshow, heard of Doctor Patel's opinion. He directed his aides to contact the prime minister, who didn't like the idea of being bothered by such sensationalistic events. However, he also didn't want to seem to ignore the emissary of an important nation in the Middle East, so the two men spoke at length about mummies and other things of interest.

Stripped of formal language, the conversation went something like this:

"It's bad enough your universities and museums steal the bodies of our former kings and queens and put them on display, but it's even worse when you split those who were meant to be buried together."

"What do you mean, Excellency?"

"I am speaking of The Revered Queen Hotbox, who was entombed with her chief consort, Rammer. When you plundered what was expected to be their final resting place, you separated these two people who should have been together through all Eternity. Now, your nation is paying a price, because the spirit of the consort is seeking out available sex partners and raping them, and the spirit of the Revered Queen Hotbox is trying to do the same, but hasn't caught any men yet." This was much the same thing as Doctor Patel had said.

The prime minister thought that was a really goofy notion, but didn't say so. "I see, Excellency. But, what can we do about it?"

"You can take the remains of the consort, Rammer, and put them where they belong, near the remains of his queen so they may continue their existence in the Afterlife they enjoyed for so many years until they were separated."

The prime minister thought that was an even goofier idea, but he didn't say anything to that effect either. "Very well, Excellency. We will do as you ask." He sent out orders and, the next day, the mummy of Rammer was transported to the museum that held the remains of Queen Hotbox, and they were placed as close together as the museum management thought was both prudent and decent.

The night before the transition, three more willing victims were assaulted near the vicinity of the other attacks, and the Museum Specter was seen by three men who were working at night. Those six individuals were the last living persons who saw either the rapist or the ghost in the museum. The police ascribed the disappearance of the former to good detective work that had made him too frightened to continue his depredations, and the former sightings of the latter were attributed by psychiatrists to being a case of mass hysteria.

In the Afterlife, of course, it was another matter. Queen Hotbox wanted to bawl out her consort for being unfaithful to her while they were separated, but she was so horny she decided to wait until after an extended coupling with him. After Rammer had expertly brought her to a dozen thunderous orgasms, the queen forgot what she had been going to say, except that she suggested he not do it anymore. He agreed, and they resumed their joyous and almost constant sexual escapades together, just as the royal morticians had intended.

*

Thank you for reading this story. I hope you had as much fun as Rammer and Queen Hotbox will be having, now that they have been reunited in the Afterlife. I like writing stories on Literotica, but I like it a lot more when I know that people are reading and enjoying them, and I appreciate it when readers take the time to express their opinions by voting. Like most authors on Literotica, I practically live for feedback from readers, either public comments or email to me. Such feedback, whether praise or criticism, helps me to write more and better stories, and I respond to it whenever I can.