The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 14c: Back to Egypt Part 03
Copyright 2000 by Paul. All rights reserved. All events and characters are fictitious.
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Part 3.
Chapter 8. (Linda).
Cairo. December 1971.
My head was splitting when I next opened my eyes. I closed them again and took two deep breaths. I could still smell and taste the chloroform they'd used. I tried to lift my hand to my face but I could hardly move it. I looked over my shoulder at it. There was a manacle around my wrist and a short chain securing me to the flat, cloth covered surface, I was lying on. My other wrist and legs were secured in the same manner. I was wearing a necklace, and nothing else. A single, lampshade less, light bulb dangled from the ceiling above me. They could do with a brighter bulb.
I could hear people talking outside.
"Help me. Help me." I screamed.
The voices continued as if they hadn't heard.
Suddenly the door opened. The room was filled with the stench of decay. Somebody was speaking in a language I had never heard before. No. I had heard those words. Jerez had spoken them as Paul fucked me when we were trying to reverse the ceremony Ahmed had performed with Jenny in the old Temple. That meant somebody would have to be fucked.
I looked down, over my naked tits. A big man with blond hair was climbing onto the table between my open legs.
"No." I scream. "No. No. No."
His face appeared above me as his prick pushed at the entrance to my cunt. I knew him.
"Han's." I shouted as he entered me. "Don't do it."
I gasped as he plunged his cock deep inside me. He was big.
"Han's. Please don't."
I pleaded but all he did was smile as he moved in and out of me. His movements accompanied by the steady incantation being spoken at his side. His movements quickened. He thrust deep inside me as he came. There were tears running down the side of my face. I wanted to go home.
Hans looked down at me. There was a shocked expression on his face.
"You didn't like?" He asked, climbing from the table. "My sister said you wanted me."
"No. I didn't," I burst out crying. It was so unfair.
A figure wrapped in a dark brown cloak approached the head of the table. The smell of decay increased.
"It has not worked. The other still lives. I need them both together."
I couldn't see his features but the voice was so much like the tour guide who been my lover the previous year. But he was dead.
He touched my forehead; his fingers little more than bones. His touch was gentle. My eyes were becoming heavy.
"What shall we do next, master," I heard a voice I did recognise. It was Jerez's former boss, Ahmed. They'd told me he was dead.
"The other will come, and my High Priestess will come with him. Then we shall complete the ceremony. We must prepare their minds. Come."