Indiana Bohner And The Pharaoh Queen

My name is Indiana Bohner; a big fan of Indiana Jones, and I am an archaeologist too.

I'm 25 years old, and I wouldn't consider myself an alcoholic. I indulge in drinking about 10 times a month, but it's not a daily ritual. When I do decide to have a drink, my preferred spot is Maestro, my favorite bar.

I've been a regular at Maestro for the past four years, initially frequenting the establishment with friends before eventually finding solace in solo visits.

During one of these solitary outings, I couldn't help but notice a waitress. In a bar predominantly staffed by male servers, she stood out. The waitresses wore a uniform consisting of a half-sleeved black t-shirt and blue jeans.

Her silhouette featured a gentle curvature with a slight belly, adding a touch of softness to her overall frame. Her arms, characterized by their robust build, hinted at a strength that belied their apparent femininity.

Yet, it was her uniquely heavy breasts that captured attention. Unlike the conventional rounded shape, hers presented an unconventional watermelon type structure, that were begging to be sucked.

However, the pièce de résistance, without a doubt, was her gigantic ass. This exceptional asset, characterized by its generous proportions, demanded attention and left an indelible mark on the observer's memory.

She bore a striking resemblance to Ashley Graham, a resemblance further emphasized by the fact that her name happened to be Ashley Keister.

Initially, I didn't pay much attention to her. My focus was on my casual girlfriend and my circle of friends. However, circumstances changed, and after my casual relationship ended, I found myself alone, seeking solace in the comfort of Maestro and contemplating the intriguing presence of Ashley Keister.

One day, after indulging in a bit too much to drink, I mustered the courage to ask her out. In truth, she seemed to be in her late twenties.

So, I blurted out, "Are you single or what?"

It was perhaps the worst line anyone could use.

She replied, "I am married, sir."

Feeling a wave of embarrassment, I returned home, and for the next three months, I avoided Maestro altogether. Facing her became increasingly awkward.

During this hiatus, I also decided to give up drinking, although not specifically because of her. It was more of a personal choice, a step toward introducing some discipline into my life.

After this three-month hiatus, I returned to both drinking and Maestro. She was still working there.

In the initial days, I sensed a hint of coldness from her, maybe due to the previous awkward encounter. However, as time passed, her demeanor gradually returned to normal.

I found solace in the familiar routine of peacefully drinking at Maestro. Grateful for the resumption of my routine, I stopped dwelling on her -- after all, she was married, and I had no intentions of pursuing anything further.

However, one day, the narrative took an unexpected turn. It was a quiet day at Maestro with few waiters and zero customers. I entered, greeted by the staff, and indulged in four glasses of whiskey before contemplating heading home. A single restroom visit remained on my agenda before my departure.

Entering the male washroom, I began to relieve myself. To my surprise, I heard the restroom gate opening -- a sound I presumed to be just another patron entering.

Yet, to my astonishment, it was Ashley. Instantly, I sought refuge in the only compartment the washroom provided.

Assuming the male washroom to be unoccupied, Ashley confidently entered and closed the restroom door behind her. Faced with the problem of urinating in a standing position, she decided to take a step. Glancing toward the lone compartment, she observed its locked door without attempting to knock, assuming it was secured from the outside.

Resolving to crouch on the floor, Ashley lowered her jeans. Her substantial ass was quite prominent, with her panties wedged between her ample ass cheeks, resembling a mere thread.

As she proceeded to lower her panties and begin urinating on the floor, I observed the scene through the keyhole. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: catching her in the act might be the better course of action. Subtly, I opened the compartment door ajar, revealing her still in the midst of relieving herself.

Naturally, I opened the door, feigning surprise, "Oh my god, what are you doing here, Ashley?"

Her stream of urine abruptly stopped; clearly, she wasn't expecting anyone.

In a hurried motion, she stood up, her hands instinctively covering her wet vaginal area.

Apologizing, she explained, "I am sorry, sir. The female washroom wasn't working..."

Interrupting her, I remarked, "...and you thought this was the only available washroom. Seeing it empty, you decided to use it."

She nodded, hastily pulling up her panties.

I intervened, saying, "Hey, stop."

Now visibly uneasy, she responded, "Sir."

I remarked, "It's not appropriate for a married woman to flash her pussy to a stranger."

She pleaded, "Sir, please."

Continuing, I said, "Imagine if someone were to inform your husband that you exposed yourself to a customer."

Fearful, she responded, "Sir, please. He will harm me. He might even throw me out of the house."

Curious, I asked, "How old are you?"

She answered, "36."

Surprised, I commented, "Wow. You don't look a day over 30."

Anxious, she inquired, "Sir, can I go?"

I replied, "I need something to ensure my silence."

She pleaded, "Sir, please."

Advancing two steps, she instinctively took two steps backward, only to find herself cornered against the wall.

Anxiously, she stated, "I am going to scream. Other staff will hear."

Defiantly, I countered, "Then I'll ensure the news of your indiscretion reaches your husband today."

Begging, she said, "Please let me go."

Commanding, I insisted, "Remove your hands. Let me see it clearly."

Reluctantly, she complied. Her shaved pussy glistened and was noticeably soaked. Those were the fullest labia I had ever witnessed.

She hastily concealed herself again, commencing the process of pulling up her panties. Taking two more steps closer, I warned, "Don't."

She began to whimper, "Sir, let me go. I've shown you my private parts."

Placing a finger on her lips, I hushed her, "Shhhhh... Not a word. You're a thicc milf. What are you?"

She responded, "A thicc milf."

I remarked, "And your vagina deserves a rough bang."

Leaning down, I took hold of her panties, stating, "Let me help you get dressed."

I gradually pulled them up inch by inch until they covered her pussy snugly. The panties pressed tightly against her humongous buttocks. The elastic band of the panties embraced her hips securely, holding its position.

Next, I struggled to pull up her jeans, facing some resistance as they reached her waist. The denim, initially resistant, yielded gradually as I continued to pull upwards. The waistband secured its position snugly at her waist, I commented, "Thicc body suits you."

Anxiously, she asked, "Can I go, please?"

I agreed, saying, "Yes, let's meet tomorrow."

She exited the washroom.

*********

The next day, after having a drink at Maestro and noticing her absence, I continued this routine for the next seven days, but she remained elusive.

One day, I inquired with a waiter, "Where has Ashley gone?"

The waiter responded, "Sir, she resigned from her position."

Determined not to surrender, I resolved to obtain Ashley's address through my contacts at Maestro.

*********

I stood before an aged and dilapidated apartment building.

Climbing up to the third floor proved necessary as the lift was out of order.

Upon reaching the designated floor, I positioned myself in front of the door, harboring a sense of hesitancy before eventually knocking.

The door swung open, revealing a slender man adorned with glasses who appeared to be in his forties.

Inquiring, he stated, "Yes?"

I replied, "I'm here to see Ashley Keister."

He retorted, "She's my wife, and she's not here," promptly slamming the door shut.

Undeterred, I rang the doorbell once more.

As the door creaked open again, the husband warned, "Don't you understand? If you persist, I'll have to call the cops."

I inquired, "What is your current income?"

He responded, "Excuse me?"

I assured him, "Your life is about to change. I have money."

Swiftly, I transferred 1000 dollars to his account.

After checking his phone, he hesitantly asked, "Would you like to come in?"

Seated in the living room, I couldn't ignore the aging paint on the walls, a testament to the passage of three to four years. The overall condition of the place appeared somewhat worn.

Curious, I asked, "Isn't your wife at home?"

His demeanor shifted to a more accommodating tone, "What brings you here, Mister?"

I introduced myself, "Bohner. Indiana Bohner."

He responded, "Mr. Bohner. Yes, my wife will be here shortly. She's in the kitchen, preparing."

I inquired, "Would it be acceptable if I call Mrs. Keister from the kitchen myself?"

He replied, "No problem, feel free to make yourself at home."

I acknowledged with a smile, "You're a wise man."

The husband settled on the couch, evidently pleased with the unexpected windfall.

Upon entering the kitchen, my attention was immediately drawn to Ashley's broad and curvy figure, adorned in a floral frock that reached mid-thigh. The sleeveless garment exposed her robust arms.

Sneaking up behind her, I began to caress her ample buttocks.

Thinking I was her husband, she protested, "Stop it, I'm cooking."

A playful spank on her fat ass made her turn, her eyes wide open, and her mouth agape.

Addressing me cautiously, she stammered, "Sir?"

With a hint of mischief, I remarked, "How are you? I've met your husband; he seems like a nice man who would trade..."

A flicker of fear crossed her face, "Did you... tell him... about the incident?"

I teased, "I could, but I haven't yet."

Anxious, she pleaded, "Please go now. I won't disturb you. That's why I left Maestro."

I stepped closer, our chests almost touching, "What if I told you I want to be disturbed. We'll discuss that later; let's convene in the living room."

*********

I took a seat on a single sofa, while Ashley and her husband settled on the couch. The husband appeared enthusiastic, whereas Ashley seemed apprehensive, uncertain about what I was about to discuss.

I began, "Mr. and Mrs. Keister, I'm an archaeologist planning a trip to Egypt to explore the pyramids, and I'll be needing some assistance."

He inquired, "What kind of help?"

I explained, "I'll require your wife's assistance for a month."

Ashley interjected, "No, I have a job. I can't leave that."

Ignoring her, the husband continued, "It's just a small job that pays her $2500 a month."

Chuckling, I added, "You won't need these kinds of jobs anymore because I'll be compensating you a hundred thousand dollars for the entire trip."

The husband exclaimed in excitement, "That's a really good amount. Ashley, you should go."

Ashley looked at her husband, as if she hadn't been consulted at all.

I added, "And a ten-thousand-dollar bonus, which I've just transferred to your account, Mr. Keister."

The husband grinned with joy, "So, when are you leaving?"

I responded, "Right away."

Ashley muttered to her husband, "Can we at least talk about it?"

The husband said, "Are you crazy, Ashley? This is opportunity for a lifetime. Take her. But please take care of her. She hasn't lived alone without me."

I said, "She won't be alone. My sole focus will be on her."

The husband suggested, "Give her an hour to pack. What about visas and such?"

I said, "I've arranged everything. Come on, Ashley, let's go."

Ashley hesitated but eventually rose to accompany me.

Her husband interjected, "May I ask why you chose her? If you're willing to share."

Ashley looked at me with a mix of fear and anticipation, uncertain of what I might reveal.

I explained, "I was a regular customer at Maestro..."

Ashley's heartbeat visibly accelerated.

I continued, "and when I saw her..."

Ashley reacted as if she had been struck in the stomach.

I concluded, "...dedication to her work, I thought she'd be the best choice."

The husband chuckled, "My wife is dedicated. She'll make your trip successful."

*********

As I drove, she sat beside me.

She remarked, "I can't believe you would propose such an arrangement, sir."

I chuckled, "I'm offering you a new job. I'm making you rich. What's the issue?"

She retorted, "I can't believe my husband would just give me away for a month like that."

I placed my hand on her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze, "You're here for a job."

My hand started to slide upward, pushing her frock along with it.

She removed my hand, "Sir, I'm willing to do anything for the job. But not this. I'm a married woman. I have my dignity."

I remained silent, focused on driving. While she was physically beside me, I restrained from taking things in an easy direction, avoiding the temptation to lead her into a hotel room for smashing the hell out of her.

However, I wanted to introduce an element of intrigue. So, I devised this Egypt trip, a journey that could potentially lead me into Ashley's holes.

The following hours were relatively uneventful until we arrived in Egypt, settling into our hotel room, which featured a single bed.

I had secretly purchased a suitcase filled with clothes for her.

She mocked, "I thought you could at least afford a double-bed room. You're so rich, after all."

I responded, "Where's the fun in that?"

She asked, "I'm going to take a shower and don't you..."

I cut her off, "...and I know you're a married woman, so you have your dignity and all."

She asked, "Now, what clothes am I going to wear? Or are you planning for me to wear nothing at all?"

I replied, "I would love to see you in nothing, but I do have some options for you. Check the cupboard."

Upon opening the cupboard, she discovered an array of bras, panties, lingerie, bikinis, and dresses that were designed to reveal a significant amount of skin.

In a fit of rage, she exclaimed, "Sir, you can't dress me up like this. I am not a whore."

I calmly responded, "Wear them or nothing. It's your choice."

*********

I was attired in the iconic garb reminiscent of Indiana Jones, donning a weathered and well-worn fedora that cast a shadow over my determined gaze. A rugged leather jacket adorned my frame, marked by the traces of countless adventures. My attire was completed by sturdy khaki pants and well-worn boots.

Ashley emerged from the washroom, donned in the garments I had provided. The orange leggings she wore were slit from the top down to the bottom, creating a provocative effect. The slits exposed every inch of her skin, from the graceful curve of her ankles to the upper reaches of her legs. Each cut in the fabric seemed strategically placed, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her legs with every step she took. The leggings accentuated the contours of her thighs and calves,

A tube top adorned her upper body, commencing from the midpoint of her breasts, creating an impression that her generous bosom was poised for liberation. The garment teetered on the brink, with her nipples tantalizingly close to protruding, particularly due to the slightly lower placement of the top.

The tube top reached its conclusion just above her navel, exposing her voluptuous belly. The fabric seemed to embrace her deep and squishy navel.

I remarked, "Damn! Now I can't wait to tear these clothes apart. So hot and thicc."

She retorted, "You must have noticed my thickness at Maestro. That's why you brought me here."

I inquired, "What do you think I brought you here for?"

She replied, "To dress me in these slutty clothes and carry out your archaeological adventure."

I replied, "We'll see."

*********

We navigated the labyrinthine corridors inside the pyramid, descending along a poorly illuminated path.

I inquired, "Why would you return to a husband who seemingly traded you for some money?"

She responded, "For one, he is driven by greed. Two, he remains blissfully unaware of your intentions."

I mused, "So you believe I intend to bang you within these 30 days?"

She admitted, "I am fervently praying for a change in your intentions."

Silence ensued as we continued our descent.

She broke the silence, "Look, sir, if circumstances were different, I might have considered marrying someone like you. You are a handsome man. However, I am already married, and I cannot betray that commitment."

I teased, "Don't you wish to explore the cock of this handsome man?"

She asserted, "Sir, let's stay focused on the task at hand."

We descended into a spacious chamber where a sarcophagus housing a mummy lay.

Curious, she inquired, "What is that, Sir?"

I explained, "Legend has it that this sarcophagus belonged to Katy Pussiohep, the great queen of Egypt. There's a chance that, if I could bring her back to life, I would marry her."

She questioned, "Why go to such extremes when you can find plenty of beautiful women here on Earth?"

With a teasing smile, I traced a finger on her cheek, "You see, Ashley, I aspire to live like a king, and for that, I need a queen. I might buy you from your husband, and you'll be my mistress."

Disgusted, she retorted, "You're disgusting."

Unable to control myself at the sight of her disgusted expression, I impulsively locked my lips with hers. Despite her attempts to push me away, I persisted, and she finally succeeded in giving me a forceful shove that sent me staggering backward.

She said, "You're attempting to purchase everything with money; you're not a good man, sir."

I argued, "I rescued you from that hellhole. Imagine what you could achieve with those hundred thousand dollars."

Before she could respond, we heard noises...

I urged, "Quick, hide."

I opened the sarcophagus, revealing a clean interior with enough space for air.

I instructed, "Inside."

She hesitated, stating, "Not with you."

I responded, "It's your choice."

Without further protest, I jumped into the sarcophagus and lay there.

I requested, "At least close it."

She heard laughter from the men outside and defiantly exclaimed, "Fuck off."

She laid on top of me, applying pressure, and closed the lid with her hand. The men were still lingering outside the sarcophagus. Anxiety gripped me, fearing they might exploit Ashley in unimaginable ways.

In a hushed exchange, I remarked, "You're heavy."

She retorted, "You can't shame a woman."

I clarified, "I meant in a good way. I've always admired thick women."

She responded, "I don't care."

I quipped, "Your heavy boobs are quite the weight on me."

She implored, "Sir, please refrain from speaking like that."

My hand traversed her ample back, adorned with flesh, and then seized her generous buttocks. My hands felt diminutive in comparison; a single cheek surpassed the size of a football.

She implored, "Sir, please don't."

I tightened my grip on her buttocks. "If you shout or scream, those men might open the sarcophagus, and then you know what they are capable of doing."