Queen Samira, pampered and worshiped since birth, sighed in boredom. In a shallow bath the length of an entire commoner’s home, she leaned back near the edge. A servant clothed in little but a sheer cotton loincloth placed a plush cushion before her head could hit the sharp edge. The water steamed around her, fragrant water soaking into her skin and making her ample bosom bounce lightly as it reached just under her armpits. Surrounded by luxury, red-painted walls decorated with vibrant blue and gold accents—she only saw tedium!  

The clergy suggested a bath in the temple would cleanse her of any worries, but it did nothing but bore her further. She’d sat in the thing for less than a tenth of the time it took to prepare it before groaning. Standing, she waded to the steps leading further in where a swarm of female servants swaddled her in linens and guided her to a reclined chair to moisturize her skin with oils and perfumes.

One of the servants, someone closer to her age, massaged oils into her breast first. This was perhaps the better part of getting out of a bath.  

Every servant had been trained to please her every whim be it an impromptu dance or flattery. This one had especially skilled hands as a masseur. Samira would not be touched by the hands of the filthy! Thin fingers slowly rubbed in an oil that smelled of a strong summer breeze from the Euphrates. Clean and manicured nails dared not scratch as she rubbed circles with her thumbs over the Queen’s nipples, sliding down her waist.  

Samira closed her eyes, gasping when another servant began massaging her feet. Her eyes fluttered open and closed at the gentle servitude until abruptly coming to an end. Confused, she lifted herself to complain but was silenced when her husband, King Neferkara, slowly strode into the baths. Behind him stood an entourage of guards, clergy, and advisors.   

Immediately, her slowly lifting mood was sullied.  

Despite being disrobed, there was no pleasure on his face in seeing her. The other men, leered as Queen Samira’s servants set to work on making her presentable.  

“Husband,” she greeted, clipped. “Why have you come with an army for a woman merely enjoying a bath?”  

Light red cloth was fastened around her; gold trappings and adornments followed. If the King felt anything for her- he did not show it even as Samira stood and allowed her hair to be brushed and imported jewels to be woven into her hair from her headdress.  

“My dear wife of many, I could not find you in your chambers and had to follow you with a trail! Surely you can greet me with more warmth.” He laughed; large belly hidden under a decorative tunic of many colors. “Let us go to the gardens, I wish to speak in comfort.”  

Scoffing, Samira waited for her myriad of jewels to be in place on her form before stepping into white sandals with straps that wound up her ankles. Gold jingled from her headdress and earrings, bracelets and bangles clinking when the King led first and she followed, servants making a constant pitter-patter of footsteps behind them.  

The halls of the temple towered above them, alight with candles and natural sun from decorative windows. It was well past mid-day, making the light less blinding when stepping outside into dry, cool air. It was a pleasing day for a change. With the wave of his hand, the King dismissed the clergy and his personal servants. Samira halted, and whipped her head back to make contact with the young, beautiful maid that was the first comfort in her tedious little day.  

With a motion akin to batting away pesky animals, she dismissed her own.  

The servants scattered to other tasks they knew they needed to finish. Having also been trained to be prepared for any situation, the servant was dressed completely despite being given little time to prepare. Her status was made plain by a bronze, decorative collar with hoops. Light blue fabric twisted and tied through them, making a halter design that wrapped around her back with a single fastening. Her white cotton loincloth was covered over by a bronze belt, matching blue fabric draping in pleats nearly to her ankles.  

It was their garb that marked them as the Queen’s personal pets.  

For every whim or frustration, all servants of the palace knew to catch one of them.  

As though having an idea, Queen Samira snapped her fingers and caught the ear of one of the King’s servants. “Bring wine and mid-day delicacies to the garden!”  

The boy, dressed in a cotton chemise and little adornments, bowed and scurried to find one of the departed young women as the Queen continued her stride beside her husband.  

The walk to the gardens was silent save for the distant bird singing from the sky and the wind billowing around them.  

Wine and elaborate fruit dishes covered in syrups awaited the Queen on a dainty table. The King huffed as one of his guards eased him into a chair, looking winded by the effort.  

Lovely soft hands picked up a piece of wet fruit and held it to her Queen’s mouth. Samira met her eyes, ignoring her husband to take a bite, and another. Honey-like syrup was lapped from the woman’s fingers, making the girl blush and avert her eyes.  

“Eee-ahem. My dear Queen Samira.” Neferkara allowed a metal goblet to be poured with wine before taking a short drink. “The priests tell me there are… eh- bad omens to the Northeast. As leader of our proud nation, it is my duty to see to war. Perhaps, purge this evil before it can grow and become something much- much worse.”  

He took another drink and looked at the woman beside him. She seemed keener on eying the hourglass shape of the servant girl’s waist before crossing her shimmering legs and leaning her head in his direction. A sign she was listening.  

“I leave the palace to you, wife. I shall have my advisors assist you in any way you wish. I regret to inform you that I shall be taking the majority of our funds into forging weapons and much-needed supplies for the journey. Have no fear-” He held up a hand to silence her though she made no motion to move her lips. “Our treasures shall not be so easily dwindled. I- ah, take it you will be able to endure without me, yes?”  

Samira took her time enjoying another treat, exhaling after a long drink of wine.  

“Yes. Husband. I will honor our marriage and my duties as leader to our people with the task you have given me.” Her voice was flat, and she rolled her eyes unabashedly. “Are we done?”  

The King seemed satisfied enough, being assisted from his chair, and he departed.  

A week passed since her husband had been carried away in a parade and she even remembered the man was gone. It was only on their wedding night that they shared the same bed, and she was given her own private home within the palace. A bedroom, leisure room, and miniature garden with a glittering fountain at its center. Between sitting upon her throne, hearing the complaints of little people, and tending to her priestess duties, tedium was more of a companion than her husband ever was.  

One man had been annoyingly persistent in her hearings. Coming by every day to beg for this and that. Being gifted in rearing beasts of burden, he was more of a tolerated worker that could tend to the royal stables and be allowed the privilege.  

The King’s advisors seem to favor him, swaying the Queen begrudgingly to allow him to speak when she’d wanted to ban him and let the peasant work! Every week, the lesser would enter the throne room, kneel and plead for her favor. A well for the beasts to have more water, more land for grazing, an abundance of metal for tools. It was always need, need, need!  

By the second month, Samira knew what time of day the man would be there to kneel before her, smelling of grass and cow.  

She wrinkled her nose and sniffed into a perfumed cloth.  

“Speak.” She commanded. Samira crossed her legs, the servant on her hands and knees beneath her did not move as she was being used as a footrest.  

“My Queen.” The man didn’t meet her eyes, head bowed and eyes averted. He was bald, head shining in a bright, torch-lit throne room. His skin was a tawny brown, and his body was strong like a hard-working soldier.  

“Despite my best efforts, the animals have been restless. I fear there is little I can do to ease their panic. If they do not breed or become at ease, then there may be a famine. I was…” He seemed to hesitate. “…I was hoping that the men of the temple could perhaps provide a sedative, or, or something that will make them less prone to outrage and resume breeding.”  

“You want the animals I eat to, to be intoxicated? And to frolic with lust on aphrodisiacs?” The servant beneath her tensed as the ball of her foot dug into her spine. “Of all the foolish notions! I allowed your stink in my court for this?”  

The man whose name she never cared to commit to memory opened his mouth, clacking his teeth together when her hand swiftly rose to silence him. Beside her, two advisors leaned into both sides of her ears and spoke quietly.  

“I too have my suspicions of his method, My Queen. But his character has proven to be trustworthy thus far.”  

“Yes, yes, My Queen. Perhaps we ought to have one of the apothecaries to have a look and report.”  

Her head whipped in both directions to stare at them, brows furrowed and lips parted with a deep downturn.  

“These are animals! Not men. The peasant seeks to use them for himself and his low-born women, surely!”  

The man did not say anything, keeping his head down low.  

“My Queen. We cannot afford to suffer from famine.”  

One of the advisors lowered his voice further.  

“With the King off to war, our coffers are thin as it is. The people will not work if they cannot eat. Please My Queen, might I plea to err on the side of caution?”  

Samira inhaled and rolled her eyes to exert full exasperation.  

“In two weeks!” She said, loud enough to be heard at the entrance many paces away from the throne. “You shall be granted use of our medicines. However, in two weeks, if you cannot make the beasts breed then the cost of the expense shall fall upon your head!”  

Whatever his name was.  

Three days passed and already the hearing was out of her mind.  

She indulged in spending more and more time with her handmaids, finding the boredom etched away as she took to experimentation.  

Massages with imported oils meant to stimulate the skin, drinking wine from the crevices of their soft cleavage, relaxing on her belly as a dozen hands gently brushed against her skin. Using three of them as furniture as she was served her meals was perhaps the best.  

There was nothing quite like the cushioning of a beautiful pet bowing for her, and eating straight from the naked flesh of another. No honey tasted as sweet as sucking directly on a soft, pink nipple of her most pale servant.  

One day remained until the dreaded confrontation with the lowborn. She intended to spend time in her garden, listening to the bubbling of the centermost fountain before something bright in the sky caught her attention from the corner of her eye.  

No more than a moment had passed before a servant knocked at her chamber door requesting her presence.  

The palace was abuzz with clergy bowing slightly more abruptly before nearly running elsewhere. There was not this much chatter in the halls since her husband left for the campaign!  

“It’s evil!”  

“What of the King?”  

“We must prepare.”  

“We must urge the citizens to pray!”  

“ENOUGH!”  

The temple hall silenced as Queen Samira breathed heavily from her fast-paced walk. A plush, wicker chair was promptly placed down for her and she sat, eying the priests up and down.  

“Speak plainly,” was all she said as a command. For the dozen men in the room, they swallowed and began speaking in even tones.  

“An evil omen in the sky has just been sighted. It speaks of war, famine, and likely…” The man quieted, letting someone else finish.  

“The death of your husband, the King. It seems to follow his path directly and we fear it will be the end of all our soldiers as well.”  

As head priestess, this news did leave her silent and contemplating.  

“What can be done then?”  

“Well, under prophesied circumstances, the King and Queen would show gods and men their bond during a grand feast of worship.”  

“Many sacrifices must be made, My Queen. To which we can scarcely afford.”  

“And why is that?” Her eyes turned sharply to the last man to speak, and he swallowed hard. “The beasts of our stables have been in better spirits, however, if we choose to sacrifice those who have not engaged in fortification, we may have exactly what we need but we shall be low in number.”  

“Eeeh, and. Well. Not only that but without the King, we are unsure if the ritual can even be done?”  

A small, tiny, squeak of a voice caught their attention and a young servant boy held up a tablet.  

“E-excuse me sirs a-and, My Queen.” He bowed as low as getting onto his knees before raising himself, trembling. Samira did not speak, which was not a clear indication that the boy should either, though he tried his luck anyhow.  

“I found this tablet, and it says that a man and high woman of true devotion must complete the ritual.” He looked down at his bare feet, biting his lip. “I-if that helps.”  

The question everyone asked themselves was who that could be, with the exception of the Queen.  

The festival would commence in two weeks’ time, and she locked herself in her chambers that same day, pacing and throwing anything that was not too heavy to lift. Cushions, flowers, scrolls—random things lie upon the many furs and tapestry rugs that decorated her stone floor.  

A man, touch her?  

Her husband was awful enough!  

His blubbering, clumsy thrusting as she lay nearly flat under him. His vile sweat smeared her makeup as he thought to hold her face to his hairy chest, grunting and panting above her. She longed to swim the Nile when he finally climbed off of her, semen coating her belly as he thought he was inside of her after slipping out.  

The thought of some man-thing rutting atop her like that again made her shriek and angrily destroy a water vessel, painting the sandstone-colored walls dark with liquid.  

She needed wine, and her servants to clean the place before she retired for the night.  

Throwing wide her doors, she stormed out of the room.  

Hours passed too fast as she was needed for approval everywhere she turned. Her feet ached, her head hurt, and the men of the cloth were wise to not bring up the subject of her ire.  

There was no time for further hearings as she was needed everywhere to speak, approve, deny or craft necessities for the upcoming ceremony.  

As the days became tighter, her every action slotted into a specific time, there was little room to truly ponder who would bed her. In front of all of her people no less.  

The idea sent her into a frenzy, often becoming more aggressive to whatever handmaiden was nearest to her.  

What would she do?  

There was no getting out of this, and the clergy were not permitted to engage in the act. Three days left.  

Two.  

One.  

The Queen was miserable from tireless work, and could barely manage several easy breaths of sleep. Nightmares kept her awake of vile men panting like wicked dogs on top of her. Oh, ye gods take her now!  

The palace, positioned on a high hill, was out of earshot of the citizenry below, but she could imagine echoes of the crowds rushing door to door, preparing for the night.  

She was exhausted beyond reason. The scalding hot shower received as servants poured gallon after gallon into the overhead casket did leave her more alert, but her energy was waning. Constantly yawning, she carried herself with as much grace as she could muster, though succumbed to being carried in a grandiose chair through the palace and around the temple.  

The city below glittered orange as the sky was tinged pink, torches alight. Even from the steps leading down many slopes below, Samira was sure the gods of all realms could be guided to them.  

Music carried high up into the air, much closer within a square used for mass gatherings just like this.  

A grand parade has been set up, her litter decorated in gold and many draping cloths. Outside of the box, she could hear the cheers of her subjects calling for her. In her heart, all she felt was cold, numb anxiety.  

The two male servants carrying her halted, and one of the many draping cloths covering the entrance was lifted. Her ceremonial garb silenced the crowd as they stared in awe. Tight cotton hugged her form, heavy headdress forced her to maintain perfect balance as she walked to a circular platform where many guards, clergy, and restless men stood waiting for her to speak.  

Looking at the hundreds of people and many farther back, she made her announcement.  

“For this ceremony, I, High Priestess, your Queen Samira Iset, will require a man of strong devotion to our gods to complete the ritual. You shall be selected from mine own choosing and will take the place of my husband, King Neferkara in the ceremony!”  

Whispers blazed down, returning as shocked chatter back up. Not wanting this to take much longer, she raised her hand for silence.  

“Those selected shall be hand-picked by priests and brought to me. Now. In honor of our gods, to appease them and bring no harm to the King or our soldiers, let the ceremony henceforth begin!” No sooner had Samira lowered her hand did the people explode into cheers.  

Between heavy drums, blaring horns, and the vibrating of the earth as dancers blitzed around the plaza, preparations for the climax were underway. The sky deepened in its rich evening color, night’s hand covering the sky in darkness with only glittering stars to mark the sky above.  

She ordered servants to build a long structure taller than a man and the length where twenty could stand side by side. A massive cloth was draped forming a curtain that separated and obscured anyone on the other side, showing only the other’s feet.  

Flames danced in the cold night breeze; the surrounding area warmed by many braziers. The comet, which was only visible during the day, loomed closer in the night sky, signaling the start of the ritual of sacrifice.  

The men, twenty in total, had been lined up behind the curtain evenly. Neither side could see the other.  

Samira, faced with the moment of truth, clenched her fist and paced the length of the curtain once.  

Some whispers caught the wind from far below, but those higher up on the plaza remained silent.  

She looked down at each pair of feet. None were quite uniform, though she pre-dismissed those with long toenails or unsightly shapes first. Pacing the length from the other side, she eliminated sizes that were too big or had toes that reminded her of her husband’s obtuse little limbs. She walked slowly back across and halted, finding those belonging to a man of fair size, acceptable care, and disgusted her the least.  

With a scepter, she raised the curtain to reveal the man on the other side and could not stop her body from taking a step back.  

It was that damnable stable master!  

The men beside him cheered, and priests ushered him forward to rush him for a bath. Still holding the curtain up, Samira did not move until her decision was announced, causing the people to scream with joy.  

Why were they all so happy?  

She was practically about to bed an animal!  

Oh gods, she felt sick.  

Stiffly, she was rushed away as well for another bath and to change robes.  

Nothing felt real as hot indignation burned her face as it was washed. Even the light stimulation from her handmaidens caressing between her thighs did not feel like anything.  

Only when she had been returned to the cold night air did she remember where she was, standing in front of countless faces watching her every move.  

Draped in a white cotton cape and shawl that dragged along the ground, jewelry made up more cover than cloth. The most luxurious of armlets and jewels decorated her form, her breasts covered by the shawl, otherwise- she was bare. The animal man walked into view from the other side, not meeting her eyes, and covered in a similar fashion. She could see his flaccid, girthy cock swing with every step and her eyes bugged!  

That’s how big he was without excitement?!  

He was perhaps even bigger than her husband’s pathetic member fully erect!  

Averting her own eyes, she pressed her lips tight, stepping over a ring of charms surrounding the bed-like platform.  

It was closer to a stone table than a bed, too thin in width, and covered in many colored fabrics. Below them, dancers stood at the ready, as did those who would slay the beasts at the same time they would begin.  

Face to face, Samira looked to the shining comet above, and back. She offered him no comfort. In fact, she openly glared, deep red lips twisted in the most revolted scowl since her wedding night.  

“What. Is. Your Name?” she grit out from behind her teeth.  

“I-I am called… Harran, My Queen.” He took a quick inhale of breath, glancing at a rusted, dirty silver-colored bangle that was out of place from the excess of gold attached to his arms.  

Samira noticed it too and almost stepped back in alarm. The priests may have bathed him but was that filthy thing?!  

“Oh, my apologies. You see…” Harran turned his head to the crowd and visibly looked like he wanted to faint before turning back. “I… I told them I was married though they insisted as it was your choice. My wife, Meretptah, is there watching us. I hope neither of you takes offense to me being bound by duty.”  

Wait, so he didn’t want to bed her at all?!  

The information caught Samira off guard, muting her for several moments as she watched him breathe in and out deeply. No stimulants were given to either of them for this ritual, they were on their own.  

“As High Priestess. I shall fulfill my duty to the gods and our Kingdom.” Trying not to sag her shoulders, she roughly grabbed him by the wrist and laid on her back, ready to get this whole mess over with.  

“You may begin.”  

Closing her eyes, she waited for the old sting of a rough, uneven penetration.  

Her body jolted as she felt warm hands on her waist, and a kiss being pressed onto her labia. Confused, she opened her eyes and turned her head down. Sun-kissed lips parted her own as he tilted his head, kissing her gently.  

Men could… do that?  

She felt a rush of heat as fire dancers lit their flamed staffs and open flames were made to cook the meat of fresh animal sacrifices. There was another brush of fire against her cheeks when watching him, knowing that hundreds of eyes were watching as well. She couldn’t very well look to the clergy like this, keeping her eyes on Harran and blinking quickly. What on the earth of the gods was happening?  

He extended his tongue and dragged it up, and down. Carefully, and slowly.  

Clenching her teeth, muscles in her neck tightened as her body reacted, and a sharp whine came from her throat. What was this? It felt good? Impossible.  

Queen Samira’s mind rolled like a stormy sea as she couldn’t process what she was feeling.  

Curiously, she spread her legs wider and gripped the sides of the pedestal with her toes. Strained, her voice came out in uneven waves as he stuck his longer-than-she-expected tongue inside her, twisting. Ample breasts bounced and jingled under the adornments covering her chest and she leaned back on her forearms.  

Surely the priests instructed him how to do this. There was no way a man would do this naturally, right? Her husband didn’t. He thrust straight into her on their wedding night and did not even plant the seed of a child within! But this man, this Harran. He seemed to know how to…

“Oooohh.” The Queen practically melted, sliding back on her back and raising her lower half.  

She was out of her mind for a moment until coming back to her senses.  

Hot embarrassment wrapped around her body, stinging her like venom. Did… anyone else hear her make that sound?  

The cheering from the crowd below said yes.  

She wanted to cover her face, but her hands were gripping the cloth beneath her hard enough to make them tremble.  

Samira was close to tears as he flicked his tongue over her clit once, making her entire body jolt again. She wanted so badly to open her mouth and scream, but she kept her teeth locked to not succumb to the wants of a man- no a commoner!  

Red in the face, she felt little succor in the night air.  

“Please, My Queen.” Harran crawled atop her, still holding her waist. “You must relax. I fear I will harm you if you remain like this.”  

The commoner had the nerve to look concerned!  

Relax? Like this?  

She looked down at his still flaccid member.  

“Allow me to try something else. Pray forgive me for any distress.”  

Harran sat on the back of his legs and adjusted himself to be more at the Queen’s side. Silently she watched as his hands brushed over her belly, and one finger was inserted inside of her. Wincing, she looked away and closed her eyes, silently denying his existence as much as she could.  

That was, until another finger slid inside of her and rapidly shook from one wall to the other.  

Aversion be damned, she’d never felt anything like this before!  

Eyes flying open, she nearly leaped up, sitting, and watching his hands work.  

Samira was at her limit. Whatever he was doing was causing an incredibly wet noise to come from her. Like the sloshing of one’s finger in a gentle stream. Leaning back, her eyes practically rolled up as though she were one of the dead, loud moans escaping her as a hot clear liquid did as well.  

This time, her silence wasn’t in protest, but in being speechless.  

Panting madly, she nearly flopped back down, her body limp from the exertion and suddenly needing to relax.  

When she felt her legs being lifted, knowing what was happening, the sensation she just felt played once more in her mind. Her inner walls flexed; ghosts of beautiful pleasure being craved once more.  

The pinch of his hard cock sliding into her caused her some discomfort, but nothing like her wedding night. Wincing, she crossed her arms over her chest, mind acting on memory. Instead of slamming into her, slid in even slower.  

Before his entire length could reach her limit, he pulled out. Not feeling the agonizing pain of rutting, she dared to open her eyes. He was watching, an awkward smile greeting her. Looking down at herself, she realized she appeared like a scared waif before a beast.  

“Why… Why are you going so slowly?” Samira found herself asking first.  

He did not stop, merely placed his palms flat upon her knees and gripped.  

“It would be a crime to ruin Her Grace’s body. Your husband would have my head if I mistreated you, and- well-” Harran exhaled, closing his eyes. “It is the right thing to do.”  

He went deeper inside of her, and she could begin to feel the dark fingers of lust caress her. Before gods and men, she was beginning to become… attracted? Her inner walls clenched against him, making him hiss. It was as though the gods themselves had possessed him then, and he moved faster, hitting an angle that stimulated her the same as his fingers did!  

Muscles turning to mush, it hurt her to fight the sensation. Gods.  

Oh, gods.  

A quiet little whimper turned into a deeper moan when he pushed completely inside her. On her back, her breasts bounced hard enough to slap against her many necklaces when he pulled out and slammed back in.  

Hot and dizzy, she lifted her knees. More  

She needed so much more.  

That damned Harran kept going so slow! It was more torture than it was pleasure. Delicate hands hesitated before interlocking behind his neck. She was still very embarrassed, but she’d be urged to actually say something if he kept doing this to her, and she would not allow that.  

Harran got the message and rapidly slammed into her. He released the dam with his fingers, now it was as though he tore asunder the earth to let the ocean flow free. Her voice pierced the night as wet pleasure spilled between them. His balls slapped hard against her, splashing them both and making more of a mess.  

She didn’t want him to stop.  

She really didn’t want him to stop.  

Screaming the names of their gods her divine legs spread as far as they could go into the air. Head empty, there was only uncontrollable lust! The sound of her jewelry rattling could be heard all across the plaza until Harran pulled out, seed spilling all over her sweat-covered breasts, stomach, and the cloth of the pedestal.  

The crowd roared; the ritual was complete.