The Golden Phallus

The Sphinx hides between the pyramids and sand dunes like my clit between the folds of my pussy lips. It is 45 degrees Celsius in the shade, if you can find it, shade that is. We are busy producing a cheap documentary film on the Egyptian theology of an afterlife for a PBS channel. Michael, my cameraman, is a tall well-build man with long blond hair and a cock to die for. Oh, I've seen and had his dick in my hands. He handles his Sony video camera as if it is a toy. We are pretending to be tourists to avoid paying bribes to the authorities and to evade their scrutiny. The tension in Egypt is still palpable and I suppose that is the reason we are playing this dangerous cat-and-mouse game.

I feel my white camisole clinging to my upper body like a second skin. Michael's constant gaze at my breasts stokes the fire between my legs. Looking down, I see the reason for his attention, but also the growing tent pole in his khaki shorts. My nipples and breast are clearly visible. Pulling the clinging cloth from my body, I try to bring a little decorum to my appearance. Not that my shorts are any less revealing. My twin bottom orbs are clearly visible from behind. I can feel the wetness leaking from my puffy lips. We are taking a great risk to appear like this in a country with the Brotherhood in power. It will be hopefully all worth it once Michael enters my holy chamber.

Looking for our guide, we wander deeper into the pyramid until we reach a chamber with the hieroglyphics depicting a section of the Egyptian Book of the Dead. Anubis, one of the greatest Egyptian gods, accompanies the soul of the dead to the underworld, till they reach the Great Hall of Judgment of Osiris. Here the heart of the deceased is placed on a scale and weighed against Maat, the goddess of Truth in the form of a feather. The soul must confess its sins before 42 gods and if the confession was true, the scales will remain balanced. If not, the soul is off to be devoured by Ammut, a mythical animal with the neck, mane and front quarters of a lion, the head of a crocodile and the hindquarters of a hippopotamus. Not someone I would like to meet in these dark chambers.

I move closer to Michael and touch his wet T-shirt, feeling his rippling muscles and suddenly I feel a little safer. He pulls me closer and pushes his erect cock against my mound. The fear and arousal open the floodgates of my pussy. My wetness forces me to answer his advances by rubbing my clit against his still growing erection.

"O, sweet goddess," I gasp. I want to call out to Isis, the queen/wife/sister of Osiris, to make this happen.

Then a loud group of American tourists enter the chamber and we quickly separate, Michael keeps his cool and start filming the walls behind me. He turns his back to the tourists because his erection has not yet subsided. The longing to rip off his shorts, grab his cock and suck on it is so strong that I have to use all the modesty I have left to keep it from happening. Michael steers me into another chamber where we can be alone....

We have been five days now in Cairo, Egypt and to save money we have been sharing a room. At first we respected each other's privacy, but after a shower, when the towel I tied around me fell off, decorum left the room and our lives. We saw each other often naked. Now I don't have any shame left. I even shaved my pubic hair. During siesta, we usually lay on our beds naked to let the breeze, if any, cool us down. We still haven't touched each other or made love. I often wondered if Michael was interested in me, but once I caught him looking at me and I saw his penis swelling more than usual. I fell in love with him long ago, on a previous documentary shoot amongst the Bushman of the Kalahari Desert in Botswana. Michael was still married and I was involved with a woman. The time wasn't right. But now, in Egypt, my luck might change or my life might be over before I can have him between my legs.

Yesterday, during siesta, Michael got up and stood naked at the window overlooking the meandering, dirty Nile River. He spread his arms to hold onto the sides of the window, looking like Samson pushing the pillars of the temple apart. He looked lost and my heart went out to him. I saw the sweat running rivulets down his back, coming together at the top of the crack between his ass cheeks, making him shiver. I got up and moved on wobbly legs to stand behind him. I pressed my naked breasts against his sweaty back and my arms circled around him, floating down his muscled abdomen to find his velvety cock warm and stiff. He pushed his perfect buns against my mound. We stood like that for a long time, my right hand slowly moving up and down his erection. His breathing became labored and soft moans escaped between his clenched teeth. The smell of muskiness mingled with a touch of Aramis emanating from Michael overwhelmed me and the throbbing of my own sex matched his.

We were in sync.

I was about to fall on my knees before him to wrap my lips around his cock when...a knock on the door. We didn't move. The moment was too special. The second knock was more urgent.

"One moment, please." I was the first one to recover.

We quickly dressed and I opened the door. It was Ghammal, our guide. Once the door was opened he rushed in, shutting the door behind him, looking scared and breathing hard. His gaze darted from Michael to me, then he inspected the bathroom, looked under the beds, behind the curtains before coming to rest on my bed. His hands trembled as he removed a long heavy package from his sling bag. Ghammal is a small bald middle-aged Egyptian with a thin mustache.

"Thank be to Allah, you're here, Christine." He pushed the packet into my hands. "Hide this, please." He got up, took both my hands, kissed it and said: "Meet me tomorrow morning at ten in the Chamber of the Dead. Bring the package." Before I could say or do anything he was out the door.

"What's this all about?" Michael and I looked at each other, stunned. My biggest regret was that our most intimate moment was also gone like it never happened. I wanted Michael so badly that I could still taste his sweet. But the fear in Ghammal's eyes haunted me. My love/lust for Michael was put on hold again.

That is how we got here, waiting for Ghammal. Now I remember the parcel. Rummaging through my backpack I look for the package to make sure it is still there. Ghammal didn't show and it is now close to eleven. The traffic couldn't be that bad this early in the morning.

"Christine," Michael's urgent whisper comes from a side chamber. Rushing in I see a small figure sitting in a dark corner. It's Ghammal. On closer inspection, I see his swollen bloody face, the dry blood on his left ear and a small blue hole in the middle of his forehead. Most disturbing of the scene is that Ghammal's tied hands are holding his formidable penis.

Michael grabs my hand and pulls me up and out the chamber, down passages, past the tourists, up the stairs, out the gate and into the heat of the morning sun. I gasp for air, but Michael pulls me further along.

"We should have helped him." I can barely breathe.

"How?" asks Michael. "Ghammal is fucking dead."

"The police. We have to let the authorities know."

"What can we tell them?" Michael is right. "I don't want to rot in an Egyptian jail for the rest of my life. Besides, these guys shoot first and never ask questions."

The warm sun forces more air from my aching lungs. While we stumble away from the pyramids, I fish out two bottles of mineral water from my backpack. We guzzle it down. I splash water on my overheated body. The cool relief is but short lived. We have to think and prepare for the worst. We are in the middle of something we don't understand. Amidst this confusion I can feel my nipples hardening, pushing against the wet camisole. I pull Michael into a side alley and kiss him with all the passion I feel bursting from my pussy. Before they kill me, I want to fuck Michael. I can feel his cock responding to my passion. But for once he reacts with his other head.

"We have to move to another hotel," says Michael, pushing me away.

"You're right."

Disappointed I let him go. We flag down a black and white dilapidated taxi to take us to the hotel. Without saying anything we quickly pack our bags, book out and hearing the wailing sirens getting closer we're off to the next hotel. At the Olympic Hotel, in the sleazy suburbs of Cairo, we book in as Mr. and Mrs. Michaels.

While Michael takes his turn to shower I sit naked on my bed, my hair still wet. Placing Ghammal's package on the bed between my crossed legs, I inspect to covering. The object is wrapped in very old leather tied with pieces of papyrus string. Ghammal is dead because of this parcel. Why? What significance does this eight inch object have? I struggle to untie the knots and after a while the strings are off.

Before I can open the leather, Michael enters from the bathroom, naked drying his long wet hair. My gaze moves from the object in front of me to his beautiful penis.

"What's that?" he asks.

Slowly I uncover the object. It is a beautiful golden phallus with the scrotum as the stand.

"Ouch," says Michael protecting his own cock.

It looks like someone chopped it off from the rest of the owner. It is an exquisite example of Ancient Egyptian craftsmanship. This is not some cheap dildo for a woman's pleasure. The gold seems very old and smooth. A few princesses must have used this during those lonely nights in their harem beds. I am not an expert, but this must be worth ten million or more.

Michael drops on the bed in front of me and picks up the phallus. My gaping pussy lips are already swollen and I can feel the moisture seeping from it. The golden dildo pulls us closer until our lips meet at its smooth head. Michael slips the phallus between our mouths and kisses me passionately. My tongue fervently seeks his. I fall backwards with Michael on top. His cock knocks on my mound as if it is asking permission to enter.

I try to forget Ghammal's dead eyes and his hands around his penis and concentrate on the moment I've been waiting for. Passion takes over and I pull Michael closer to me. Knowing that the phallus has something to do with Ghammal's death, it has to wait. I want to satisfy my own lust first.

I spread my legs further apart and lift my behind to grant Michael entrance into my sacred compartment. He has other ideas. Drawing back from my darting tongue, he plants small wet kisses on my neck, my breasts and I can feel him sucking on my nipples. Still he continues downwards, leaving a wet trail over my flat stomach. At the entrance of my naked smooth vulva, he hesitates, inspecting my inner sanctum. I pray he is not disappointed in what he sees. I close my eyes in anticipation to feel his wet tongue on my clit.

Instead of a wet tongue I feel the cold head of the golden phallus. Michael rubs it gently up and down my slit, often coming to caress my clit. My whole body stiffens as Michael pushes the golden ornament into my pussy, in and out, in and out. Now it is no longer a golden dildo but a throbbing cock filling me with life and a new sense of purpose. My love for Michael grows into an unexplainable love for the whole universe. I am One with the All.

As I look between the valley of my breasts, I see Michael suddenly sitting upright.

"Something's happening," he whispers, throwing his hands in the air, his beautiful cock erect and proud.

I can feel the golden cock moving inside me. Who is fucking me now? This supernatural vibrator is busy building up an orgasm of great magnitude in my body. I struggle against this total onslaught but in the end I have to release my control to the higher power of passion.

"I am cumming!" I scream. My insides burst open and the floodgates are released. My whole body trembles and shakes. For the first time in my life I give myself over to the pleasure of sex. It is as if I am floating in the air with my arms and legs spread wide, making love to the universe. All my senses are heightened: I can hear Michael's heart beat, thumping in my head, I hear the blood rushing to his penis; I can smell my own juices, the dust outside, the soap on Michael's body; I can see the fine hair on his hands, magnified, while he is stroking his cock to this weird image before him. I can taste my own lust and the wetness of his precum at the tip of his cock.

A blinding white light overpowers me while the golden tool turns around, still fucking me. I am also turned around landing softly face downwards on a pillow. I dream of Seth, killing his brother the God Osiris, chopping him up in 14 pieces. Seth scatters the pieces across the world, leaving the beautiful topless widow Isis to mourn the death of her brother and husband. She is heartbroken over the treachery of a brother. Looking closer I can see that I am the spitting image of Isis, short dark hair, with full firm breasts and an embroided piece of cloth covering her pussy. Her son, Horus, is out to revenge his father's death. Together with the Egyptian love goddess Isis, I help gather all the pieces of Osiris' body to resurrect him from the dead.

There is just one piece that Isis couldn't find. She looks at me with dark pleading eyes, gives me a heavenly kiss and wiggle my clit before her fingers disappears into my waiting pussy. I am busy fucking myself. A last look into the smoldering eyes of Isis explains the meaning of everything to me. Waking up, I see a concerned Michael sitting next to me on the bed.

"Come on," I urge Michael. "I'll explain later." I throw an Egyptian caftan over my body and wrap a turban around my head. Michael dresses in Egyptian men's clothes.

"We have to get the Egyptian Museum," trying to explain my experience to Michael and to myself. Hopefully, Ghammal's killers and guards won't recognize us. My walk feels unnatural to me, with the pulsating golden phallus still deep in my pussy.

At the Museum, we pay the twenty Egyptian pounds, walk past the Rosetta Stone, through the Tutankhamen Exhibition to a closed-off area at the back. Michael wants more information and all I could say is that he has to trust me. Hidden in a dark room, under a white tarpaulin he waited for millennia for this moment. I remove my caftan, indicating to Michael to uncover the waiting deity. Before us stands the life size statue of Osiris, minus his manhood.

I turn around, reversing towards the statue. Michael then realizes what the meaning of my actions is. With his strong hands on my naked hips he guides me towards the empty groin of Osiris. When the phallus in my pussy makes contact with its owner I feel the penis in me giving life to the statue. The soft material of Michael's clothes rubs against me, his warm hands on my back reassuring and comforting. My legs wobble as another orgasm approaches. I change into Isis and she takes my body over. I cling to Michael, pulling out his erection, wrapping my mouth around it and suck on it for dear life.

Michael's cock is my connection to this life and reality. We, Osiris, Isis, Michael and I quickly find a rhythm in our passionate love making. I feel Osiris bending forward to move his hand to my clit, quickening the advent of my orgasm. Bending at the hips, with my one hand clinging to Michael and while my other hand to envelop his cock while I suck him dry. Our lovemaking last an eternity before Osiris grunts and releases his ancient seed into my waiting womb. Michael also reaches his climax and I swallow his seed with relish. My own powerful orgasm overtakes me and even with Isis in me my knees wobble and I fall to the floor exhausted. Michael and Osiris kneel next me looking worried. Weakly, I turn to face both of them. I take their cocks in my hands, bring them to my mouth to clean off their cum and my pussy juice with all the love I have. I even rub their two cocks against each other, sending a quiver through both my lovers.

Then Isis leaves my body to take her place next to her husband. They embrace - their first in such a long time. In a strange voice the two divinities speak as one:

"You are our manifestations in this world. Be worthy of this calling."

Suddenly, the two deities disappear and we are alone. We quickly dress to sneak out the Museum and to find the murderer of Ghammal. At least we know a little bit more about the Egyptian theology of the afterlife. Then Michael makes my day by saying:

"I love you, my queen."