The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Part One — 1478 BC.

An Army Destroyed.

Unnatural lightening forked across the desolate battlefield of defeated, fornicating men. An army sacrificed purely as a desperate tactical diversion.

Despite being mid-afternoon, it was a dusky gloom under the supernaturally dark clouds, as Queen Khayetis toured the scene of her triumph, with an entourage of enslaved commanders.

The malevolent minor goddess hadn’t needed weapons to fight this battle. After seven years ruling over the Egyptian empire, her powers were strong enough to bend these foes to her evil will.

So it was, that all around her now, the once mighty warriors of Thutmoe III moaned on the ground, unable to stop wilding fucking each other. Defeated, proud men, reduced to mindless meat slaves, desperate to suck every cock and fuck every ass. As Queen Khayetis’ dark magic had flowed over the battlefield, the attacking army had simple turned into a harmless orgy of gay lust.

The Goddess would pause at each knot of fornicating men, so that her commanders could run through any of Thutmoe III’s officers with their swords. She might have won the battle without bloodshed, but that didn’t mean that bloodshed wasn’t required. From time to time, Queen Khayetis would select a promising looking noble warrior from the scrum to become a replacement officer for the remaining new conscripts into her enslaved army.

Each selected warrior would cower in fear before the enchanting, intoxicating beauty of the evil Queen. Her perfect, large naked breasts, and her even bigger, fearsome looking, huge powerful cock, which would rip into their terrified asshole to deposit her superior cum deep inside their soul, creating an unbreakable worshiping love for their new Queen and Goddess.

A Weapon Revealed.

Thutmoe III’s most trusted mighty warrior, Nakht, positioned himself next to a group of fornicating officers as the evil Queen approached. He kept his back to her, so that she could not see his mutilation.

He had been horrified by what the Goddess’ evil magic had done to his proud brothers in arms. He knew now that everything rested on him. Only he could ensure that the army’s sacrifice had not been in vain.

Having been chosen to be the ultimate weapon in this battle for Pharaoh Thutmoe III, the true and rightful ruler of Egypt, had been the greatest honour, and the greatest personal sacrifice too of course. Even now, with his mutilation, Nakht could feel her evil magic at work. He had to fight hard to resist the urge to simply give in and suck someone’s cock, and as she drew near, the scarring in his groin throbbed with ever greater sexual need.

Then, the moment of truth was at hand. The officers next to Nakht were pulled apart and screamed as they were put to the sword. There was a momentary paused, and Nakht could have sworn he could physically feel Queen Khayetis’ eyes on his back, weighing him up. Selection made, rough hands grabbed him suddenly from behind, pulling him towards her as they turned him around to face his new would-be Goddess.

Too late, Queen Khayetis saw the hidden danger, the trap that had been set. Nakht’s mutilated groin, the castrated eunuch warrior whose cock and balls had been cut off. Even as she tried to pull back from him, and her lieutenant’s swords pierced him like a pin cushion, Nakht had been too fast, plunging the dagger, forged by Thutmoe’s priests and their ing gods, fatally deep into the evil Goddess’ black heart.

A Dynasty Restored.

Thus, at unimaginable cost, Pharaoh Thutmoe III ended the seven years of Queen Khayetis’ evil and terror against mankind.

He had finally taken his revenge for her overthrow and murder of his father, Pharaoh Thutmoe II, whose cock she had cooked and eaten.

Now, the true and glorious reign of Pharaoh Thutmoe III could begin in earnest, wiping all memory of this evil Daughter of Desolation, and her dark determination to destroy mankind, from Egypt’s history.

Part Two — 1893 AD.

A Disappointing Secret.

The beam of Lord Billington’s torch cut through the swirling motes of dust like a spotlight at the theatre. Dust disturbed for the first time in thousands of years, as they broke through the concealed hiding the secret chamber beyond.

Lord Billington had to it, that for a secret chamber, so very carefully hidden, it was a big disappointment. Small and nearly square, it looked more like a tiny corridor, the promise of maybe leading to another hidden chamber beyond, really its only point of interest at first glance.

Indeed, its walls were unusually plain, with none of the rich, intricate mass of hieroglyphics, from floor to ceiling, that adorned the walls of the tomb chamber that had concealed this little secret.

A Wedding Delayed.

Lord Billington, a gentleman adventurer and amateur archologist, had left his Bedfordshire Estates in England five years earlier, in search of fame and fortune among the ancient tombs of the Pharaohs.

He was accompanied by his eldest child, Emily, now 22, leaving behind Lady Billington to manage his affairs, and to look after his much younger second daughter, Sarah, now 16, and his most precious son and heir, William, who had been just 8 when their expedition had set out for Egypt.

In truth, he had never intended to stay this long, and he certainly needed to return urgently now, as Lady Billington’s letters kept reminding him, so that Emily could be married off to a suitable suitor, before she simply got too old. They would leave as soon as they had finished this unexpected little extra excavation.

To be fair, Lord Billington’s original research and surveying had been almost spot-on, uncovering and excavating the rich tomb of a cousin of the famous Pharaoh Thutmoe III by the end of their first two years in Egypt. That sarcophagus and treasure trove had already been shipped off to the British Museum for the glory of Queen Victoria, cementing his reputation.

And Lord Billington’s expedition would have ended there, as planned. Only the first excavation had quickly suggested the presence of another unknown tomb alongside. It was much deeper, and with a trickier layout, requiring a further two years of careful excavation to unearth, but had proved the much greater treasure and puzzle.

Already, as the precious artifacts waited to head off with Lord Billington and Emily to England and the safe embrace of the British Museum, academics were arguing over how to decode the puzzling tomb. The sarcophagus appeared to be that of man called Nakht, a revered warrior. But it was clearly a tomb chamber of much higher status and value than that of Pharaoh Thutmoe III’s blood cousin next door, which didn’t seem to make any sense, particularly as beyond a fleeting refence to Nakht as Thutmoe’s champion, there seemed to be no historical record of why this Nakht should have been so honoured.

Now there was this further delay to their return. Thanks to a young French engineer on his staff, who Lord Billington fancied had taken an unhealthy shine to Emily. But there was no doubt that the chap was brilliant at his job, and mapping their combined excavations, it was he who noticed a strange void, suggesting further possible chambers that hadn’t yet been found.

Lord Billington was sceptical, but intrigued enough by the possibility to very carefully examine Nakht’s burial chamber, where the anomaly might be, and blow me if they hadn’t eventually discovered a hiding the secret chamber beyond.

It was the most skilful concealment that he, or anyone else on the expedition, had ever seen in an Egyptian tomb. Perhaps it was to protect a great treasure from grave robbers. Of course, Lord Billington had to delay their return just a bit longer to investigate.

A Pornoglyphics Discovery.

It wasn’t until the next day, as they carefully cleared the invading sand that had half-filled the little secret chamber, to access the far wall and the hoped for further structures beyond, that they found anything at all in the bare space.

But there, laying on the floor under the sand, were two stone tablets of hieroglyphics. The tablets were rough and crudely carved, as if they had been produced in a rush, or the carver hadn’t been allowed, for whatever reason, to use the walls of the little room in the usual manner.

However, what was most remarkable about the tablets, and quite shocking, was the excessively graphic nature of the hieroglyphics. They were positively pornographic.

Although Lord Billington hadn’t ever seen anything as explicit as this before, every historian was familiar with their ancestor’s more crude and savage lives. And not just in Egyptian hieroglyphics, there were all those erect horse cocks in the Bayeaux Tapestry for example. Fortunately, in this more civilised age, Edwardian and Victorian adventurers had developed a procedure for recording such history for the scholars, while protecting the wider public morality.

A faithful rubbing would be taken with parchment, the scroll being made available only to British Museum scholars with a legitimate research interest. The artifacts themselves would then have the offending parts removed, in this case by a chisel, rendering them safe for public view in the Museum, or indeed by the delicate eyes of Queen Victoria herself.

But as Lord Billington studied the truly shocking pornoglyphic tablets in detail, he wondered if there would be anything left to see after the censor’s chisel. One thing he did notice though, was a central character repeated among the filth. A graceful panther, adorned with dark jewels. But it wasn’t any symbol for the Egyptian gods that he recognised.

For now, he left the two tablets in situ in the little chamber, discreetly covered with some sacking. He had to forbid Emily, and most of the rest of the expedition , from examining them, but he noticed that all three Egyptian army officers, who the government insisted accompany each dig with half a dozen soldiers for security, found an excuse to take a good gawp.

An Exciting Secret.

Two days later they successful broken through the far wall of the little secret chamber, into a much larger tomb chamber beyond. Lord Billington’s hat-trick of tombs, an exciting achievement that called for great celebration, even if the third tomb was also an historical enigma.

The secret tomb was a physical enigma too. Still totally plain, devoid of any of the rich hieroglyphics in the other two burial chambers. And even with the invading sand dunes still across the floor, Lord Billington could see there were no grave goods for the afterlife, let alone any great treasure that might have warranted such careful concealment. Although he fancied he could make out the shape of several more tablets perhaps.

Even the sarcophagus was odd. No lavish gold decoration like the other two, just plainly adorned, possibly with some painted markings long since faded away to the centuries. And unlike every other sarcophagus anyone had ever come across, this one was not on a plinth in the centre of the chamber. It was tucked away, dismissively to one side, on the floor along far the wall, with the head section tucked into a sort of tight-fitting alcove, crudely hewn into the rock, as if it were half in and half out of the room.

As they laboriously cleared out the sand, there was one more feature in the plain burial chamber that Lord Billington realised he had missed on first inspection. A small basin like hole carved into the rock at waist height, next to sarcophagus’ alcove just above it to the right. It reminded Lord Billington of one of those little holy water stoups often found near the entrance in a church, but what its meaning or function here was could be added to their long list of questions.

He had been right about the tablets though. The sand revealed three more, distressingly even more pornographic than the two in the small outer chamber. It was as if whoever had wanted to place them in the tomb had run out of time, or options, and had to abandon two outside. They were a problem though, on of being just so obscene. Lord Billington had the two moved into the tomb, placed with the other three, and covered while he mulled over what to do.

An Unwelcome Visitor.

The very next afternoon, Lord Billington’s camp received an unannounced visitor.

Fenuku El-Sadat was one of those obsequious little Egyptian men always trying to ingratiate themselves with the British, while giving every indication that they would steal your purse at the first opportunity. His card said he was a businessman, but he said he had come as a fellow amateur archaeologist and historian.

The women at the camp definitely didn’t like him, even the whores. One of the cooks told Lord Billington, with a mixture of fear and loathing, that Fenuku’s business was a notorious club in Cairo where he supplied women, men, drugs and any other kind of perversion. There was talk of disappearances too, but he always had the Army Officers in his pocket, so nothing was ever done. Certainly, Fenuku seemed to be on very good with all three of the Officers at the excavation.

Lord Billington was about to tell the odious little man to sling his hook, when Fenuku mentioned he had come with information about the dark panther, information you wouldn’t find in any of the history books he said. So, despite the unsettling way he had leered at Emily, Lord Billington took afternoon tea with Fenuku.

“My associates and I try to uncover and preserve those unwanted fragments of my country’s colourful history that others would rather keep from their sanitised version of official events” Fenuku explained. “You said you had information?” Lord Billington pressed, not wanting the prolong their conversation. “Yes… my little… history society. We believe you may have found the tomb of Queen Khayetis who ruled over Egypt between the Pharaohs, Thutmoe II and Thutmoe III, but who has been virtually wiped from the historic record.”

“Why would they do that?” Lord Billington asked, ignoring the question about just how Fenuku might have come to hear about the tomb so quickly. “I believe you have a saying in England, that the history books are written by the victors, no? said Fenuku, “and Thutmoe III defeated her in battle to claim his throne, wiping the slate clean as it were.”

“But there are fragments of the truth here and there if you search hard enough” Fenuku continued. “It seems Queen Khayetis was a minor goddess, the illegitimate daughter of Isfet, the goddess of disorder and evil, who was tricked and raped by Apep the serpent in human form. As a result, she was taught by her mother Isfet to hate mankind. From what little we know, Queen Khayetis’ enchanting, intoxicating beauty was as great as her malevolence and destruction, depicted in hieroglyphs as a graceful panther adorned with dark jewels, stalking the shadows, wielding her allure as a weapon, known as the Daughter of Desolation.”

“Actually, that might be really useful” Lord Billington said, suddenly grateful that Fenuku El-Sadat had come. “Can you send me what little you have, everything, and we can see if anything matches up with what we’ve discovered here.”

“Of course, happy to help” Fenuku smiled like a snake. “But I have come with a warning too.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in the Curse of the Pharaohs” Lord Billington said. “Heavens no” laughed Fenuku, “We are both men of science. But I must warn you that there are those in authority here who would not be pleased to see such a dark Queen gain the light of our history books. If they hear of what you may have found, they will surely seize and burry it again. We must rely on more enlightened scholars, like yourself and the British Museum, not to shy away from presenting the historical truth, however unpalatable to some.”

An Unwelcome Official.

After Fenuku had returned to Cairo, Lord Billington was inclined to dismiss the man’s warning as merely the product of the usual overly melodramatic Egyptian temperament.

That was, until the very next day, when the camp received another unannounced visitor, this time in the form of an official from the de facto Ottoman Government, named Salah Abu Ramzy.

He was here to examine the latest discoveries and prepare a report. An exasperated Lord Billington was starting to wonder if there was any one left in Egypt who hadn’t already heard about the discovery of the mysterious third tomb! Although in this case, he felt fairly certain one of the Army Officers had probably communicated his concerns to the Turks, no doubt in hope of a promotion.

Salah Abu Ramzy spent most of the day examining the two secret chambers, the plain sarcophagus, and of course the obscene pornoglyphic tablets, in great detail. He took copious notes, and developed an annoying, but uncommunicative, tutting as he went about his work. Then he abruptly left without giving any clues to what he thought, or indeed what his report was even for.

As he ate dinner with Emily that evening, the words of Fenuku’s warning returned to echo through Lord Billington’s head. As he finished the last spoonful of what amounted to the Egyptian cook’s attempt at steamed Spotted Dick, he made a decision. Lord Billington would be damned if anyone was going to steal his glory away, and there were Emily’s overly delayed nuptials to think of as well.

He thought the logistics through in his head. Take the tablet rubbings overnight, then crate everything up tomorrow, and they could be at the port, safely on a ship to England by the end of the third day, long before any Ottoman report could be written, read, or acted upon.

He started giving the orders, and Emily, looking disappointed, went off to start packing. He needed someone reliable and through to work through the night to produce the tablet rubbings. Lord Billington smiled. Who better than that young French engineer, which also conveniently had the added benefit of ensuring there would be no time for Emily and the Frenchman to get any silly ideas.

A Night Shift.

The world seemed deathly silent in the tomb in the early hours of the morning, as the young French engineer started the rubbing for the third tablet. Although it was laborious work, he would easily be finished before dawn.

Even for a Frenchman, from a nation of famed lovers, the pornoglyphics on the tablets were shocking in their depravity and violence, going well beyond the usual casual depiction of men and women’s genitalia often found in historical texts. And these last three tablets, found in the tomb chamber itself, were even worse than the first two. It was as if the devil himself had processed the carver to depict an orgy of unnatural acts, with cruel domination and evil destruction. And weaved through whatever perverted story these tablets were trying to tell, this bejewelled panther, worshiped and feared, wreaking vengeance and nightmares.

By the time he was on the fourth tablet, it was clear this panther was some sort of god, transforming at will into a hermaphrodite Queen of intoxicating beauty, with magnificent breasts and a fearsome cock, dominating the sexual debauchery and destruction.

Perhaps it was the nature of the material, but it seemed to be getting very warm in the tomb chamber as his graphite pencil moved over firm breasts, big cocks, and an orgy of men fucking women, women pleasuring other women, and men performing unnatural acts on other men. A hot gust of wind suddenly whipped through the chamber like a low moan, as the young man realised all these images had given him an achingly hard erection.

He had to unbutton and get it out to release the pressure and relieve the discomfort. He shrugged off his shirt too, better to work in the heat. At least at this hour he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed. With one had around his engorged cock, he started moving his pencil again over the tablet with the other. Unthinking. Rubbing with the pencil, and rubbing his arousal to the orgy being revealed. Another hot gusty moan of wind echoed through the tomb.

Soon he was just staring mindlessly at the pornoglyphic tablet as he wanked his needy cock. It seemed impossibly large and thick. He thought of his beloved, out of reach, Emily. He imagined his mighty cock plunging into her wet cunt, giving the slut what she needed most. Wait, no. That wasn’t right. He loved and cherished Emily. Yes, that was right. He loved her enough to hold her down and give her what she deserved. She would moan in submission like the hot gusts swirling around him.

The young Frenchman had arranged the tablets in a line on the tomb floor, his easel set up next to the sarcophagus, so that he was now standing between the easel and the sarcophagus, masturbating furiously, his erection pointing straight at the strange little bowl like depression in the wall. It seemed, in his lust addled mind, that as he fucked Emily, they were merging into the tablet’s orgy of depravity. Now his own orgasmic cry filled the chamber, as his cock exploded, shooting an impossibly huge load of cum into the wall’s bowl like receptacle.

He had never cum with such a draining intensity before. But the expected relief of flaccid relaxation didn’t follow. He remained rock hard, continuing to compulsively masturbate like a mindless drone, if anything, needing desperately to cum again even more than before. Lost in the hot moaning banshee wind swirling around him.

A less entranced person might have observed how his cum offering in the wall niche was slowly draining through a hole in the base. Then unseen, his intimate juices flowed to the left through a tube carved inside the stone wall, emerging at the top of the low arch alcove into which the head of the sarcophagus had been placed. Drop by sticky drop, his cum offering dripped into the sarcophagus through a small crack at just the point, had it been elaborately decorated like other sarcophagi, where the lips might have been.

The young Frenchman came again, and again, and again, losing count, unable to stop masturbating, even when it became sore and bloody. Lost in the Queen’s gusty moaning orgy of lust. Filling the little wall bowl over and over, desperate to never stop offering himself to her depravity.

He was swaying from side to side now, barely conscious, but still wanking obediently, unable to , or react to, the scrapping sound of the sarcophagus lid cracking open, and a skeletal figure in rags emerging behind him.

There was just a kind of orgasmic relief as he was embraced from behind, bone fingers closing around his chest. His Goddess Queen sucking the last drops of lifeforce from him as he fell to the tomb floor, just a pile of grey ash.

An Evil Returns.

The solider on night guard, posted at the entrance to the excavations, was woken from his slumber by the sound of someone coming out from the dig.

It wasn’t the young Frenchman, but rather what he took to be one of the camp whores. That Frenchman must be a randy bugger he thought, but how had she got down there in the first place? Probably slipped past him while he was asleep no doubt.

She certainly looked like a skinny one, the guard saw, as she drew nearer, and dressed virtually in rags. Nonetheless, he felt his cock stiffening into a hard erection, like an iron bar being drawn to a magnet. The soldier leered hornily at the whore as she reached him. Why should the Frenchman have all the fun? He would take some satisfying relief of his own.

Too late he saw the flash of half-formed flesh hanging off skeletal bones. The creature lunged, hugging him in a tight embrace, a bony hand squeezing painfully hard around his erect cock. And he too dissolved into a pile of spent ash, falling to the ground like dirty snow, in a final strangled cry, half sexual moan, half terrified scream.

By the time she had accepted the sacrifice of the next perimeter guard, Queen Khayetis was starting to feel nearly fully rejuvenated. But she was still disorientated. It wasn’t just their restoring lifeforce that her worshippers were giving her, it was their minds as well.

The first mind had been confusing, and the next two of low education, but now the additional returning lifeforce gave her added strength to start trying to understand the memories. Was it possible? Had she really slept for over 3,000 years! And the technologies Man had now created. Their weapons of destruction and pain. Their repressed, depraved urges. This was a new world she was going to enjoy subjugating and perverting to her will.

A human, in serpent form, had dared to trick and rape a God, Isfet, her mother. Mankind would suffer for that hubris, and Queen Khayetis, the enchanting, malevolent, illegitimate daughter of destruction, was the weapon that would avenge the Gods.

An Evil Grows.

Resurrected, it was time to secure her position and start her new reign. First priority the military power, and then the political.

Her new memories took Queen Khayetis to the army officers’ tent. They were all still asleep in the pre-dawn glow.

The first officer stirred from an erotic dream to find a whore of outstanding beauty wanking his turgid erection. He sucked greedily on the offered fat nipple of one of her perfect, big round tits, her milk filling his dirty mind with devotional obedience.

He held down, and covered the mouth, of the second sleeping army office, as Queen Khayetis rode his cock, her eyes of evil midnight darkness boring into his soul, as the Goddess milked his mind dry through his ejaculating dick.

The third and final officer was less lucky. He was bound and gagged by his two former comrades, hog-tied to be anally raped by Queen Khayetis, her huge thick cock filling his ripped open arsehole with mindless submission to his new Goddess.

Like unthinking drones, the three officers lurched out towards the small barracks tent, newly swollen cocks swinging between their legs, ready to introduce the soldiers under their command to their new religion. The promises of great perverted rewards for their service to their Queen still ringing in their ears.

Queen Khayetis entered the grand tent where Lord Billington was also still asleep in the first light of dawn.

He stirred, bleary eyed and only half awake, at the imposing figure silhouette at the end of his bed. He thought he must have over-slept, and his valet had arrived for the morning reveille. But he quickly realised his error, suddenly recognising the ancient dress and glyph symbols of Queen Khayetis, his eyes widening in disbelief.

She smiled as she shrugged off her ornate bejewelled robe, Lord Billington’s cock involuntarily becoming impossibly hard at the sight of her perfect naked body, even as his mind realised the deadly evil she represented. “Come. Submit. Suck Mommy’s cock.” Her compelling words of power echoed inside his head.

Perhaps it had something to do with the English aristocracy’s boarding school tradition of nannies, matrons and all male dorms, but Lord Billington found it all too easy to just mindlessly suck and worship Queen Khayetis’ magnificent phallus. Then he lay back on the bed, legs in the air, as his Goddess fucked and filled his ass with her enlightenment.

“You will sever as my chief advisor” Queen Khayetis told the enslaved Lord, as she pounded his ass. “Of course, such a trusted position naturally had to be filled by a eunuch. But that’s not a problem” she added. And with a magical wave of her hand, Lord Billington looked on in horror, as his cock shrank with each new painful thrust of Queen Khayetis’ mighty cock in his ass.

It wasn’t that he was going soft and limp. No, his cock remained as achingly hard and turgid in its obedient lust for his Goddess as before. It was just literally shrinking in size, his painful need concentrating down to a searing hot point, until just a tiny button nub remained. Finally, a humiliating little steel chastity cage appeared around his castration, locking him into mindless horny servitude to his Queen, as her gift of hot cum filled his guts.

Disturbed from her own sleep by the muffled sound coming from her father’s tent as such an early hour, Emily entered Lord Billington’s quarters. Even without Queen Khayetis’ enchantment, Emily simply froze on the spot, open mouthed, and disbelieving of the scene before her.

Her father lay on his back on his bed, legs apart, butt naked, shiny white metal where his penis should have been, and a white fluid leaking profusely from his exposed and gapping bottom. Standing in front of him, the most imposing, beautiful creative Emily had ever seen. An hermaphrodite of intoxicating wonder, with perfect big bounteous breasts, and a thick long cock swaying between her legs.

“Emily, a wonderous thing has happened” her father broke the shocked silence, as if all this was nothing out of the ordinary. “Our Goddess, Queen Khayetis, has risen from her tomb to save us all.” Emily’s sudden primal urge to scream was strangled in her throat, cut-off by Queen Khayetis ordering “You will be silent. Now kneel and suckle your Goddess mother’s milk” she added, as Emily found herself obediently taking the proffered fat nipple into her greedy mouth.

A New Reign.

As morning turned to afternoon, Queen Khayetis’ control spread through the camp. And not just of those physically enslaved. There was no shortage of illiterate manual dig workers to worship their Egyptian Queen until their very lifeforce was masturbated from their lustful cocks. And as her resulting powers grew, so did an ominous dark cloud that formed over the camp in an otherwise cloudless sky, enslaving the minds of all those beneath.

By evening, their work complete, worker slave drones were breaking off into little naked groups, mindlessly fucking each other in an unstoppable orgy of gay lust. Enslaved loyal soldiers guarded the camp’s perimeter, while the commanding officers were being reward in their tent.

Lord Billington stuck his head into the officers’ tent and smiled. Emily was in there, the first of Queen Khayetis’ new breading sluts. She was naked, naturally, with ‘whore’ written across her small pale tits, surrounded by the three dark-skinned Egyptian officers whose fat swollen cocks were filling Emily’s every hole, as she urged them on to ever more degrading use of her worthless cum covered body. Lord Billington felt a twitch of pride, like an electric shock, painfully through his caged, circumcised nub at the honour to serve, that Queen Khayetis had bestowed on his daughter.

They broke camp at dawn the next day, under the dark cloud, heading to the port and an evening sailing to England. A line of covered wagons holding the dig’s crated artifacts.

Soft moans and groans, punctuated by the occasional scream, emanated from a central covered wagon. The only one that also had a phalanx of marching soldiers. Inside, Queen Khayetis was being entertained on her journey by some more of the dig’s young men, and the remaining camp whores, in an orgy of writhing flesh. Every so often, as the caravan made its way through the desert, a desiccated dead human husk would be tossed out from the canvass flap, as if a killer snake was heading for the port.

Queen Khayetis had naturally assumed her new reign would be from Egypt, but she had learned from her chief eunuch of a thing called the British Empire. An empire so much greater than she could have imagined all these centuries ago. There for her taking. Ruled over by an aging queen who hid herself away like a frightened coward. A weak, unworthy queen who would soon find herself kneeling at Queen Khayetis’ feet.

Queen Khayetis would free this world, run by so called ‘gentlemen’ beneath who’s thin veneer of respectability boiled seething desirers of lust and perversions, by letting their inner evil out into the open. She would have the god’s malevolent revenge on this human scum. The uptight British Empire didn’t stand a chance.