Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by kinkys_sis

I was doing my usual thing, wandering aimlessly around the museum, something I’d been doing almost every Saturday for two years. My dad had got me a season ticket after he added up how much time and money I was spending there.

Now and then, I’d stop at an exhibit and get my drawing pad and pencils out. At seventeen, I was already an accomplished sketch artist. I’d done several hundred sketches, many drawn in the museum over time.

My friends thought my hobby was kind of weird. Some might even say nerdy. But I didn’t let it bother me. It’s what I like to do, and I’m not sure which gave me more pleasure, the drawing itself or the knowledge I was building up. Or maybe I just enjoyed being in my own little world.

Today, they were unveiling a new painting in the Egyptian section. I had an hour to kill beforehand, ample time to draw whatever struck me. I loved all the museum exhibits, but lately I found myself drawn to the Egyptian collection. I couldn’t give you any particular reason, but more and more, it’s where I’d end my Saturday visits. It was said some found the Egyptian rooms rather foreboding, even scary, but I never had. Besides the wonderful artwork, it was the history and the many unanswered questions about the ancient world that intrigued me.

I’d read a small piece in the Times about the treasures of this previously unknown princess. There’d been quite a stir when her tomb was discovered a couple of years ago, right about the time I’d started haunting the museum. Then political turmoil erupted in the Middle East — again — and the Egyptian authorities accepted the British Museum’s offer to bring the treasures to England for safekeeping. A team of Egyptian antiquities experts accompanied the many artefacts and worked with a British team, carrying on their research out of harm’s way. Little else had been released to the public.

For a few weeks now, I’d become aware of a woman who appeared to be watching me. I wasn’t sure whether it was my imagination or not. I mean, why would anyone want to keep their eyes on insignificant me? I’d guessed it must be some kind of coincidence. But now I saw her again. Not actually looking directly at me, but sort of hovering nearby for no reason I could see.

I’d seen her so often that I knew her face well enough for my pencil to fly over my pad from memory. I only needed an odd glance to check a feature as I drew.

She looked to be somewhere in her late thirties. Definitely not English, but exactly what her origins might have been, I hadn’t a clue. She always looked very formal in a business suit, her skirt long enough to cover her knees but tight enough to show off her beautiful figure. Her hair was usually tied in a small bun on top of her head, as it was today. She wore only light traces of makeup, except for her eyes, which were quite sharply highlighted in a very non-European way. When I next glanced back to where she’d been standing, I found she’d disappeared. But I’d gotten enough to finish the sketch. I only needed one of my softer pencils to add shading and bring the drawing to life.

I looked closely at the finished picture. It reminded me of something or someone, but what or who, I couldn’t bring to mind. It was a puzzle.

 ***

I must have dallied too long, for the hall was crowded when I got there. I wasn’t going to see much unless I forced my way through. But I doubted anyone would mind a girl my age making room for herself. So, with the occasional excuse me and the odd squeeze and push, I eventually made my way to the rope at the front.

The picture was still covered with a curtain. A fairly large group of important-looking people stood nearby, chatting amongst themselves. A number of them were clearly not English, and I was startled to see the woman from my sketch standing to one side. I thought I saw the merest trace of a smile when she saw me … but maybe not.

A hush settled over the crowd as one of the dignitaries prepared to unveil the painting. I had no idea what to expect, for little had been given away. There’d been a preview in the Times, but it offered few details. All it said was the portrait might be the most accurate depiction to date of an ancient Egyptian ruler and would serve as the centrepiece of an exhibition set to open in a few months’ time. It was all a bit vague to me, but I was intrigued.

I held my breath in anticipation as this guy took hold of the red-velvet cord. He paused, keeping us waiting as he revelled in his brief moment of glory. The curtain snagged when he finally pulled. He grimaced before giving another tug, and the curtain dropped away. There was a collective gasp when the woman, or girl, was revealed. It was a stunning picture, a lifelike image of one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen.

The guy was speaking into a microphone. I missed half of what he said, captivated as I was by the face that gazed back at me. Mixed thoughts filled my mind. Astonishment at such beauty. I marvelled at the skill of the artist, how she had breathed such life into a painting. I also imagined I saw a hint of sadness. Perhaps it was in her eyes. I felt myself drawn into them. Why was she sad? Or was I only imagining it? I also realised that she vaguely resembled the woman whose picture I’d just drawn.

I jerked back to catch the end of the guy’s remarks. He was at the point of telling us that research into the sarcophagus and other artifacts was ongoing. What sarcophagus? I’d missed that bit. It seemed there was already a growing but intense debate as to who the subject of the portrait really was. She was clearly someone of importance, whose sarcophagus had been made of solid gold. Many other wonders were still being catalogued. But it was already being claimed that, in terms of historical importance and sheer monetary value, the hoard was second only to that of Tutankhamun.

The guy then told us a little about the artist, a woman by the name of Amunet Kamal, who had been called back to Egypt suddenly and could not be with us that day. Though Miss Kamal had a free hand in using her imagination, he said, she’d also worked in close collaboration with — and here he gestured toward my mystery woman — one of the specialists involved in the research.

“Professor Lassat of the Cairo Museum will provide us with a bit of perspective.”

My sketch subject stepped forward, accepting the microphone.

“Thank you all for your interest and your attendance here today,” she began. “I have been working on this project since the tomb was discovered. It was some time ago that we established that the occupant of the sarcophagus was a previously unknown princess by the name of Harsiese. The research so far leads us to believe that her father was the Pharaoh Hor-Aha from the thirty-first century BC. There is much debate surrounding this pharaoh. Indeed, little is known about him.”

She gestured toward the painting. “You might wonder, then, how such a lifelike portrait can be produced. It was common among the Romans for the nobility or the wealthy to have death masks made of their deceased loved ones. It was not previously known in Egypt. But it is what they did with Harsiese. Beneath the golden mask we found a death mask, an exact image of her, which was used by the artist to produce this painting.”

The guy in charge of the proceedings looked at his watch somewhat pointedly. The professor noticed it and said only a few more words before handing the microphone back to him. He thanked everyone for attending and abruptly brought things to a close.

It was all over, and slowly the crowd thinned. The rope barrier was removed and a long bench put in its place. I sat for a while with a few other visitors, and I recalled the sudden chill that had made me shiver at the mention of her name. Harsiese. But why?

Over and over, my gaze was drawn back to her eyes. Gradually, I lost all awareness of anyone else. There was just me and the girl — for I’d decided she was in fact little more than a girl and not quite a grown woman. Perhaps a year or two older than myself.

I jumped in fright when a hand took hold of my shoulder. Awareness flooded back and my head snapped around, and there was Professor Lassat.

“It’s almost closing time,” she said. “You’ve been staring at her for more than two hours. You haven’t moved once. I kept watching you to make sure you were all right. But now you have to go. I expect I’ll see you next week as usual.”

I was struggling to get my brain working. Two hours! I had no idea. It seemed like only minutes since I’d sat down. Her hand was still on my shoulder as I went to stand. The room spun, my legs felt weak, and I felt myself falling. But then her hands steadied me.

“Perhaps you should sit a minute to recover. I’ll call security to tell them we’re still here. Take your time.” Then she spoke quietly into a small, phone-like device.

I wasn’t listening to her. I was staring back at the girl. What had happened? Where had I been? I felt like she’d spoken to me, but of course, that was impossible. She was a painting, not a person.

I got up from my seat and walked towards her. Her eyes seemed to lead me on. I felt myself drowning again, trembling under a wave of sadness.

Professor Lassat approached from behind. I could feel her body just brushing against mine. She raised a hand and gently touched my cheek. “You feel her, don’t you? Does she speak to you? I must know. Tell me what you feel. What do you hear?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure,” I replied. “It’s like she’s trying to tell me something, but I can’t catch what. I know she’s not happy. No, it’s more than that. She’s deeply sad. Angry, even.”

The woman brought her lips to my ear and whispered, “Look deep into her eyes and let yourself go. Let her thoughts come through. I believe that you might be the one. Let her speak to you.”

I barely heard her last words, though I was vaguely aware of her hand dropping from my cheek and circling my body, holding me tight.

“Listen,” she repeated. I relaxed my body, feeling safe with this woman holding me.

It was an alien language when the girl spoke, yet I understood: “Is it you? Have you come? I have waited so long. And wondered. Where were you? Why were you not here when I needed you? I cannot hear or see you, but I feel your presence. Come back to me.”

My mind reeled. How could I both hear and understand her? It wasn’t possible. Yet she knew me. How could that be, with thousands of years between us?

I felt a brief flash of anger from her, then genuine anguish. “You cannot have forgotten me. You promised, and I have waited, knowing one day you would come. Now…” The voice trailed off.

It made no sense. I hadn’t spoken, yet she’d read my mind, or so it seemed. Unless I was going mad. Then I had a thought. Why had I always been drawn to this section of the museum? It hadn’t ever been a conscious decision, but there had never been a doubt I would be here for the unveiling.

“You are not mad,” the voice said. “Yes, I hear your thoughts. Not always clearly. You are far away. You doubt that I know you. Yet I feel the raised mark beneath your right breast — where it always has been.”

I felt the touch of fingers under my clothes. They softly caressed the small, raised area, grazing the bare flesh.

“You see, it is there.” The thought came from the girl, but the voice seemed to be coming from the woman behind me.

The sadness on the face in the picture seemed to change. It gave me a small smile. “I touch you now as I have so many times before. Feel me, you know it is me, your Harsiese.”

Once more, the name startled me. For the briefest moment, I didn’t think I’d ever heard it before Lassat had mentioned it, yet I knew it. “Harsiese,” I whispered, “is it you?”

The fog in my mind seemed to clear. Her face swirled before me. Her arms reached out. “Come, Iput,” she said. “Come back to me.”

Hands caressed my breasts. The nipples came to life under manipulating fingers. I felt the warmth of her love as I fell into her arms. The familiar warmth of her body beneath my searching touch. “How I’ve missed you, my love. Touch me, remind me of how you make me feel,” I beseeched her.

Then a hand pressed between my legs. Fingers curled upwards, and I surrendered to the familiar sensation. I felt only love as she brought her lips towards mine. We kissed with a mounting passion. “Harsiese, my Harsiese,” I gasped.

I pressed close to her, one hand going to her breasts, the other moving up between her legs until I found that place where I knew how to drive her mad with my probing fingers.

I heard her hiss as she jerked and writhed. First one finger… then two… now three. The slippery and creamy moisture oozing from her eased the way.

She was doing the same to me. My hips thrust down hard on the fingers that penetrated my cunt. Centuries of pent-up frustration were released as we fucked each other. It was almost violent the way we made love. In unison, we plied each other’s clits, squeezed breasts, pulled nipples, bit each other’s lips.

Release came in a headlong rush. Then I was reaching, ever higher, for that final glorious moment. I heard myself screaming out, in a language I shouldn’t have known, Fuck me harder — now!

Slowly, I came back from the dizzying heights I had reached. The woman was standing in front of me, smiling sympathetically. “Are you alright? You gave me a bit of a fright for a minute. It was like you were having a fit.”

I could only stare at her, digesting the meaning of her question. Then: “You mean… you didn’t… it wasn’t you?”

She looked puzzled. “It wasn’t me what?”

“We didn’t just … do things together. You know…”

She didn’t answer the question, but instead said, “I knew it. You are the one she’s been waiting for. You’ve spoken to her, haven’t you? And perhaps you’re suggesting more.”

I couldn’t take it in. It made no sense at all. It must have been her. Yet, she didn’t have a hair out of place, whilst I felt I’d been well and truly fucked.

“I don’t understand. Who are you?” I asked her.

“Come, let me show you something.”

She took my hand and led me to the far end of the gallery. There she pressed a series of numbers into a keypad, and a hidden door, indistinguishable from the wall to either side of it, swung inward. I followed behind. The door closed of its own accord as I gasped at the sight of the many objects resting on tables and standing on the floor. Everything seemed to be made of gold. But it was the sarcophagus, dominating the room, that drew my attention.

The ornately carved lid had been removed and placed on a large table. Lassat watched me as I slowly walked towards it. My fingers traced the carved hieroglyphics: Herein lies the Princess Harsiese. Beloved daughter of Hor-Aha. Now gone to the God Horus of her own free will. May Horus cherish her as did I. It was a shock to realise I had understood what was said.

I turned back towards the sarcophagus. Lassat spoke quietly as I approached, in the same strange language I’d heard from the portrait. Yet, again, I understood every word. “As I swore on oath, Harsiese, I have found her, and I have brought her to you.”

I looked at the golden face mask and again, the world seemed to spin. There was only a dim light, a shrouding mist, and then the scent of perfume. A perfume I knew well, though I had never encountered it in this life.

“It is you, Iput. I see you clearly now. You have come back to me.”

I saw her. Her utter beauty. The joy on her face as she climbed from the sarcophagus, stepping lightly to the floor. Her hands reaching out. “Come to me.”

This couldn’t be real. Yet I felt her arms around me, pulling me close. The warmth of her naked body, the softness of her lips on mine. The kiss I was so familiar with. I knew her legs would open even before they did, that she would thrust herself against my thigh. It was how she had often welcomed me into her arms.

Harsiese leaned her head back. Her eyes flashing as she gazed into mine. “My juices flow as they always have when you are with me. Do you feel them, Iput?”

Her hips undulated, rubbing hard against me. And indeed, I felt the warm trickle down my leg. I spoke in her tongue, though I couldn’t understand how it was possible. “Yes, my Princess, I feel them. My heart rejoices that I am here to pleasure you. Kiss me again.”

The kiss grew wilder as she humped her pussy on my thigh. I waited, knowing the moment was fast approaching. She jerked once, arching on her toes. Then her hands pressed down on my shoulders. It was time. I sank to my knees and pressed my mouth to the wetness between her thighs. Her pussy lips were demanding as they slithered over my probing tongue. I drew her enlarged clit between my lips. She wailed and shrieked and writhed. Her fingers entwined in my hair as she clasped me tightly to her cunt, stammering through clenched teeth, “N… now, my sweet Iput … love me!”

My fingers gripped the glorious globes of her arse. I sucked hard at her clit, then worked my tongue as fast as I was able. She responded as if possessed by demons, juddering hard as her wail grew louder, until it suddenly cut off. Her pussy pulsed, pouring her nectar into my mouth.

I looked up towards her face. Her expression was one of total rapture. She pulled me to my feet and back into her arms. “Iput, I love you so deeply it pains me.” Her kiss was gentle now, and loving. I brimmed with joy. I was complete again.

She broke the kiss and took half a step back, though she held my hands. “They took you away from me. That was not your fault. Yet somehow, here you are. You’ve come back.”

She drew me down to lie between the piles of cushions that littered the floor. For the first time I realised my clothes had gone, although I couldn’t remember how or when it happened. We lay naked, our bodies pressed together in each other’s arms.

“Too much time has passed,” she said. “My sadness breaks my heart. I hated them all, my father included, for taking you from me. But most of all, I hated them for not letting me say goodbye to you.”

I pressed a finger to her lips. “My Princess, my love, I am here now. We are together again.”

Harsiese smiled, but the sadness returned in a moment. “You are only here, my sweet, so that we can say goodbye. A goodbye on our own terms. You always knew the time would come when I would have to go to my resting place within my chambers deep underground, beneath the monument they built for me. It is now that time.”

Once more, I asked what I knew in my heart was a futile question. “Is there nothing that can be done? Why must they take you away? Surely there’s—”

She stilled my lips with her fingers. “There is nothing to be done, my sweet Iput. I knew it from the day my younger brother was born. I had been the rightful heir to the throne, which was something the priests, and my own father, violently opposed. A female pharaoh was not acceptable. It could not be conceived. It was made even worse when they discovered that I had taken you — a young serving girl — as my lover. It was my choice to offer myself to the gods and to die this way. Tonight, you must run. They must not find you for they will surely kill you. Go far away. I have left gold, enough for you to lead the life you want.”

Hot tears ran down my cheeks. What she said was true, but I had dreaded this day. “But cannot I come with you? I would gladly die if it were in your arms. Is it not possible?”

“No, Iput, it is not possible. The priests will not allow it. My last command was for my high priestess, Lassat, to find you, to bring you to me for this one final meeting before we say farewell. She has done as I commanded, and here you are. I would ask that you reward her for her centuries of searching. She has devoted her life to bringing us together again.

“It is almost time. You just made love to me. Now I will love you this one last time.”

***

I was on my hands and knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Lassat held me tightly and whispered, “Calm yourself, little one. It is done. She’s gone.”

I wailed even louder in response to those words. She held me even more firmly. Her warmth seemed to flow into my body, calming me. I stopped shaking and looked up at her.

“You are Lassat, but … are you then the same Lassat that Harsiese spoke of? How can that be?”

“Yes, I am she. Do not concern yourself with the how, only that it is so.” She helped me to my feet. “Will you come with me? Let’s say our final farewell. I will never come here again. My task is done.”

I followed her to the sarcophagus and, side by side, we looked down at her. Like most mummies, her bandages had rotted and fallen away. I was thankful that the masks hid her face. A jewelled dagger was clasped in her hands. I knew then how she had died. It struck me as strange that they had left her holding the dagger when they mummified her. Perhaps because it was the instrument that took her to her god.

Something sparkled between her fingers. Lassat reached in and carefully extracted a tiny ring. “I believe this belongs to you,” she said.

I lifted my right hand and gasped. My own ring — a ring I had worn for years — was not there. It was that same ring that Lassat now passed to me. I couldn’t understand how it had got to be in Harsiese’s grasp, only that it had. Lassat slipped it back onto my finger.

The ring had always been a mystery. No one, not even my mother, knew where it came from, but it had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, when I was a baby. “Do you know how I came to have the ring?” I asked. “Here in the present, I mean.”

“No. All I know is that Harsiese gave it to you when you became lovers.”

I took both of Harsiese’s hands in my own. “Goodbye, my dearest love,” I whispered. I swear I felt her hands tremble beneath my touch. The mask on her face seemed to glow. I knew she was content. At last, she was at rest.

I turned towards the door and Lassat came with me. “Harsiese told me that I must reward you,” she said. “But how?”

Her face took on a smile that showed off her ageless beauty. I marvelled at the splendour of it.

“My work here is over. There is much I could tell them, but I choose not to. I did not want the tomb discovered. There was nothing I could do to prevent it, and yet it has led me to you. My princess asked me to look after you. It’s all I have now — to make you happy again if you’ll let me.”

I was puzzled. I didn’t need looking after. I had a home and a family. But I saw the pleading in her eyes, the tremble of her lips. Then I knew. She had loved her princess. Now she would love me.

All my feelings of sadness drained away. I held out my hand to her.

“Shall we go now?” I asked.

We paused at the painting on our way out. She was smiling now, just as I was. I held up my sketch of Lassat and compared it to the portrait. The resemblance was now obvious, but what did it mean?

Lassat smiled. “You see it, don’t you, the likeness?”

“Yes, I do. But why?”

“I am her mother.”

My mind did a somersault. I tried to make sense of what she’d just told me. But I knew it was too much for me to comprehend. It was enough that she was here.

“And you and I?”

“Is it not obvious? In time, we will be lovers.”

I wondered how I would explain the sudden appearance of this woman to my parents. Something told me Lassat would have the answer.

For several months, my visits to the museum continued. I would sit in front of the portrait and think of Harsiese. She never spoke to me again. She was no longer there. At the same time, the pain in my heart faded, and my love for Lassat grew stronger by the day.

 ***

The portrait of Harsiese gazed down at us from our living room wall. After a few years the relics had all been returned to Egypt. The museum had put the portrait into storage. Eventually we put in an offer to buy it from them, and they accepted.

“Lassat, for almost twenty years you haven’t aged at all,” I told her. “Until maybe the last couple. Now, we’re getting older together. I won’t ask how this is possible. I doubt you really know. All I do know is it’s made our life together perfect.”

“I think perhaps I do know,” she said. “Harsiese committed herself to the god Horus. I suspect he has had a hand in this. Our family name — Hor-Aha, is derived from Horus. We were, and I still am, very close to the god. He has looked out for you and me.”

“I was about to say that the Egyptian gods, they don’t really exist. But maybe they do!”

“There is one question I know has crossed your mind, but you’ve never asked. Yes, Harsiese and I were lovers before she found you. I did not mind that she took a lover of her own age. I was happy as long as she was. That’s all that mattered to me. That you and I would then become lovers was what she wanted. You have been my reward for the years of searching, the anguish of failure, until at last success. Harsiese has found peace, and so have I. I’ve also found true love. And I know you are happy. What more could we want?”

I reached out to her and drew her into my arms. We kissed deeply until… we both froze. The clear sound of a chuckle could be heard. We turned and stared at Harsiese. Her expression had changed yet again, perhaps to one of amused innocence.

The End