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The Sphinx lay hidden between the pyramids and sand dunes like my clit between the folds of my pussy lips. It was 45oC in the shade, if you could find it. We were busy producing a cheap documentary film on the Egyptian theology of an afterlife for a PBS channel. Michael, my cameraman, was a tall well-build man with long blond hair. He handled his Sony digital video camera as if it was a toy. We were pretending to be tourists to avoid paying bribes to the authorities and to evade their scrutiny. The tension in Egypt was still palpable and I supposed that was the reason we were playing this dangerous cat-and-mouse game. My white camisole clung to my upper body like a second skin. Michael’s constant gaze at my breasts stoked the fire between my legs. Looking down, I saw the reason for his attention, but also the growing tent pole in his khaki shorts. My nipples and breasts were clearly visible. Pulling the clinging cloth from my body, I tried to bring a little decorum to my appearance. Not that my shorts were any less revealing. My twin bottom orbs were clearly visible from behind. I could feel the wetness leaking from my puffy lips. We were taking a great risk to appear like this in a country where there was so much tension between the different groups. It would hopefully be all worth it once Michael entered my holy chamber.  Looking for our guide, we wandered deeper into the pyramid until we reached a chamber with the hieroglyphics depicting a section of the Egyptian Book of the Dead. Anubis, one of the greatest Egyptian gods, accompanied the soul of the dead to the underworld, till they reached the Great Hall of Judgment of Osiris. Here the heart of the deceased was 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 would remain balanced. If not, the soul was 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 Ankara bayan escort in these dark chambers.I moved closer to Michael and touched his wet T-shirt, feeling his rippling muscles and suddenly I felt a little safer. He pulled me closer and pushed his erect cock against my mound. The fear and arousal opened the floodgates of my pussy. My wetness forced me to answer his advances by rubbing my clit against his still growing erection. “O, sweet goddess,” I gasped. I wanted to call out to Isis, the queen/wife/sister of Osiris, to make this happen.Then a loud group of American tourists entered the chamber and we quickly separated, Michael kept his cool and started filming the walls behind me. He turned his back to the tourists because his erection had not yet subsided. The longing to rip off his shorts, grab his cock and suck on it was so strong that I had to use all the modesty I had left to keep it from happening. Michael steered me into another chamber where we could be alone….   We had been five days now in Cairo, Egypt and to save money we shared 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. 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 Escort bayan Ankara 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 with.” 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 Bayan escort Ankara still taste his sweat. But the fear in Ghammal’s eyes haunted me. My love for Michael was put on hold again.  That was how we got here, waiting for Ghammal. Now I remembered the parcel. Rummaging through my backpack I looked for the package to make sure it is still there. Ghammal didn’t show and it was now close to eleven. The traffic couldn’t be that bad this early in the morning.   “Christine,” Michael’s urgent whisper came from a side chamber. Rushing in I saw a small figure sitting in a dark corner. It’s Ghammal. On closer inspection, I saw 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 was that Ghammal’s tied hands were holding his formidable penis. Michael grabbed my hand and pulled 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 gasped for air, but Michael pulled me further along. “We should have helped him.” I could barely breathe.   “How?” asked Michael. “Ghammal is fucking dead.” “The police. We have to let the authorities know.” “What can we tell them?” Michael was right. “I don’t want to rot in an Egyptian jail for the rest of my life.”  The warm sun forced more air from my aching lungs. While we stumbled away from the pyramids, I fished out two bottles of mineral water from my backpack. We guzzled it down. I splashed water on my overheated body. The cool relief was but short lived. We had to think and prepare for the worst. We were in the middle of something we didn’t understand. Amidst this confusion I could feel my nipples hardening, pushing against the wet camisole. I pulled Michael into a side alley and kissed him with all the passion I felt bursting from my pussy. Before they kill me, I wanted to fuck Michael. I could feel his cock responding to my passion. But for once he reacted with his other head.“We have to move to another hotel,” said Michael, pushing me away. “You’re right.” Disappointed I let him go. We flagged down a black and white dilapidated taxi to take us to the hotel. Without saying anything we quickly packed our bags, booked out and hearing the wailing sirens getting closer we were off to the next hotel. At the Olympic Hotel, in the sleazy suburbs of Cairo, we booked in as Mr. and Mrs. Michaels.  

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