The Forbidden Throne
Copyright© 2025 by Tharnoren
Chapter 19
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 19 - After their parents’ murder, the priests crown young Nakht pharaoh and force his sister Merit to become his queen. To end famine and restore the Nile, they must conceive a pure-blooded heir—an unholy union that will twist duty into forbidden desire.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual NonConsensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Incest Brother Sister MaleDom Rough Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Oral Sex Pregnancy Royalty
Three weeks later, the palace of Thebes throbbed beneath the crushing heat of morning, the sandstone columns casting long, restless shadows over the polished floor like silent ghosts. In a secluded corridor, far from the eyes of servants and priests, Merit stifled a laugh — a bright, playful sound that broke through the heavy stillness of the hallway. “Nakht, for the gods’ sake, keep it down!” she hissed, her voice trembling with amusement and urgency, her glare pretending to scold him.
Her protest melted into a low moan as her hands braced against the cool stone. Her brother pressed up behind her, driving into her with rough, impatient hunger. Nakht’s breath came ragged, his hands gripping her hips as he buried himself in the tight, searing heat of her ass — every thrust a mix of ferocity and long-suppressed desire. The linen of his robe, hastily hitched up, brushed against her thighs; sweat rolled down his temples, catching the dim torchlight. He growled — raw, guttural — his lips grazing her neck as he tasted the salt of her skin.
“Then shut up yourself,” he muttered with a crooked grin, fingers digging harder into her bronze flesh as he moved faster, his cock pulsing inside the slick clutch of her body. The column trembled beneath their rhythm, bearing the weight of their sin.
Merit’s cheeks burned; she bit her lip to muffle a cry, nails scratching at the stone. The first sting of pain had turned into molten heat, a forbidden pleasure that made her tremble, her legs shaking under his relentless thrusts. She arched back against him, her hips pushing to meet his, her body betraying her even as her mind screamed to stop. But she knew they were running out of time — the priests were waiting, and she couldn’t afford to stain her linen or the sacred floors with their filth.
Feeling Nakht reaching the edge — his breath broken, his groans deepening — she moved suddenly, twisting around with fluid grace and dropping to her knees in a reckless impulse.
Her lips closed around him, still slick from her body, and she took him in with desperate hunger. Nakht groaned aloud, his hands fisting in her hair as he came, his seed spilling hot into her mouth. She swallowed everything, her lips tight around him, not letting a single drop fall. The taste of salt and desire filled her throat. When she finally looked up, her dark eyes gleamed with defiance and complicity. Nakht, panting, stared down at her — his face dazed with pleasure and a forbidden tenderness — his fingers loosening their grip on her hair.
Merit rose swiftly, straightening her crumpled tunic with a sly smile. “Come on,” she whispered, grabbing his hand.
They dashed down the corridor, their stifled laughter echoing like the giggles of guilty children. Their sandals slapped against the tiles, and they nearly tripped turning a corner, eyes gleaming with mischievous joy.
When they burst into the council chamber — breathless, cheeks flushed — the priests of Amon greeted them with stern, suspicious looks, brows furrowed beneath ceremonial headdresses. “You are late,” thundered one, his voice echoing through the hall.
Merit lowered her gaze, feigning repentance, though her lips twitched with a secret smile. Nakht, beside her, struggled to hold back a laugh. Under the priests’ disapproving stares, they took their seats — bodies still trembling with the echo of what they’d just shared — a sacrilegious bond sealed in the shadows of the palace columns.
Later that day, as the sun sank low and painted the palace gardens in gold and crimson, Merit and Nakht slipped beneath the shade of a sycamore tree, its branches heavy with leaves, sheltering them from the curious eyes of courtiers. The air was thick with the scent of lotus and jasmine, warm and intoxicating, blending with the hum of bees and the distant whisper of the Nile.
With a daring glint in her eyes, Merit knelt on the soft grass, her fingers deftly undoing the linen wrapped around her brother’s hips. Before he could speak, she closed her mouth around him — already hard — her tongue circling the swollen head in slow, teasing spirals.
Nakht let out a low, satisfied groan, his hands sliding into her hair, guiding her rhythm with unspoken authority. “By the gods, Merit...” he muttered, his voice rough with pleasure he made no effort to hide. “You call this discreet?” A dark smile curved his lips, his eyes burning with a possessive gleam as he looked down at her — kneeling before him, in the open garden where a priest or servant could appear at any moment. But he didn’t stop her. He relished the wet heat of her mouth, his hips moving gently to sink deeper, claiming every flick of her tongue as his due. The risk of being caught only stoked his desire — a fire that had smoldered for years, an impossible love he had always known would come to this.
Merit’s lips tightened around him as she sucked with insolent hunger, her gaze locked on his, bright with a silent challenge. She knew she had him, yet he was the one in control — his fingers tangled in her hair, his stare holding her down as firmly as his hands. Every swirl of her tongue, every pull of her lips, answered some unspoken command — a profane ritual they had perfected in secret. Nakht, leaning back against the sycamore’s rough bark, let the pleasure consume him, soft grunts rumbling from his chest, his whole body trembling under her touch.
Since that night three weeks ago — the night of their first forbidden union — Merit had changed. Once shattered by shame and fear, she had transformed. Her teasing had grown bolder, her desire less disguised. What had begun as hesitant transgression had become something voracious — a hunger to claim every part of him, to erase the space between them. Nakht, on the other hand, had never doubted. For years, his heart had belonged to her — his sister, his queen — an affection long buried beneath duty and divine law. These stolen moments — in hallways, dark alcoves, or here among the gardens — were simply the fulfillment of what he had always known was inevitable. He possessed her now, not as an uncertain lover, but as a man finally taking what had always been his.