The Pharaoh's Blessing
Copyright© 2021 by alechunter
Chapter 9: The Morning After
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 9: The Morning After - An archeologist discovers a secret chamber that changes his life forever. He must navigate good and bad. Will he be able to trust the right people? Will his choices and companions be the right ones for him? How will the world react to his actions?
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Fa/Fa Mult Coercion Consensual Mind Control Romantic Slavery Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Rags To Riches Paranormal Magic BDSM DomSub MaleDom FemaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Rough Sadistic Spanking Torture Gang Bang Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Anal Sex Double Penetration Exhibitionism Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Spitting Voyeurism
James Smith:
I woke to the smell of coffee, a dull headache, and the unmistakable sensation of someone trying very hard not to wake me.
You’re not being particularly quiet, sweetheart.
There was a startled gasp. Then a familiar voice answered inside my head.
My King! You’re supposed to be asleep!
I smiled without opening my eyes. And you’re supposed to be resting.
Silence. Layla?
Good morning, Sir.
I opened one eye. Layla Brown stood beside our bed, holding a silver tray with three cups of coffee and pastries, her tablet tucked under one arm. Her familiar black-and-white uniform was immaculate, though her hair suggested she had been awake far too long.
“How long have you been awake?”
“Good morning to you too, my King.”
“Layla.”
“Since five, Sir. There was quite a lot to arrange.”
I sat up carefully, trying not to disturb Mira, who was asleep beside me. “Come here.”
Layla set the tray down and stepped closer. I drew her closer and kissed her forehead. “You were working until after midnight.”
“One fifteen, Sir.”
“That doesn’t improve your case.”
She giggled. “I wasn’t trying to improve it.”
I studied the shadows beneath her eyes. “When we were cataloging artifacts in Giza, I don’t remember you being this stubborn.”
“That’s because you weren’t a King then, James.”
I laughed. It was strange how much had changed since our expedition to the Great Pyramid. Layla had been a fellow Egyptologist, someone who loved ancient Egypt as much as I did. We had spent hours arguing about artifacts and the secrets the pyramid might still conceal. Now she was my head servant, my personal secretary, my lover, and one of the people I trusted most in the world.
“Sit,” I told her. She obeyed and sat on the edge of the bed.
Tell me how you’re really feeling.
I’m fine, my King.
Layla.
She sighed. I’m tired.
And?
Through our connection, I felt fear: not the immediate fear of danger, but the kind that stayed with a person afterward.
“Sweetheart, what happened yesterday?”
“Sir, perhaps we should discuss it later.” She glanced toward Mira.
“She’s exhausted. But I’m awake, and I want to know.”
Layla lowered her eyes. “The television station wasn’t supposed to become a battle.”
“Start from the beginning.”
Layla Brown:
Yesterday, 4:12 p.m.
The first thing I heard was screaming. I was in the palace office, monitoring the operation through our communications network, when Alexis’s voice erupted through my earpiece.
“Layla! We have a problem!”
“Alexis, report.”
“Security’s locked down the building. Elly’s team is trapped on the third floor.”
On the monitor, police vehicles were approaching the station. “How many guards? Are they armed?”
“At least six. And yes.”
His Majesty had been clear: broadcast his message and withdraw. No unnecessary violence. No civilian casualties.
“Where’s Elly?”
“Trying to get the broadcasting equipment working.”
“Put her through.”
Static. Then Elly answered. “Layla?”
“Tell me what’s happening.”
“We’ve reached the control room, but security sealed the corridor. Four employees are here with us.”
“Hostages?”
“No! They’re employees. We haven’t harmed them.”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
A sharp crack echoed through the connection. I froze. Another crack followed, then shouting.
“Elly!”
“I’m here! Someone’s shooting at the door!”
I gripped the edge of my desk. My King. James, I need you.
His answer came almost immediately. What happened?
The station is locked down. Someone is firing at Elly’s position.
Stay calm, sweetheart. I’m listening.
I explained as quickly as I could. Can you reach Elly?
I can try. The distance makes it harder.
I waited. Five seconds. Ten. Then: I’ve found her.
Relief washed over me. Is she safe?
For now.
Through our mental connection, I briefly saw what James was seeing: a narrow corridor, flashing emergency lights, guards crouching behind an overturned table, and a young man on the floor clutching his bleeding leg.
James? Can you help him?
Not from here. Not without getting closer. Tell Elly to keep everyone away from the doors. Nobody moves until I say so.
I relayed the order. Another gunshot rang out. Someone screamed. Then everything went quiet.
“Elly?” I asked. “Elly!”
At last, her voice returned. “Layla? What did His Majesty just do?”
“What do you mean?”
“The guards have put down their weapons. All of them. One of them is crying. He says he doesn’t understand why he was shooting.”
James. Of course. But outside, the police vehicles were still approaching. The operation was far from over.
James Smith:
I remembered the moment. I was outside the building with Conrad, securing the perimeter, when Layla’s desperate call reached me. I had reached toward the station through Elly’s position and forced myself to concentrate. Distance mattered. Concentration mattered. Influencing several armed, terrified men simultaneously took considerably more strength than persuading someone standing in front of me. But I couldn’t live with myself if one of my council got injured.
You are firing at innocent men and women; lay down your weapons!
The guards had stopped firing, but by the time my message aired, the police had surrounded the building. I remembered hearing my own voice on a nearby television: “People of Miami, and everyone watching beyond it, my name is James Smith...”
Then the screen went black. Emergency news coverage followed. I had wanted the world to know we existed. Apparently, it would find out faster than expected.
“How many were hurt?” I asked Layla.
“Two station guards and two of our followers, Sir. Elly and Alexis are safe.”
“Good.”
She hesitated. “One of the station employees recognized my name. She worked on a documentary about the Great Pyramid. She remembered the expedition, and she remembered you.”
I stared at her. Until yesterday, the outside world might have considered me an eccentric archaeologist with a strangely luxurious private life. Now it could connect Giza, the pyramid, the Orders, the palace, and the broadcast.
“I want a report on the original expedition team,” I said. “Who has been approached by journalists, and who has spoken publicly.”
“Of course, my King.” She reached for her tablet.
I caught her wrist gently. “Later.”
“But Sir...”
“Layla,” I told her, sternly, knowing she loved it.
She smiled. “Yes, my King.”
I drew her close. You frightened me yesterday, she admitted.
I know.
When I heard the shooting, I thought...
I held her tighter. I’m here, sweetheart. And so are you.
“Are you two having a private conversation without me?” Mira’s sleepy voice came from the pillows.
“Good morning, my Queen,” Layla said immediately.
Mira stretched. “Morning, Layla. James, why do you look like someone just told you we have to pay taxes?”
I laughed. “Because ruling a kingdom is complicated.”
“Wonderful. Can we be a kingdom that sleeps until nine?”
“Ask Layla. She controls my schedule.”
“Layla? Cancel the morning.”
“All of it, Your Majesty?” Layla looked genuinely distressed.
Mira laughed. “You’re adorable.”
She’s serious about sleeping, I told Layla.
But the council, my King—
Can wait an hour.
Yes, Sir.
Mira smiled at me. You’re going to spoil her.
Too late.
Mira Ma’at:
By nine, I had decided that being Queen had one significant disadvantage: everyone expected me to know what I was doing. Servants bowed, Academy members addressed me as Your Majesty, and Conrad treated my instructions as seriously as James’s. Yet only weeks earlier, I had lived within the Order of Osiris, following rules others wrote. Now they expected me to help establish them.
“You’re staring at me again,” James said over breakfast on the terrace.
“Perhaps I’m wondering why I agreed to become your Queen.”
“Money? Power? My irresistible charm?”
“Definitely not the last one.”
Layla giggled beside his chair. James turned toward her. “Something amusing, sweetheart?”
“Nothing at all, my King.”
Liar, he told her.
I heard the thought and laughed. Layla blushed. Your Majesty! You weren’t supposed to hear that.
What? I replied innocently.
James looked delighted. “See? This is exactly why I love having both of you around.”
I rolled my eyes. But I was smiling. In the Order, meals had been formal affairs governed by strict schedules. Here, James could be a King one moment and an overgrown child the next. I liked that.
I liked seeing Layla relax around him too. She was perfectly formal when visitors arrived, but in private she was playful and affectionate. She loved him deeply, and he trusted her completely. I wondered if she would ever feel that comfortable around me.
You could ask her, James suggested.
Stop reading my thoughts.
You were practically shouting.
“Layla,” I said aloud, “would you accompany me to the Academy tomorrow? I want to meet the instructors and review our plans for religious education.”
She glanced toward James. He nodded. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”
“Of course, my Queen.”
“And perhaps lunch afterward? Just the two of us.”
“Unless I insist on following you,” James said.
“James!”
He laughed. Layla smiled. “I would like that very much, Your Majesty.”
It was a small beginning. But kingdoms, like relationships, start small.
Conrad:
Yesterday, 5:06 p.m.
The first man came at me with a metal pipe. I barely raised my arm before it struck. Pain exploded through my shoulder.
“Get back!” I shouted.
Most of the crowd was dispersing, but several men had pushed through the perimeter. Some were frightened, some angry, and a few seemed determined to make themselves heroes.
“You’re not taking over our city!” one shouted.
“Sir, you need to leave. Nobody wants anyone getting hurt.”
He swung again. I stepped aside. Then I heard a scream behind me. One of our new followers had fallen. A man stood over him, raising a knife.
I moved before I could think. The struggle lasted seconds. When it ended, the attacker lay motionless on the pavement.
A woman pushed through the crowd. “David?” She dropped to her knees. “David!”
I stood unable to move. I had seen death before, but never stood so close to someone discovering that the person she loved was gone.
Then I heard the King’s voice inside my head. Conrad.
My King.
What happened?
I had to stop him, Sir.
Are our people safe?
Yes, my King.
And you?
I looked at my arm. I’ll manage.
You don’t have to manage alone. I’m coming.
James Smith:
Conrad finished recounting the incident from a bed in the palace infirmary. His arm was bandaged, and a bruise darkened his jaw. The injuries concerned me less than the way he stared at the floor.
“You did what you believed necessary,” I told him.
“Yes, my King. But I keep hearing her.”
I knew who he meant. “I can tell you that you were protecting our people, and that I’m grateful. But I can’t make the memory disappear simply because it makes you uncomfortable. Perhaps I could use my powers to influence how you remember it. But I won’t.”
He looked up. “Thank you, Sir.”
I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s see what we can do about your arm.”
Warmth spread through my palm as I concentrated on the damaged tissue, easing the inflammation and directing my power into the injury. Conrad inhaled sharply, then relaxed. After a minute, I withdrew my hand.
“Try moving it.”
He raised his arm and smiled. “Much better, my King.”
The healing had drained me more than I wanted to admit. Conrad noticed. “Are you all right, Sir?”
“Perfectly.” He raised an eyebrow. I laughed. “All right. A little tired. You’re relieved of duty for two days.”
“Your Majesty...”
“Conrad.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And I want the names of everyone injured yesterday. Our people and civilians. One more thing: find out whether the man’s family needs assistance. We can help without trying to buy their silence.”
Conrad nodded slowly. “Understood, my King.”
As I left, Mira’s voice reached me. That was a good thing you did.
Were you listening?
Only a little. Where are you?
Your office. And James? We need to talk about yesterday.
I sighed. I was afraid you’d say that.
Mira Ma’at:
James entered the office looking exhausted. I was still learning our limits, and neither of us fully understood what Khufu had given us. Sometimes James accomplished extraordinary things effortlessly. Other times a simple act drained him.
“Sit,” I told him.
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you ordering me around?”
“Yes.”
“How scandalous.”
“James.”
He laughed and sat. I placed my hands on his shoulders and let my awareness move toward him. His mind was familiar: warm, restless, crowded with thoughts. Beneath them I sensed exhaustion and the lingering strain of yesterday’s powers.
“You’re overdoing it.”
“I know.”
“You cannot personally solve every problem in the kingdom. That’s why you have a Queen, a council, and people devoted to you. You don’t need to prove your power every hour.”
He was silent. Then he smiled. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“Not enough.”
He pulled me close. “I love you, Mira.”
“I love you too.”
After a moment, he said, “I want you to take charge of our public religious program. You know the Orders, their history and traditions, and what went wrong. I want people to see more than a man announcing himself as King on television.”
“James, that’s enormous.”
“I trust you.”
That stopped me. I thought of the temples, the Academy, and the followers who had come seeking answers.
“All right,” I said. “But I have conditions. No more major public announcements without discussion. The religious instructors report to me. And tonight you’re taking the evening off.”
He laughed. “Is that a royal decree?”
“Absolutely.”
I kissed him. “And I expect complete obedience.”
“As you command, Your Majesty.”
Layla Brown:
By noon I had rearranged the King’s schedule four times. Four. I moved the construction representatives, extended the security briefing, and shortened the Academy report. Being a royal secretary required supernatural patience. Fortunately, I had supernatural assistance.
My King? May I ask a favor?
Of course.
Could you please stop changing your schedule every fifteen minutes?
His laughter filled my mind. Is that an order, Layla?
Certainly not, Sir!
Good. Because I was about to ask you to move my meeting with Mike.
I closed my eyes. My King!
I looked at the nameplate on my desk: LAYLA BROWN — PERSONAL SECRETARY TO HIS MAJESTY. I loved it. Only weeks ago I’d been an Egyptologist at Giza. Now I served the man who had discovered the hidden temple, not simply as a colleague but as his personal servant and companion. People might see the uniform and the formal titles and assume they understood us. They didn’t know how James checked on me when I was tired, remembered my favorite foods, or noticed my worries before I spoke.
A knock interrupted me. Queen Mira entered. I immediately stood.
“Your Majesty.”