The Pharaoh's Curse

"Nonsense," scoffed Clara Loft, the famous adventurer and archaeologist. "There's no such thing as curses."

"I promise you, miss, the pharaoh's curse is real!" Her guide, Fatima, scrambled to keep up with her as she walked briskly through the Cairo bazaar. "We should never have stolen that amulet from his tomb! Now his spirit will inflict us with terrible shame!"

"Stuff and nonsense," said Clara, looking around curiously at the many trinkets arrayed for sale among the bazaar's covered stalls. "The pharaoh is long dead, and his curse is nothing but mere superstition. You're an educated woman, Fatima. Why on earth would you believe such foolishness?"

Fatima was about to explain when a small black cat appeared out of nowhere behind her.

It leaped up to catch her knee-length skirt with its claws, dangling from the hem, its weight pulling the garment down. Fatima squealed, trying to hold up her skirt as it quickly slipped down to her knees, and stumbled forward. She tried to grab the cat, but it had vanished as mysteriously as it had arrived.

"Is there something you wish to say, Fatima?" asked Clara, in a rather cold tone.

"M-my apologies," stammered Fatima. "I appear to have suffered a rather unfortunate accident. Please, let us continue the tour of the bazaar."

"Why, Fatima, your skirt is lowered. You Egyptian girls have such loose morals." Clara giggled. "Come on. I must find a gift for my butler. He is an admirer of fine Persian rugs, you see."

"I will gladly show you where to find the finest Persian rugs in town," said Fatima, who was kneeling in the sandy street, having unfortunately stumbled right out of her skirt. "But I must first fetch my clothing."

"Truly? Fatima, I would be most grateful."

"It is no trouble at all. May I ask a small favour, miss? I wish to know if you have seen my skirt anywhere. It seems to have disappeared."

Clara looked around, before spotting a stall and hailing it with a wave.

"Why, Fatima," she said. "This stall is selling the most fascinating little trinkets and toys. Do come along."

"But, miss, I have yet to locate my skirt!"

"Need I remind you, Fatima, that this is your job? Such trifles will have to wait."

She walked towards the stall. Fatima scampered after her, wearing only an embroidered cotton blouse and a multicoloured scarf wrapped around her head and neck. Being a poor girl, and unable to afford undergarments, she was quite bare below the waist. Her long brown legs were revealed in all their glory, and her pert bare bottom stuck out below her blouse in a most enticing way.

As she hurried after Clara, her scarf got caught on a protruding nail and was pulled off her head, leaving her long dark hair tumbling down around her shoulders. She made an inarticulate cry, and reached up to unsuccessfully try to hold back her hair. At the same time, she frantically tried to keep one hand pressed between her naked legs, so her womanly treasures would not be revealed to the whole bazaar.

Meanwhile, Clara began examining a pendant made of amethyst, strung on a silver chain.

"This will look lovely on my dresser," she said. "Go on, Fatima, take it."

"Oh, miss," said Fatima. "I must find my skirt."

"I dare say you do look a fright," said Clara, turning to look at her. "Why, you weren't wearing anything under that thing. What a quaint custom."

"It is the curse of the pharaoh," Fatima protested. "See? I have been compelled to suffer great shame by revealing my female secrets in the marketplace! Take your trinket, miss. I must find my clothing."

"Oh, very well," said Clara. "I suppose I should be sympathetic to the plight of the poor, naked girl. Here, put this around your... oh, dear. That's quite awkward. I don't think it will stay on your... let me help you."

"It is this curse, miss! It will let me wear nothing but my embroidered blouse!"

"I do not think that is quite accurate, Fatima."

"Why do you say that, miss?"

"Because you are no longer wearing your embroidered blouse."

Fatima looked down. She was quite naked.

At the sight of her lost modesty, Clara could not help but burst into laughter.

"Oh, what a picture!" she cackled. "The girl is completely naked! Oh, the indignity!"

Fatima's face turned red, her brown skin flushing to a deeper hue. Her embarrassment was heightened as Clara continued to derive amusement from her condition.

"Oh, the shame! The horror!" Clara giggled. "She's naked, and she doesn't have a stitch on! Oh, the humanity!"

The stall owner was giggling, too. She was a tall, dark-skinned woman, dressed in a flowing crimson gown, and she had been watching the bizarre tableau with interest. Now, she could no longer contain herself. She cackled wildly, as did her friends in the adjoining stalls.

Fatima stumbled backwards, tripped over her own feet, and fell down on her bottom in a heap of silk scraps. As she hastily righted herself, she attempted to cover her naked body with her hands. But, unluckily for her, it seemed that her hands would not quite reach the areas she so desperately wished to conceal. They had become entangled by knotted silk, and were now bound together behind her back.

This mishap of Fatima's allowed Clara to continue to laugh at her fallen companion.

"Oh, the absurdity!" she giggled. "She's naked and bound! Oh, the awkwardness!"

Fatima yanked at her silk knots, as the crimson-gowned woman continued to laugh.

"Oh, miss," she said. "I would most appreciate it if you would stop laughing. It is not funny."

"Oh, but it is," said Clara. "I'm sorry, Fatima. You must concede, however, that your predicament is of the highest comedic value. Oh, how the whole bazaar is laughing at you! They think you are not only beautiful, but hilarious. Oh, how tragic! Oh, how funny!"

Fatima wiggled and squirmed against her bindings. Her face was now a deep shade of red.

"Please," she said. "I beg you, miss. Let me... let me go."

"No," said Clara. "I don't think I shall. I think your fate is sealed. Oh, your predicament is too funny to end. Oh, what an awkward predicament! How it must sting your pride, to go naked with your hands bound before all the citizens of Cairo! Oh, Fatima, my dear, I can't let you go."

Fatima tugged desperately at her knots, but they would not give.

"Miss," she said. "Do you not realise! It is the pharaoh's curse! If I am not decently clothed by sunset, I shall be obliged to forfeit my womanly dignity for a period of not less than a year and a day! Oh, let me go! My dignity is at stake!"

"No chance of that," said Clara. "Please, Fatima. Be still. I need to get a picture. This will be the greatest picture that has ever been taken. Oh, what a picture! What a bind! What a predicament!"

Fatima tugged frantically at her knots.

"Please!" she said. "I beg you, miss! Have mercy!"

"On you? Don't be silly," said Clara. "Now, hold still. I need to get a good picture."

Fatima's cheeks were now a deep, fiery red. Her long, raven hair was in disarray, and her legs seemed to have gone all wobbly. She stood still before the tormenting eye of Clara's camera, her breasts heaving as she struggled to maintain her composure. Shame was scrawled across every inch of her nude body, and perfectly captured in the pictures that Clara began to take.

"Miss," she fretted. "You do not understand. For a year and a day, I will suffer the pharaoh's curse. I will suffer all manner of shames, chastisements, mishaps and provocations as I venture upon my daily business. My skirt will be too short. My bodice will be too tight. My hair will be unruly and my undergarments, should I contrive to don any, will be of insufficient size and likely to come undone. My bottom will burn and my dignity will be lost on the street. Oh, miss! Compassion! Have mercy!"

Clara continued to click and snap.

"Oh, mercy! I beg you, miss! Have mercy! Invisible demons will pinch and prod and whisper wicked temptations in my ear. They will afflict me with lewd impulses until, ripened to a state of unutterable lust, I shall finally give in to their vile suggestions and defile myself in some heathen temple. They will take delight in degrading me, miss. Have mercy and let me live with my dignity!"

Clara kept on taking pictures.

"Oh, miss! I implore you! Have mercy! Release me before the sun sets, or my bottom will be spanked and my hair will be yanked! My nipples will be pinched and my bodice will be ripped! My breasts will be fondled and my skirt will be cut short! I shall be to visit the houses of my enemies, wearing only my undergarments and my boots! Oh, miss! Have mercy!"

Clara took one more picture, then stopped.

"There," she said. "I think that will do."

"Thank you," said Fatima.

"Ah," said Clara. "In good time, too. It seems the sun has just set."

Fatima looked up at the sky.

"Yes," she said. "It has. But do you not recall, miss, that you helped me steal the pharaoh's amulet, and therefore you will also suffer his curse?"

"Poppycock," said Clara, as all her clothes turned to dust and blew away. "That would never... oh, dear." She was left in only her stockings, garters and boots, being otherwise completely nude. Lamps began to turn on, brightly illuminating the bazaar. Clara, unfortunately, happened to be standing beneath one, and every inch of her naked body was revealed to the amused onlookers as if it were broad daylight.

"Oh, dear," she said again, turning bright red. "Fatima, this predicament is not a fraction as amusing as I had previously thought."

She attempted to cover herself, but found that her hands were also bound behind her back by scraps of silk. She turned to look at Fatima, who was similarly constrained, and similarly illuminated by bright lamps. In fact, Clara discovered, both girls were now actually tied to the lamp-posts, preventing any swift egress from the situation.

"This is most perturbing," she said.

"Indeed," said Fatima, despondently. "I imagine we shall be obliged to linger in this position for the remainder of the evening."

"What a spectacle we shall make!" said Clara. "Fatima, I do not wish to be exhibited as a nude amusement for any length of time!"

"But you shall be," said the woman in the crimson dress, walking up to them. She was holding a pot of cosmetic paint. "You are both quite beautiful, ladies, and I shall take a hearty pleasure in your discomfort. Fatima, I seem to recall you stealing a valuable figurine from my stall several moons ago, when you thought yourself undetected. I was not able to prove your guilt at the time, but you will now face proper punishment."

She took out a small paintbrush and began to paint a message across Fatima's breasts, in vibrant red. It read "DIRTY LITTLE THIEF."

"Ah!" screamed Fatima. "You vicious woman! You will rue this day! I will not be defamed by your foul libel! I am neither dirty nor little! I am a princess!"

"You are a thief," said the woman simply.

She painted a similar message across Clara's bosom, this time in blue. It read "WANTON THIEVING SLUT."

"Oh, no," said Clara, turning as red as the sunset. "I am a good girl! Look at me! I am not the one who stole from you!"

"Be that as it may," said the woman in the crimson dress, "both of you are going to have to remain here for the remainder of the evening. Indeed, you will both still have to remain here tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" said Clara, dismayed. "What on earth can you mean by that?"

"I know some magic, and I may take advantage of the pharaoh's curse as I choose. Once the last customer has left the bazaar, I shall release you, and the two of you may scurry home to your hotel, stark naked through the empty streets. But you will return here tomorrow at dawn, and I shall have you working in my shop from dawn to dusk. I shall paint new messages on your skin, and have you display them to passing travellers. Is that not punishment enough?"

Clara and Fatima looked at each other.

"We are trapped! We have but to accept your terms," said Fatima.

"I am a very famous archaeologist!" wailed Clara. "Tread very carefully, woman, or you'll suffer the same fate as me!"

"I think not," smiled the woman in the crimson dress, "for I am not a silly little girl who steals from pharaohs' tombs. Permit me to explain what awaits you in the next year and a day. Both of you will become the plunder of any woman who passes, any time she chooses. Your clothes will be stolen, your virtue taken, and you will suffer an endless torment of impotent rage and frustrated desire. Your bras will be yanked down to expose your bosoms, and you will be left shivering and half-naked as you wait for the next set of hands to grope you. Your panties will be tugged down, and you will never know who has the pleasure of pulling them."

"I do not wish to hear any more of this," said Clara.

"Your buttocks will become the target of anyone who sees you. They will be slapped, groped, and grabbed until they are hot and red. Anyone who sees you will want to hurt you, and you will be tormented wherever you go. I will pick any woman I please to have a ride on your faces, and she will enjoy doing so very much. I will pick women with a taste for sadism, women who enjoy mocking you and whipping you with their riding crops. You will beg for mercy, but none will be shown. Any woman will be able to do anything she likes to you, anywhere, all the time."

"But this sounds dreadful! You cannot mean to be so cruel!"

"Your pussies," said the woman in the crimson dress, "will become the center of attention, of course. Any woman who sees you will want to touch you, and you'll suffer the indignity of your legs being spread apart as a group of women explore the treasure that is buried there. Your breasts will be groped, your nipples twisted, and your bosoms pushed in faces. You'll be made to feel like a common harlot, a prop used to satisfy the lusts of any passing woman."

"That's just terrible!" said Fatima. "I'm not having that happen to me!"

"You'll be made to dress up in skimpy outfits, and to dance for groups of women. You'll wear only a string bikini to cover your sweet little nipples, and the women will twist and pull on it while they laugh and point at you. Or you'll wear nothing but a pair of high heels, and you'll dance for them while they harass you and pinch your nipples."

"That's just... just... barbaric!" cried Clara.

"I'll dress you up as a schoolgirl, and make you crawl around on all fours like a dog. Or I'll have you dress up as a maid, and you to clean the streets like one. You'll be humiliated in any way I desire. I'll take photographs of the entire proceedings, and I'll let the whole town see them."

"You truly are a monster!" cried Fatima.

The woman in the crimson dress shrugged.

"Don't blame me," she said. "Blame the pharaoh's curse."

And she left them there, stark naked, tied to lamp-posts in the middle of a crowded bazaar, for everyone to see. It was going to be an interesting year and a day.