Kara followed her twin brother Darin downstairs, yawning as she went. The two of them slept in the same room on the second floor in the same beds, and had for years. Only recently since they both turned eighteen had they begun to take women and other men into the bed for their pleasure, but that was infrequent.
Kara was much like her brother, both with the white hair of their mother, Alara. Kara had inherited her mother’s large breasts and beautiful features, which of course made her popular amongst the men in the village, and her brother Darin had the large muscles that came from field work beneath his clothes.
Kara stretched on the way down and pushed her arms over her head. She noticed her brother’s eyes falling on her chest and she smirked to herself; he wasn’t her type.
When they reached the kitchens, they found their mother laid out naked on the table face up, her favorite slave Imhotep busily slurping and sucking the shaved pussy like she was eating a grapefruit.
“Morning,” Alara moaned, her arms clutching the table edge beneath her head. Her arms had long hieroglyphs tattooed along the pale skin, and her belly was swollen from another pregnancy. There hadn’t been any more children since Kara and Darin, and it was said that their father Joachim had been taking his women in the asshole for the last eighteen years for this very reason.
“On the breakfast table, mother? We are supposed to eat here,” Kara grumbled.
“Can’t… help… it,” Alara panted. “Your father has been gone for… ugh, so good Imhotep! Gone for weeks now.”
Darin sat down and began to eat some freshly baked bread right next to his mother’s moaning, quivering form. He reached out and squeezed her breast absent-mindedly with one hand.
Kara Joined him but kept her hand to herself; she had little interest in her mother’s body. She felt that she’d inherited some of her mother’s sexual tendencies, and honestly couldn’t get enough cock or tongue, but the thought of her naked mother didn’t excite her like it did her brother.
She took a few bites of her bread as her mother climaxed next to her, and tried to ignore the shaking of the table. After a few moments, Imhotep left to clean up and Alara joined them for their morning meal. As she leaned over the table to get a piece of bread her large breasts dangled down so far that her nipples touched the table. They weren’t saggy as such, but perhaps not as firm as they once were. They had only gotten bigger over the years, too.
“Father is returning today,” Darin said now that the entertainment was over.
“Which is why your daily chores are to go to the bazaar. Your father will want me naked and ready for him without his children as distractions.”
“Yes mother,” Kara and Darin said together. That was a job they didn’t mind: it would be fun to choose the yearly slave, see the villagers, and deal with the merchants.
“Kara, did you practice this morning before breakfast?” Alara asked sternly, knowing the answer. Like any mother, she seemed to have supernatural powers and knew where her children were any time of the day. Even though she had been distracted with a slave’s tongue on her clit at the time, she hadn’t missed the fact that Kara had come down the stairs yawning.
“I’ll practice later,” Kara said dismissively.
“You’ll practice now,” Alara corrected her. “Men learn but one skill when it comes to battle, but women must learn several. Just as Darin learns the sword, so too must you learn the power, and the use of your body to get your way.”
Kara grimaced. Her mother had been teaching her the use of the power for as long as she could remember, and had begun training in the ways of the flesh since Kara had turned 18. There were certain techniques with the hands, the mouth, and the lower body that women could use to drive men wild, giving them incredible bargaining power when it came to negotiation. A man would have to sell his sword to get a wealth of deben, putting his life on the line every minute of every day. A woman just had to sell her body.
“Come with me,” Alara suddenly declared, standing up from the table. There was no arguing with the woman when her mind was set on something, so Kara resigned herself to following. Alara strode out of their house and into the yard, wearing nothing but her sandals. Some of the men that worked the fields stopped to stare, and Kara didn’t blame them: her mother was quite the sight.
Their house was originally owned by Kara’s uncle, Atos, before he suffered an accident on a trading journey before she was born. It was a rural farm property with fields of all kinds: barely, wheat, flax, corn, melons, and so on, and plentiful fruit trees. While it wasn’t the main source of income for the family, every property remotely near the Nile always had a farm of some kind, at the least so they could eat or use what they grew.
Alara brought her daughter to the orchard where fruit trees surrounded them on all sides. Some of the family’s slaves—mostly women that Joachim or Alara bought in the marketplace—worked picking the fruit.
“Show me your progress, daughter,” Alara commanded.