A Fistful Of Sand Book 1Chapter 1: A Spark And A Flame free porn video

Heather slowly stood up from inside the pit. Her knees ached from being in a crouching position for so long. She stood up and bent over, stretching her hamstrings. Holding her nose to her knees, she exhaled deeply trying to get the most from her stretch. As if on cue, she heard a wolf-whistle coming from directly behind her.

"Wow, I'd love to tap that!"

Heather stood up straight and turned to face her audience. Chad was one of the other students participating in this semester-long study-abroad archeological dig. A few years ago, Chad would have been just her type: athletic, young, funny and a bona fide party-boy. It's amazing what a few years could do.

"You can look, but don't touch, Chad," she said with a wry grin. Chad staggered backwards with his hands over his heart, as if she had literally shot him down. For three months now, Chad's attempts to get into her pants had become almost a daily ritual. She was sure he'd gotten the message, but he was no less persistent. She had to admire the boy's persistence — he never quit. It had begun to seem that a day just wasn't complete unless Chad had made SOME obscene comment. As he picked himself off the ground and brushed the dust from his back he called back to her, "I'm done for the day. See you over by the trailers for dinner?" Despite their routine, Heather still couldn't get used to his ability to be a total sleaze one moment and a perfectly normal companion the next.

"Yeah, I just want to finish documenting this mosaic." The pit she was working in had revealed a tile floor with 3-inch square pictorial tiles. Of all the students' finds, the professor had been most excited about these ... to the extent he was ever excited about anything. As Chad walked back to camp, Heather picked took the camera out of the bag and began taking pictures, first of the whole layout, then of each individual tile, some with a ruler in the frame to keep the sense of scale.

It was cozy little set up: five students and one teacher with Heather being the only woman. The four male students, or 'the boys' as she referred to them, shared two campers. She had her own smaller trailer, and the professor had his own larger trailer. Although it was hard to call it large with all six of them cramped around his small table going over a particular find or a photo or some notes.

At 24 years of age, Heather felt much older than her fellow students. All of them were undergraduates, but the oldest guy, besides the professor, was David, and he was only 20. Four years difference didn't seem like much, but she'd spent a few years out of school, in the "real world" and in those years she'd gained a maturity that these boys were nowhere near. She grinned again as she caught herself thinking of them as 'boys.'

Putting camera back into its case, Heather walked back to her trailer to wash up. The days were long, but when she looked at the Mediterranean Coast just a few hundred yards from the camp site, the weariness of the day drained away. By all rights she shouldn't have been here. She had only started at Eastern State U last semester in the Fall. She still smiled at her school's name. How did a school with that name end up in the near north suburbs of Chicago? She remembered reading somewhere about it once being on the central Illinois border closer to Indiana, but some rich benefactor had bequeathed them acres of land closer to the city. The land was once part of some industrial park that went belly-up ... or something like that. She really didn't care, just so long as it was near where she lived and was affordable. It was no University of Chicago or Northwestern, but it would do. She hadn't even declared a major yet. She signed her name to the interest list for this dig because it sounded interesting. She was quite surprised when she got the call from the department chair saying she had been picked. There were five slots available for the trip but only five people signed up. 'I guess the students thought Tunisia was too politically unstable for Americans' she thought. 'If they had put a photo of this sunset over the Mediterranean on their brochure, they would have had a line around the block!'

She had never been on an archaeological dig before and knew nothing about ancient Carthage, but that didn't really matter. She was learning. Their site supervisor was 'El Professor' as Chad liked to call him, but his real name was Dr. Gregg Walters. He was actually only two years older than her, some young hotshot genius who discovered these ruins in the first place. Well, maybe hotshot wasn't the right word — he was so shy and introverted that maybe prodigy was a more appropriate word. He didn't converse much with his cadre of students, so she didn't know much about him personally. Most of their conversations had been as part of the group and were academic, not personal. She guessed that if they were in high school together, she'd be the popular head of the dance-squad, and he'd be the bookworm doing her assignments for her. Even in those learning sessions in his camper, he barely made eye contact with the guys, and especially not her. But he spoke of his research with an infectious passion and despite the hard work and long hours, she and the other students looked forward to their debriefings to hear him talk about what they had found.

Maybe thinking of him as a bookworm was too harsh. He was kind of cute, in a handsome-nerdish sort of way. She liked to imagine that if she was given a chance, she could turn him from "geek-to-chic" like in some after-school special. But his looks (or 'looks-potential' weren't the only thing that intrigued her about him. She knew he could read close to a dozen ancient languages. She even found it cute the way he could talk at length about a piece of pottery, but remove the prop from his hand, or steer him away from his work, and he would fumble for words and not make eye contact.

Heather changed into her swimsuit — a modest black one-piece (modest for her, at least) that was cut high at the hips and dipped low at the bust, showing off her generous cleavage. She had brought two swimsuits, this one and a far sexier white bikini. After arriving, she decided 'the boys' just wouldn't be able to handle her in such a revealing outfit. So it remained in her closet, as yet unworn. She wrapped a white sarong around her waist, intending to walk down to the beach and take a swim in the sea before it got too dark.

She checked herself in the mirror before heading out. Her years working as a dancer had kept her in great shape. She was about 5-foot-9, trim, long-legged, and full-chested. Oh, who was she kidding — she wasn't just a "dancer." She was an exotic dancer, a stripper, and she had the body for it. Her fellow students didn't know that bit about her past. She had convinced them that she worked as a waitress for the past several years. Despite their 38DD size, her breasts didn't sag one bit, and unlike some of her fellow dancers, hers were not the product of surgery. Her red shoulder-length hair framed a beautiful face that featured deep green eyes, a lightly upturned nose, and full sensuous lips. Her skin was naturally lightly bronzed, so she didn't need to worship the sun or a tanning bed. She was sure that if she had the inclination and a brass pole, she could make her fellow students beg for mercy and even get a rise out of El Professor.

She put on her sandals and went to the cook fire to join her team. Brian and Adam were already eating, and Chad was serving himself. One chair remained empty. "Where's David?" she asked Chad. There was only one empty chair because Dr. Walters rarely ate with them, usually preferring to use that time to work in his camper on his laptop.

"El Professor drafted him for some video project. He's running the camera." Heather was amazed. Chad had managed two sentences in a row without some sexist comment, and even managed to lift his gaze from her chest for a few seconds.

"Dr. Walters, are you about ready?"

Gregg looked up from his notebook. He had one finger on his writings and another on a page of one of the dozen or so open books on his make-shift desk. His right hand momentarily left the book to push his glasses back up his nose. "Almost. I just want to go over my notes one more time."

It was important that he get everything right. A lot of money was riding on his performance. Eastern State University had told him that due to the budget crunch, it didn't have the spare resources to spend on an assistant professor and a group of students studying clay pottery filled with ashes in the middle of Africa. That they didn't even know where Tunisia was only proved their lack of interest in his project. W's only hope was to show his superiors at the university as well as the Tunisian official who owned the land that there truly was something exciting at this site and worth preserving. If he could convince them that something special happened here, then it might spark an infusion of cash from the college or their benefactors and the publicity it would give the university would allow him the time he needed to fully excavate the site.

The problem was that the bureaucrats who owned the land were waiting to turn it into a hotel to capitalize on the tourist dollars. With the PLO mostly gone from their country, tourists had started returning. It was only because of the generous check one of the campus regents had made to the government that they promised to wait until this summer before reconsidering what to do with the land.

The problem was that Gregg had no experience in these matters. He really didn't care how the dig stayed open, he was only concerned with learning as much as he could. At the age of 26, he was the youngest Ph.D. in his field of archeology. He was gifted in ancient languages and wowed the academic world with his translations of an ancient scroll that pointed to this very site. Upon publication of his results, he was granted an assistant professorship at ESU, and was given permission to begin excavations. The university was eager to lend initial support to its "wunderkind" new hire in the hopes he'd bring them some fame and maybe even make their archeology program world renown. The only stipulation was that he had one year on site before he had to come back and teach and he had to supervise students in the field. It was publish or perish and since he didn't have tenure yet, the university had only so much patience waiting for results.

Spending a summer on the Tunisian coast would seem a dream for most, but not for Gregg Walters. One doesn't earn a Ph.D. at such an early age by spending time at parties and with women. Gregg was painfully shy and preferred to keep to himself. He could barely look his students in the eye and was almost completely speechless around women. His female students barely suppressed their giggles when he tried to talk to them and he'd stutter and stammer and trip over his words. He would have much preferred to be on the site alone, as he usually was, but his superiors dictated that he make this into a learning experience. The fact was that given his time constraints, he really needed the extra help. The only concession he had was that he could parse his students off to various sectors and pretty much leave them alone while he focused on the areas that were of particular interest to himself. To his relief, they were good students, and learned the ropes of an archeological dig quickly. Especially Heather. She was often able to translate his stutterings into coherent thoughts the guys could comprehend.

His own area of specialization was the sacrificial rituals of ancient Carthage. He knew that what he had learned so far was pretty gruesome by today's standards, but the idea came to him after getting a notice from the university that his time was running out and if he could find other funding, he could keep the site open, and, more importantly, he could avoid having to return to the States and be forced to lecture. He his findings were exciting enough, but his was a narrow world view.

He wasn't a fan of movie violence and gore, but he knew enough of the world to know that if he could sell his benefactors on the shock-value of the Carthage rituals, he might be able to convince them that this was truly exciting. That, and the fear of spending hours a day in front of groups of students scared him more than anything else.

Gregg gathered up his notes and headed out to the ruins. His plan was to film a re-creation of the most disturbing of the rituals and send his tape to various 'learning' cable channels. With their money, he thought he could keep the dig open longer and continue his studies. He had David set up the camera at the lip of the pit. David was the only one of the group that had any film experience, having taken a film studies course at the U. He wasn't exactly Stephen Spielberg, but he'd have to do. Gregg attached the remote mic to his lapel and got ready to explain the ritual. The other four students Adam, Brian, Chad, and Heather were lounging at their campsite, enjoying an evening off.

Gregg stood behind the sacrificial table he had personally unearthed to give his monologue, figuring it would add to the mystique of the dig. He took his virtual audience through the ritual putting special emphasis on some of the more outrageous aspects of the rites. He felt especially sleazy about this plan since it wasn't really what he was researching. His specialty had to do with a rival religious sect that only small group of nobles participated in.

He explained each section and then demonstrated it, using the incantations proscribed in his translations. When the ritual came to the part involving the sacrifice, he naturally skipped any real slaughter. Gregg looked at the sky noticing the approaching storm clouds. The weather forecast didn't mention anything about rain ... but then again, what did weathermen know? He hoped he could finish the tape before the storm hit. He really didn't want to go through all this again.

The final part of the ritual called for the ashes of the slain to be poured into the special urn he had uncovered and mixed with the high priest's blood. W grabbed a fistful of ash from a pile next to several broken urns and placed them on the altar pouring them out in a circle with a wavy line down the center. He then took out his pocket knife and sliced a small gash in heel of his palm. It didn't even occur to him until much later that he could have used fake blood or ketchup. He let a few drops of his blood drip in the left side of the circle. W put down his notes, weighing them down with a nearby stone to keep them from blowing away and raised both hands to the sky announcing the final lines of the ritual, trying to be as dramatic as possible.

There was a sudden blinding white flash and moment of seering pain and everything went black. In the blackness a voice sounded in his head, "Cath' ma le datrah lo pah..." and he knew what it meant: "We answer the call..."

Gregg tried to open his eyes. He thought he could hear voices, and a slow rhythmic beeping off to his right. He first noticed the antiseptic smell of wherever he was. He had a distant recollection of being at the dig, but his memory was full of holes. He tried opening his eyes and they cracked open just a little. The little light in the room blinded him and he immediately shut his eyes tight, groaning in pain. He heard more voices in the room, mostly male. He felt a woman's hand grab his and a voice, "Dr. Walters, can you hear me?" W tried opening his eyes again and managed to open them to slits. Everything was blurry, but he focused in on the person closest, the person holding his hand. As she came into focus, he couldn't help but think she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. If he'd believed in angels, he would have said she was one. He was caught in her green eyes. Suddenly a blinding pain hit him in his head right behind his eyes. Just before he blacked out again, he thought in a panic — 'Help! Don't leave me!' If he had managed to stay conscious through the pain for another few seconds, he would have heard another voice in his head, "He has chosen..."

Greg was coming around again. The first thing he noticed was how dry his mouth was. He didn't want to open his eyes again, not right away at least. He strained his other senses, trying to hear, smell, sense if there was anyone there. He couldn't explain it, but he was sure there was someone just off to his right. He turned his head and with his eyes still clamped shut; he opened his mouth, and managed to croak the word "water." He felt the bed shift a little and a few moments later a straw was in his mouth.

"Slowly. Drink it slowly."

In his thirst, he didn't listen and was soon coughing and choking and spluttering water onto his chest.

"Slowly I said! You've been unconscious for two days."

Gregg listened this time and took miniscule sips of water while his brain tried to process that last bit of information. Two days? Couldn't be. The straw was taken away and he felt a towel wiping his chin and his chest. Next he felt a woman's hand smoothing his hair. It felt good, comforting.

"Dr. Walters, can you open your eyes?" It was the same woman's voice.

Gregg tried again, hesitantly. As his vision came into focus, he saw two people. The first was the angelic vision he saw last time. He focused in on her eyes, her very green eyes. They served as an anchor as he came back to reality. As the rest of her came into focus, he began to notice details. She had been crying, and she looked like she hadn't slept in days. Her name was Heather, he remembered. One of his students. He'd seen her many times, and had even talked with her, or at least at her. But he never really looked at her before, always avoiding her gaze.

"Well, look who's awake." That came from the shape standing behind Heather. He pulled his eyes away from Heather's and glanced up, recognizing another of his students, Adam, he thought. "I'll go tell the doctor."

Dropping his gaze back to the vision still holding his hand and stroking his hair, he managed, "You're Heather." She smiled and a tear rolled down her cheek and splashed on his arm.

Another male voice from somewhere behind him piped in. "Yeah, she hasn't left your side since you gave that horror movie scream! We practically had to crowbar her off you just to get her to go to the bathroom!"

Heather shot him a dirty look.

"Is David okay?" Gregg whispered. He remembered David was with him at the dig when everything went black. His immediate thought was that some terrorist group had dropped a bomb on them.

Heather responded, "Yeah, he was sent home yesterday. You caught the worst of it. The lightening apparently hit you in the left shoulder and exited through your right hand. It must have shot across the ruins at David because it blew up your camcorder. He was a bit loopy for a while, but all in all, he's just fine."

The doctor came into Gregg's room, and everyone moved out of his way except Heather. She stood up and gave him room only after some gentle pressure was put on her shoulder by the doctor, but she still didn't release Gregg's hand.

First, the doctor shined a light in his eyes, checking the pupils' responses. Then he listened to his heartbeat and breathing sounds. Checking his pulse and looking over the printouts, the doctor pronounced, "Well, you seem out of the worst of it. Your CAT scans show everything to be normal. For now, let's just have you rest and see how you're doing tomorrow."

The doctor looked over at Heather and said, "You too young lady. You should go and get some rest. You look like you can do it. There's nothing more you can do here tonight." He made some notes on the chart and let left the room. Gregg suddenly realized that the doctor had never introduced himself. Emily was the last to leave after the guys gather up their things and practically forced Heather to leave also. He heard part a comment Adam was making — something about getting the crowbar again. Emily stepped through the door and before closing it, gave Gregg a long look. She looked down at her feet, shook her head as if to clear it of stray thoughts, and let the door close.

As Heather was ushered out of the room by the boys, she couldn't help feeling she was abandoning Dr. Walters. She knew he said it was okay, and the fact was, she really needed a shower and some sleep. She couldn't explain why she went from concerned observer to being overtaken by an unbelievable urge not to leave his side. She just knew she couldn't leave until she knew he was all right. The strange thing was that those few words he spoke to her while waking were probably the most he'd ever spoken to her in one sitting. He generally avoided the students, giving occasional instruction or analysis of uncovered artifacts. He spoke little to the guys and almost nothing to her alone. Given how little connection she had to the man, she couldn't explain why she suddenly felt this strong connection.

She'd never before felt any attraction to him. He seemed to be in okay shape, but he barely even knew she existed, or at least he acted that way. Besides, she'd had her share of boyfriends and knew she was beautiful. She'd relied on her beauty to get her through life in the past, but knowing that wouldn't last forever; she enrolled in college at the age of 24 to prove she had more to offer the world than just her looks.

When she graduated high school, she went on to college, but flunked out due to her non-stop partying. After one of her boyfriends took her to a strip club to enter her into an amateur stripping contest, which she won, she began stripping full time. The pay was great, but after a few years she started getting turned off by the whole scene. She had watched some of her fellow strippers turn to hard core drugs or get involved in porn and fetish videos. Most of them became shells of the women they once were.

That's when she decided to get back to college. She had saved enough money to cover her tuition. During her first semester she took a moderate course load, getting the feel of academe back under her skin. When the opportunity came to be part of this dig, she jumped at the chance. She was a little worried at being the only woman on the team, but despite their valiant attempts, Heather had so far managed to fend off the advances of her fellow diggers — not that she was interested anyway; they were just too young for a woman of her experience.

She had barely slept in the past few days. She couldn't explain why she felt she had to wait by his bedside. Something inside her compelled her to remain, to see that he was safe, cared for. She had spent hours studying his face, memorizing every detail.

She hurried back to the campsite, took a long deserved shower. Putting on a pair of panties and an old t-shirt, she sat in her bed with a book. In truth she was only half-reading. Her mind kept drifting back to the hospital.

Gregg had just finished his meal. His appetite had returned. In fact, he had eaten two full meals. In between, a nurse had removed the IV from his arm, but only after promising he would drink the Gatorade she had brought him. The doctor came back after his trays were cleared away. At his side was a pretty young nurse whom he introduced as Emily. The doctor said that the new shift was starting and he proceeded to update her on his condition and gave her instructions for his care. She listened and followed along on the chart. It was basic stuff: make sure he stayed hydrated, take his vitals during the night, etc. Given Gregg's apparent return to good health, and healthy appetite, she didn't appear concerned about her ability to take care of him. The doctor bid him good night and ushered Emily out after returning his charts to the slot at the foot of the bed to take her around to his other patients.

For the first time since waking, Gregg was alone. The room was eerily quiet, the only sound being the ventilation and muffled conversation coming from the nursing station down the hall. Feeling pressure building in his bladder from all the fluids being pumped into him, Gregg sat up to find the washroom in the room. Letting a wave of nausea pass over him from sitting up too fast, he judged the distance to the john. Even though he felt weak, he thought the short distance across the room would be no problem. Swinging his legs over the side, he hopped to his feet and promptly collapsed to the floor with a resultant 'thud.' His legs had no strength. More dazed than hurt, he knew he needed help to get up and found the nurse-call button attached to the side of his bed.

Emily came in calmly, but ran to him once she spotted him on the floor. Putting his arm around her petite shoulders, she managed to lift him to a half-sitting/half-leaning position on the side of the bed with a strength that belied her slim form. She was about to read him the riot act, when he looked into her eyes and silently asked that she not be angry. Normally she still would have lectured, but her anger left her and was replaced with concern. "Why on earth did you try to get out of bed?"

Gregg explained that he needed to go to the bathroom and thought he could make it. He still needed to go, so he sheepishly asked "A little help?"

Emily was going to tell him to use the bedpan, since that's what it was for, but again found herself draping his arm over her shoulder. The walk to the bathroom seemed to take forever, and he felt like he had just run a mile when he got to the toilet. He made it to his destination, but found that with one arm around her shoulder and the other on the wall keeping his balance, he had no way to aim his stream. He tried letting go of the wall, but he couldn't keep his balance.

Realizing his predicament, he simply said, "I need help" but his brain was screaming that this was humiliating and embarrassing. As if reading his thoughts, Emily said soothingly, "Don't worry, this is my job. I don't know what I was thinking letting you walk over here — you should be in bed. You can barely stand, but here we are. Now just relax and let me help." Gregg closed his eyes, too embarrassed to watch. Emily lifted the front of his hospital gown and grabbed his member. She gave a small gasp, but he didn't hear. At her touch, he felt a connection, like being plugged in. He also noticed, at least by feel, was that Emily must have really small hands, because her grip barely encircled the circumference of his penis. Besides making him question the size of her hand, the feel of her soft, small hand on his prick was having another effect. He felt the blood rushing to it.

"Okay, you can urinate now," Emily said somewhat breathlessly. Gregg was sure it was due to her practically carrying him across the room. His piss lasted longer than he would have imagined. While he stood there, his cock in her hand, he felt strength returning to him. If he didn't know better, he'd say he was absorbing strength from Emily while she stood there directing his stream. When it was done, he finally opened his eyes. His dick had been growing hard under Emily's delicate touch. He was ashamed that she would have to put up with that after making her do all she'd done already.

When he looked down and focused in, he got dizzy again — not due to exhaustion, but due to surprise. The phallus that Emily had in her hand was easily almost twice as big as what he remembered his to be. She jacked her hand up and down the length a few times, as if squeezing out the last drops of piss. She gave it a shake, like she had seen past boyfriends do, letting a final drop flip from the tip. Still gripping his cock, the biggest cock she had ever held in her hands, she licked a bead of perspiration off her upper lip, not fully understanding why her stomach was filled with butterflies. A momentary pang of pleasure rippled through her loins as she helped W finish. Her brain unclouded when she put his gown down and helped him back across the room to his bed.

By the time she got him back to his bed, both were sweaty and exhausted, but the trip back did seem much easier. She had him lie on top of the covers and said that he should probably have a sponge bath before getting under them and getting some needed rest. W looked at her closely for the first time. She looked young, like any of his freshman students. She was trim, and petite. He realized that when she was half-carrying him, she had to be close to a foot shorter than his 6-foot-3 height. He also noticed that her nursing uniform hugged tightly to her curves, and the top two buttons were open, revealing a small bit of cleavage. H found himself staring between her breasts, even though he knew he shouldn't. He wondered what they looked like, what they felt like. He imagined his lips closing around her nipples. He could see them in his mind, as clear as if she were standing there naked.

As he daydreamed, he could swear he saw two bumps begin to press against the material. Still focused on her chest, he noticed her hand come up and begin to squeeze one nipple through her uniform. He was so shocked by this that his eyes rose to her face. She gasped, realizing was she was beginning to do. In that split second, he noticed her face: she wore no makeup but didn't really need any. She had high cheekbones and thin lips with a narrow nose. Her dark brown, almost black hair was pulled back in a pony tail that sat between her shoulder blades. The mini-workout she just had getting him to and back to his bed (at least he guessed it was because of the workout) had left her face flush and had caused a few strands of hair escape her ponytail. He found the entire visage extremely sensuous.