Romans and Incubator

Copyright Oggbashan April 2019/January 2020

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

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We were struggling to keep the site dry. The rain wasn't heavy but it was continuous, soaking everything not carefully covered. I was outside the heavy duty marquee, checking the guy ropes when Cathy shouted for me.

"Jason! Your wall has more painted plaster!"

I had found another standing Roman wall late yesterday, one of several well-preserved walls that had been buried probably at the start of the 3rd Century AD. We had been excited because the first gentle cleaning of this one had shown that there was a coloured plaster decoration.

There were five of us, four post graduate archaeology students directed by Cathy, the associate professor, who had been frantically doing rescue archaeology in our summer vacation in advance of the new shopping mall. We had been back to working intermittently in term time but had been full time resident on site in the summer. Now we were again. The university had decided that our work was so important that it would count towards our further degrees.

Cathy would have to leave us alone soon. She was pregnant and about six or seven weeks from full term.

The developer was treating us very well. We had Portacabins for eating and for assessing and recording finds. The women had an old large mobile home. I had a smaller one. Cathy went home to her husband Gordon each night. We were being paid above our normal volunteer rates. The price was that we had to work quickly. The deadline was two weeks away, unless the weather gets worse. It was supposed to be autumn, but English weather can be unpredictable.

We were doing brilliantly. During the summer vacation and the first two months of working part-time we had eliminated three-quarters of the site. There had been cellars and foundations of late 18th and early 19th Century houses demolished because of bomb damage during WW2. Their locations were known from large scale Ordnance Survey Maps. We had excavated below the house remains and had found nothing underneath except undisturbed natural soil. The developers could start work on most of the site - if it stopped raining.

Geophysical surveys had shown anomalies close to the known Roman road that was just beyond the site boundary. When we started to work full-time our test trench had revealed walls standing nearly two metres high that had been buried when the road had been raised.

The marquee covered the trench. We had dug drainage ditches to take the rainwater away before we carefully scraped down to uncover the first wall. The plaster was attached to the latest found wall. The first painted design made Cathy, our associate professor, blush. We had found a Roman Brothel. The picture on the walls was obviously there to show the customers the services the prostitutes could provide.

We students were excited. We wanted to see more, the find, to record, and yes, to experiment.

Cathy was fierce, unusually fierce.

"Don't mention this find to ANYONE!" she insisted. "Not even Alan the site manager. I need to think about the impact. I'm serious. Not a word even to friends and family. Keep the marquee closed at all times, even if the weather improves, and cover the painting every night."

We were impressed that Cathy was so dogmatic about the secrecy. It was unlike her to be so direct. We didn't know why, but she was obviously very worried by what we had found. We downloaded the pictures from the camera to the old laptop that would not connect to the internet, made two copies on DVDs and put one in the floor safe in the women's mobile home. The other copy Cathy took home to put in her own safe. We repeated that every day.

We agreed that we would keep the fact that we had discovered a Roman Brothel secret but we could and did discuss them at length between ourselves. Were the scenes feasible sexual encounters? If so, could we replicate them? There was one small problem. We four were three females and one male, me.

Late on the evening of the day when we had exposed the first painting we were in our dining Portacabin. Penny had been searching the internet and had found another version of the painting. She connected her laptop to the projector and displayed it nearly life size.

Rachel hurriedly closed the curtains. We didn't want any passers-by to see us looking at Roman pornography. Penny flicked between shots of our wall and the internet version. The position was almost identical but ours had better definition. Was that the size of the file, or the actual painting?

We gathered next to the screen. In both versions the man was on his back, his shoulders on the raised end of a couch. The woman was astride him in a cowgirl position. Her knees were beside his waist. Both were naked and his right hand, furthest away from our viewpoint, was cupping her left breast.

"Neither of them looks natural," Penny suggested. "Either she should be leaning further forward, or he should be more upright. His arm looks too long."

Rachel agreed with Penny: "That's impossible. He couldn't reach her breast even with his fingertips, and certainly not to cup her breast like that."

"I think her breasts are unrealistically large," Hester said. "I know its pornography, but they didn't have breast implants then."

That led to a heated discussion. Was the pose realistic, or had the artist(s) used too much imagination?

Penny suggested that the only way to decide whether it was possible was to replicate it. The three of them turned on me. Before I knew what I was letting myself in for, I was reclining on a line of stacking chairs while they pulled me around to match the male's position as shown. When they were satisfied with my posture they started arguing about which of them most resembled the woman.

A compromise was reached. Hester, whose build seemed close to the pictured Roman prostitute, would try to match her position on me. Could I reach a tit with my right hand?

Rachel saw a problem. We were all wearing heavy warm clothing, unlike the naked Romans. We would have to remove some clothing at least. I sat up, removed my jacket and sweater while the two volunteer prostitutes stripped. They went further than I did. Both of them reduced to a skimpy bra above the waist. I didn't know where to look with so much attractive cleavage on display. Of course the result was an erection straining at my trousers.

It didn't work. As soon as Hester tried to straddle me, the chairs began to slip.

"We need to move to the mobile home," Rachel said. "Even if we balance the actors carefully it could be dangerous. The fitted couch in the mobile home would be a closer match to that picture."

"But I can't project in the mobile home," Penny complained.

"That doesn't matter," Rachel retorted. "We've seen the large version. The screen on your laptop will be enough to remind us."

The three of us dressed again and clutching umbrellas against the now heavy rain all of us squelched across to the women's mobile home. Soon I was half-naked again but reclining comfortably against the end of the couch.

Hester positioned herself straddling me. At first she was sitting upright on my hips. The other two women were behind the dining table looking at the laptop, then at our position.

"Hester," Penny said, "you need to be slightly higher up Jason's body. Your knees are too far back."

"But then I'd be above Jason's erection," Hester objected.

"I think the original was too," Penny said. "Perhaps they were about to do it, not actually fucking."

"OK."

Hester inched herself up my body, directed by Penny's hand movements.

"Stop there!" Penny said. "What do you think?"

Rachel peered at the screen.

"Yes," Rachel said. "I think her knees are in the right place."

"Jason? Can you reach Hester's left boob with your right hand?"

I tried. The tips of my fingers were still an inch away.

"Hester? Lean forward but arch your back," Penny ordered. "Stick your tit out."

Even when Hester complied all I could do was touch her breast with the upper parts of my fingers. I couldn't cup it in my hand.

"Rachel? Can you put a cushion behind Jason's back, please?"

"OK, Penny, but we thought the original angle was right."

Hester sat back as Rachel slid a cushion beside me. I barely noticed because Hester was now sitting on an insistent erection. When Hester moved back to the correct position my trousers were obviously tented.

"Jason! This is supposed to be a scientific demonstration," Penny said. "You're enjoying it too much!"

Hester bent herself forward and kissed my lips. She turned her head towards Penny.

"I'm enjoying it too," Hester said before returning to her position and arching her back.

This time I could cup Hester's breast. We held the pose while Rachel took photos. Hester moved her body forward and laid on me, her head resting on my shoulder, while Rachel uploaded the pictures to the laptop. I was very aware of Hester's bra-covered nipples against my bare chest.

While the other two women looked at the laptop screen, Hester started kissing me. I responded.

"Break it up, you two!" Penny ordered. "We need your opinion too."

Hester kissed me once more before climbing off me. We joined the others as Penny cycled between the pictures of the Roman paintings and our pose.

"They don't match," Hester said, "but I can't see why not."

"I can," I responded. "The pictured woman is taller than you. Look at her head compared with the man's."

"You're right, Jason," Penny said. "She must be nearly as tall as the man. I think we need to try again with Rachel. OK?"

We agreed. Rachel is taller than Hester, although not as tall as me. I went back to the couch. Rachel climbed on me. Her legs were longer. When her knees matched the picture position her pussy was on my erection. But I still couldn't reach her tit without the cushion behind my back and then my torso angle was wrong. Rachel was teasing me. She was pressing her jean-covered pussy against my prick.

Penny took more photos but as we thought they just confirmed what we already knew. My body was at the wrong angle if I could cup Rachel's left tit with my right hand.

Rachel wriggled on me, making my erection more painful.

"Off you get," Penny said. "We need to try again."

As Rachel climbed off me I said:

"Penny. You're the tallest. It might work with you."

"But I haven't got large enough breasts," she protested.

"But Jason is right," Hester said. "Rachel and I aren't tall enough. We might have bigger breasts than you, but if the body angles are wrong, the breasts are irrelevant."

"I wouldn't say that," I said. "I need to be able to reach a breast to match the pose."

Penny stripped to her bra. Her breasts might be smaller than Rachel's or Hester's but they are still very desirable. As she climbed on me she was very aware that I was erect. She rubbed her pussy across it as she adjusted her position.

"OK, Penny," Rachel said. "Your knees are right. Your bum is too. Jason's idea that the woman was tall works. Jason? Ditch the cushion."

I eased the cushion out from behind my back and dropped it to the carpet. I reached out for Penny's breast. My hand cupped it easily. I squeezed gently. Penny seemed to like that. I squeezed again. We weren't noticing Rachel's frantic picture taking.

I continued to hold and gently knead Penny's breast as Rachel uploaded the pictures to the laptop.

The two women peered at the contrast between the Roman pictures and the new shots.

"You've done it!" Rachel announced. "They match. Even the breast size is right. What we were taking for a larger breast was part of the man's hand. Come and see."

Penny gently lifted my hand away from her tit, kissed me, and we joined the others. Rachel was right. Apart from clothing and hairstyles, Penny and I looked just like the original paintings.

"OK," Rachel said. "We've done that one. We know there are more paintings on site but we haven't exposed or cleaned them. But tonight? It's my turn. Come on Jason. Back to your place."

After the first few days on site the three women had decided that they wanted me. I don't think I am the world's greatest lover, but I was there with three young women who wanted sex. I had been on a one-night stand with Rachel when we were students and she had been pleased by my size when erect. She had become my on/off girlfriend but we had had other partners before returning to each other. We felt comfortable together. She had told the others about my size. They wanted it too.

They didn't want to fight over me or cause friction because we would be together as a group for months. They agreed that they would share me before they gave me an ultimatum - I could have sex with all three of them, or with none. Given that choice I wasn't going to refuse. Monday to Friday they took turns to spend the night with me in my small mobile home, sharing my double bed. Saturday? Two or three of them would join me, alternating each Saturday. Sunday night was for rest.

The women had another reason for sharing my caravan. Every day we became mud-encrusted and sweaty. Whoever was sharing my caravan had a shower all to herself except for the few minutes I took, and I wouldn't run the other taps while she was in there. She had an uninterrupted shower at a constant temperature. In the shared mobile home there might be three women all wanting the shower at once, and if they weren't showering they wanted cups of tea or coffee. The shower could turn hot or cold if another tap was turned on, and whoever was in the shower knew others were waiting.

The sex was great but normally unadventurous. Whoever was with me could stay in my bed, or move to the second bedroom for a peaceful sleep. In the women's mobile home there were three narrow single beds. My mobile home had two double beds, one in each bedroom. My guest would be comfortable if she used the other bedroom.

I was buying more condoms than I would normally. I had bought them in several supermarkets and chemists hoping I wouldn't be thought to be sex-mad. I probably didn't need to be discreet. The city we were working in has a large student population. Condom purchases were normal.

That night Rachel wanted to replicate the Roman picture we had found. I had no problem with that. It was just a variation of the cowgirl position. Before doing that she wanted me to perform some of the Roman cunnilingus attitudes she had found while searching for a match for our local picture. She showered first and moved to the bedroom to set it up for the first position while I shaved and showered.

She was leaning against a pile of pillows, naked with her legs spread wide to show her trimmed ginger bush. Rachel is a natural redhead with freckles over her face, shoulders and arms. I had met her ginger bush before during foreplay but usually in the dark. This time she wanted the light on so we could compare our activities with those in a Roman brothel.

On the bedside table her laptop showed the first cunnilingus pose. I climbed on to the bed and lowered my face towards that inviting cleft. Rachel turned her head to check the position before grabbing my hair and pulling me hard against her. I extended my tongue and began to lick. Rachel swung her left leg behind my head and tucked her left foot under her right knee.

"That's it, Jason!" I heard her say. "Go for it!"

She hadn't given me an option. My head was clamped against her. My erection was trying to drill a hole in the mattress. I licked and sucked. From time to time Rachel used a finger against her thigh to give me an airway until she became so aroused that her leg hold slackened. Rachel was squealing above me as I moved my tongue to the spot I knew worked best for her. Her hands moved to press down on my shoulders as she shuddered again and again above me.

Eventually she slid a hand under my shoulder. I knew what she wanted. I rolled over. Rachel clambered over me before she impaled herself on my erection. She pounded up and down frantically as I struggled to hold back from my own release. When Rachel pulled my hands to her bobbing breasts I couldn't resist her and came into the condom. Her face was showing pride in her achievement. We had reproduced a Roman erotic painting and made her have several orgasms.

She rested on my chest for a few minutes before climbing off.

"Change that, Jason," she said, pointing at the condom. I did.

"What now, Rachel?" I asked as she was cycling through the Roman pictures.

"That one, I think. Face sitting with you bent over a pillow."

She peered at the laptop's screen before enlarging part of the picture.

We tried it but it was uncomfortable for both of us. Without someone else watching and commenting we couldn't get the position right. It didn't help that we were tired. We reverted to a normal woman on top coupling before falling asleep in each other's arms. A day's digging in heavy mud isn't a good prelude to energetic love making.

Over the next few days we uncovered and recorded more wall paintings. Each evening the women used me as a model for reproducing the positions, before I spent the night with one of them. By mutual consent whichever one was with me tried only one Roman pose a night. That was enough for our weary bodies.

Cathy became more and more worried as we found explicit pictures. She kept disappearing to meetings with the university's senior staff. Each time she returned even more worried. She repeated again and again that we must keep the brothel and its pictures secret. There must be no uploaded pictures, no emails, and no mobile phone messages.

Ground penetrating radar had shown that there were other walls beyond those we had already found, and a lower room, perhaps a cellar under the main room. We became more worried that we wouldn't have enough time to excavate properly. The cellar might just have been a store room and undecorated but there was a complete floor above it. It seemed to be an empty void. But there might be something in there. We couldn't get at it until we had exposed and recorded everything above it. If the weather would improve we might get to the cellar. If not? It might have to be buried for future archaeologists to explore.

+++

About a week later disaster struck. Our leader Cathy slipped on some of the mud. That wouldn't have mattered except that she was so heavily pregnant. She was rushed to hospital with abdominal pains. Even as we waited for the ambulance she made us promise again to keep the brothel secret. Two hours later she gave birth. Her baby girl, Elaine, had been distressed by Cathy's fall and was being treated in a premature baby incubator, the only one within thirty miles. If that incubator had been in use, Cathy's baby might have died during the transfer to the next hospital.

The hospital had been trying to raise money for a second incubator but the money was being raised too slowly.

That evening in the dining hut we were looking at pictures Cathy's husband had sent showing Cathy with Elaine, her new daughter. His message told us that Elaine had only needed the incubator for half a day but that half day had been critical. Mother and daughter were now doing well, would be in hospital for a few days more, and then Cathy could go home. Elaine would stay in hospital for another couple of weeks. Could we continue without Cathy until the university could send another project director, or Cathy can arrange baby-sitting? He repeated, without mentioning the word, Cathy's instruction to keep the brothel secret.