The night was muggy and sweat plastered Sarah’s shirt to her back as she walked. 

It was too hot and too dark to be climbing up the ancient, crumbling stone staircase but it beat staying in camp. There her options were lying in her sweltering tent or sitting around the fire while the geeky graduate students gawked at her. Better to walk. 

Besides, walking helped her think and her head was filled with nagging questions about the site they were excavating – a hilltop temple in southern Mexico, just a few miles inland from the Gulf. 

Her colleagues had convinced themselves that it was a sort of official mourning place where Queen Cuchina had waited in desperation for her husband to return home from battle. When he did not, she visited the spot for years on end, lamenting his passing, or so they surmised. 

It didn’t add up, Sarah thought. Cuchina was a revered leader who had ascended to power at about age 20, after her husband’s death, and presided over an era of unprecedented peace and prosperity. Sitting around mourning just didn’t seem to be her style. Not only that, but every painting and drawing they had found of her to date showed a serene, pleasant queen, not one wallowing in self-pity. 

Those paintings haunted Sarah. While they spanned decades, and showed Cuchina in many different settings, they all had certain things in common. In each the queen held a small, delicately curved scepter (which, surprisingly, was not found in her tomb). Nearly every painting incorporated flowing water into its motif – which was odd, as the nearest navigable river was miles away - and in the background of each was always the face of the same man dressed in workman-like clothing. Researchers in camp quarreled over varying interpretations of these things: water was likely a symbol for prosperity, they argued, and that the man in the background was an “every man” symbolizing the populous. Those interpretations rang hollow to Sarah. 

The paintings also showed something else: the queen was a dead ringer for Sarah – or vice versa. Same height (Cuchina’s mummified body, remarkably preserved, had proven that point), same dark hair, same full breasts, and the same well-muscled legs, shoulders and arms. 

That last point was another disconnect in Sarah’s mind. Her own athletic frame was the result of years of sports – a softball scholarship had paid the bills when she was an undergraduate. Her brains footed the bill when she went on to graduate school in archeology, but she remained very active, playing ball in bar leagues and working out at the gym during the off season. But how did an ancient queen, living in the lap of luxury, develop quads like that, she wondered. Regardless, while she hated to admit it, the physical similarities created a sort of psychic bond for Sarah with the queen, and she was driven to learn more about her. 

Sarah turned her many questions over in her mind as she entered the mourning temple and noted how the full moon flooded the room with an otherworldly light. “No wonder she used to come up here around the full moon,” she whispered to herself, recalling the inscriptions she had spent weeks translating back in her cramped university office. 

Lost in thought she stumbled, falling to her knees before the obelisk that dominated the room. 

The light of the moon illuminated the statue in a surreal sort of way, and from this angle, kneeling before it, she noticed for the first time, that the statute was a stylized representation of a headless man – a nude, castrated man. It was bizarre. 

She had looked at the piece hundreds of times and never noticed this before. Nor, it seemed, had anyone else. She stood up and walked around the statue and found it unremarkable from every other angle, but when she knelt before it, just an arms-length or less away, she could clearly make out the outline of a large, smooth scrotum dangling between muscular legs, with an oddly shaped hole where the penis should have been. 

Wanting a closer look Sarah looked for the flashlight she had dropped when she stumbled. It had rolled beneath the “kneeler” before the statue. Jenkins – the pompous ass of a lead archeologist on the dig – had gone on at length about how the queen would spend her nights in that spot, praying in vain for the safe return of her warrior husband. He never bothered to mention to his fawning colleagues that it was pure conjecture on his part, totally unsubstantiated by any writings or drawings. 

She crawled on the floor looking for the flashlight, finally spotting the handle protruding from beneath the kneeler. As she reached for it she also noticed that while under the kneeler the beam illuminated a rectangular seam in the rock. 

Probing carefully around the edges of the seam, Sarah found a catch and, with some tugging, was able to pull open a hidden panel, revealing a gilt-lined compartment containing a leather pouch. 

She should have stopped right then. She should have preserved the scene and resumed her investigation in the daylight with others around to document what was found, but her curiosity was too great. 

Carefully she opened the bag and there inside found Cuchina’s scepter! Sarah’s heart pounded. 

She examined the scepter closely, running her finger up and down its smooth, cool length, squinting to read an inscription that she could not quite make out. Roughly cylindrical in shape it swelled slightly at one end, and had an oddly shaped base at the other. As she turned it over in her hands she realized that the base looked familiar. 

Scooting across the floor to the statue she squealed with delight, because, just as she had surmised, the base fit perfectly in the opening on the statue where the penis should have been. Obviously made by a master craftsman, it still clicked firmly into place, like a key in a lock, thousands of years after it was created. 

“It’s not a scepter at all, it’s a dildo! It’s a fucking dildo!” she whispered with a giggle. 

Absent-mindedly she ran her hand up and down its length, subconsciously jerking off the statue. She caressed its smooth surface contemplating the meaning of her discovery. The marble shaft warmed beneath her touch and her mind was filled with pictures of a queen 3,000 years earlier fucking herself with this magnificent object. She blushed slightly when she realized that her own clit was tingling at the thought. 

It was an impressive dong, she thought as she stroked it more attentively now, admiring the way it almost glowed in the moonlight. It was at least eight inches long, and so thick she could barely get her hand around it. It jutted forward impressively. The slight curvature of its shape pointed the tip head of the cock ever so slightly upward. “It’s beautiful,” Sarah whispered to no one. 

After a few moments of contemplation she quickly got to her feet, undid her belt and shimmied out of her shorts and panties, kicking them to one side. The stone cock brushed against her belly, just above her bush, tantalizing her. 

“I’m breaking about a million rules of science and decency,” Sarah thought, as she rose up on her tiptoes, raised her right leg and guided the stone phallus into her pussy. 

Inch by inch, she lowered herself, engulfing it as the queen had done centuries earlier. The cock stretched and filled her completely and she had to stop twice to let the muscles of her cunt adjust to the invader trying to split her in two, sliding up and back to slick it with her lubrication before proceeding. 

“Ohhh, f-u-u-u-u-u-c-k that’s good,” she groaned as it finally bumped her cervix. It had been a long time since she had had a man, and this was unlike any man – or sex toy - she had ever had before. 

As good as it felt to have its girth inside of her, however, it was hard to concentrate on the pleasurable sensations because she had to struggle to keep her balance. 

“I don’t know how she did this for very long,” Sarah thought, picturing the queen making love to the statue. “She was no taller than me how could she….” A smile crept across Sarah’s face. 

Carefully, and rather reluctantly, she withdrew the cock, but only momentarily. Turning around, she bent forward at the waist, placed her hands on the armrest of the “kneeler” and eased her hips backwards. 

“Oooooooooh, y-e-s-s-s-s-s,” she hissed, as the cock, now warmed by her body and wet with her juices, slid in easily. 

At this angle, being taken from behind, the feeling of fullness was even greater than before and she quickly gave herself over to the sensations. She rolled her hips up and back in slow circular motions, seeking out the optimal angle and pace. Despite the slight breeze that now blew through the temple her body was quickly glazed in a sheen of sweat. Her bangs were matted to her forehead and her tee shirt clung to her swaying breasts, rasping across her painfully swollen nipples as she moved. That “pain” was alleviated by an occasional tweak from her fingers, which only served to enflame her clit until it received similar attention. The need to use one hand to maintain her balance made taking care of both simultaneously a deliciously frustrating impossibility. 

Rocking back and forth she relished the feel of the stone cock filling her, and her mind was filled with visions of a muscular, mocha-skinned king fucking her – fucking the queen – fucking them both. He wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her to him. He took her breasts in his hands, gently squeezing them. His fingers strummed her clit and probed her ass – taking her completely. 

She was lost in her imaginings when suddenly her head jerked back violently and her breath caught in her throat. She stood frozen and quivering, relishing the feel of the marble cock head prodding her G-spot. 

Grunting softly she flexed her legs, changing her angle just slightly, and was rewarded with another intense rush of pleasure. Moving slowly and deliberately she ground that little knot of nerve endings against the smooth stone. Her breathing became shallow and ragged as exquisite pressure and tension built deep inside of her. This was a new sensation, one she had only heard friends brag about – now she understood why they went on and on about it. 

Her face contorted into a mask of concentration as she worked the head of the cock back and forth across the spot, balancing herself with both hands on the ledge of the kneeler to increase the precision of her movements. She worked the sensation to a crescendo then, when it became almost overwhelming, she jerked her hips back violently, impaling herself on the cock, burying it deep within her, then inching forward to repeat the dance again. 

After a few minutes involuntary whimpers began escaping her lips and her motions became more frantic and demanding. 

Once again the pressure began to build. The feeling was so intense that she didn’t think she could stand it any longer, but nor could she bear to stop. When she was convinced she could take it no more her body convulsed, her cunt clamped down upon the stone shaft and fluid gushed from her pussy in a series of short spurts. It glossed the phallus and dripped to the ground, forming a small puddle beneath her. 

Her moans echoed off the walls, and she pushed back harder, building and releasing the pressure three more times, each time with another copious gush, the likes of which she had never seen or felt before. 

Her pussy craved more, but she suddenly became aware that the muscles in her legs were screaming in pain, quivering and shaking in protest at the exertion. Carefully she leaned forward, extricating herself from the cock. Certain that her legs couldn’t support her weight, she slid to the ground and gently stroked her engorged clit until she came again in an entirely different, much more familiar, and completely satisfying way. 

Sarah lay there for several minutes, catching her breath while gazing at the marvelous stone phallus, still hard and waiting to do her bidding. But she was too spent and her mind was racing. It all made sense now; she just needed to do the research to support her hypothesis. 

Standing on still shaky legs she climbed back into her shorts.  Carefully removing Cuchina’s scepter from the statue she placed it back in its bag and tucked it into her knapsack. 

She spent the next several weeks trekking to surrounding villages speaking to elders. She also made several more late night trips to the temple to “do research.” Now, six months later, after weeks and weeks of research and writing, her paper was nearly ready for scholarly review. Her conclusions would shock the entire pre-Columbian archaeology world. 

The temple was indeed built in honor of Cuchina’s warrior husband, she concluded, but it was not a place of mourning, but rather (as Sarah liked to call it, but only to herself) a palace of moaning. 

Researching local lore, which many of her co-workers disdained, Sara discovered that legend had it that Cuchina’s husband had been a jealous man. He could not stand the thought that his bride would ever take another man, or that another man would ever rule his land. So, before he left to do battle with a formidable foe, he had presented to his young wife, as the entire court looked on, a scepter. Inscribed on its side were the words, “Through this flows from me to you my strength, my power and my love.” 

He presented it to her only after extracting a promise of her fidelity – forever. That night, after making love to his beautiful young queen for the last time he told her that he had commissioned a temple to be built in his honor, on the highest point in the capital. Should it be completed before his return, a man would come to escort her there, where she was to think of the love that they had shared, especially their last night together. 

The king never did return, and one day, after about three years, a workman came to take the queen to the temple. 

Once inside, the man presented her with a letter from her late husband, smiling sadly as he did so. As he withdrew he commanded all others to leave also. 

In the letter, the king professed his undying love for Cuchina and begged her to keep her promise of fidelity. He also explained the secret of the statue and her scepter. 

She fitted her scepter in place at once and was overwhelmed with a longing for her departed husband as she immediately realized that her scepter was an exact replica of his erect cock. 

She did indeed spend many hours in the temple, as other researchers had surmised, but Sarah was the first to know why – and to grasp the symbolism of the flowing water in all of Cuchina’s portraits. 

Discussions with women in the surrounding villages revealed to her yet another unique fact: virtually every woman who would discuss the matter said she experienced the G-spot orgasms that Sarah had so recently discovered for herself. Copious gushing was a natural aspect of their sex lives, and, not surprisingly, rear penetration sex was the norm, not a variation. The women were astounded and amused to hear that such was not the case for women in “the civilized world.” 

Sarah also was able to correctly identify the man in the background of all of the queen’s portraits. He was indeed a member of the court, one of Cuchina’s closest advisors. Even after attaining that lofty position, however, he never gave up the humble garb he had worn when he was a mere stonemason – one whose last job in that field had been to carve the queen’s scepter. 

The paper was almost complete, but Sarah switched off her computer and set it aside for the day. She frowned to herself, wondering how she could reveal the queen’s final secret – how she came by her muscular legs - without exposing her own, umm, research on the matter. 

There was no time to think about that now, however, she thought as she grabbed her workout gear and headed out the door. She was going back to the dig site in just a few weeks. It would be her final visit to the temple before her findings would be published and she didn’t dare miss a trip to the gym for a session of squat thrusts and leg presses, getting her legs in top condition for more “field work.”