Sometimes, when the work is going well, you can bunk off early on Friday and get home. Then, there are the times when the work isn't going well, and you are probably working some or all of Saturday, just to keep on track.

This was one of those weekends; still, there were guided tours of a ruined monastery in the centre of the town. I'd always had a love of history in general, and old buildings in particular, so that was Sunday taken care of.

Our guide was a blonde woman in her mid-thirties, a bit mumsy, but Lisa had graduated in archaeology, and certainly knew her medieval history. She was also good with a crowd, even the couple of lads who kept making comments about the monk's dirty habits.

At the end of the tour, I had a list of questions about the monastery and the original builders, so I suggested coffee in the nearby cafe.

We talked for a while; she seemed happy to have the attention and talk about her subject.

"Don't you get lonely working away from home?" Lisa asked.

"Yes, sometimes, but it only takes a smile from somebody; or a glance that lasts a moment too long, to make you feel that life is good. Not like being young; you wanted more when we were in our late teens at school, French kissing behind the bike sheds, with Rosie. Or, a fumble, in the forest with Fiona. Then you were set up for the week," I said.

Lisa smiled; I didn't know if it was a memory or just my alliteration.

"Did you have bike sheds at your school?" I asked.

"Certainly did, if I didn't get at least three hot snogs behind the bike sheds each week, I would reckon I was hard done by," Lisa laughed.

We finished our coffee, and Lisa asked me if I wanted to see some parts of the ruins that weren't open to the public.

It had been threatening rain all day, but a sudden squall took us both by surprise.

"Quick, down here, it will be dry down here," she said, opening a locked gate.

We went down a stone staircase and into a cellar of some sort. I asked which part of the monastery it was.

"It's the under-croft where the monks would store wine, grain, even bicycles," she smiled.

"A mediaeval bike shed then, I wonder if it has the same power as the ones at school?" I said.

"Well, the monks did have some dirty habits," Lisa laughed.

We looked at each other for a while, trying to gauge the other's reaction. I leant forward and let my lips gently touch hers. There was a moment's pause, then leaning forward, she kissed me back.

Then, our bodies seem to collide in a frenzy of passion. I gripped her buttocks and pulled her close, trapping her hand against my crotch. I released my grip a little, but still, her hand weighed my balls.

I slid my hands down into her jeans; her buttocks were warm and soft. This was the first extra-marital contact I had had in years; my pulse raced as my body yearned for the excitement of a new lover.

I felt my trouser fly opening and knew she had the same needs as I did.

Then the moment was gone! Her mobile rang, again and again; it announced the name of the caller: Jack, Jack, Jack…

Worse still, the phone's vibrations ran through my fingers like an electric shock, like I had been caught red-handed.

"My husband," she sighed.

Embarrassed, our grips released, Lisa took the call. Yes, he should park in the town, and she would meet him at the information centre. She cancelled the call and sighed again.

I gave her a business card; we could keep in touch. I doubted we would, but it was worth a try.

I heard nothing from Lisa the next week, then out of the blue, a text message, to ask if I wanted to visit a Roman road on Sunday.

We met in the car park of a local beauty spot and walked along the route of the old road. I had taken a picnic blanket from the car and we sat in a secluded spot and ate our lunch. Gradually, we moved closer until we were touching.

We kissed again, almost as an experiment to see if we still liked it. The kisses grew stronger until we were wrapped together. I felt her hands run down my back, and her hands dig deep into the back pockets of my jeans.

Our kiss broke for a moment while she examined a packet she had retrieved from my pocket. She held the packet of condoms in front of me.

"What are these for?" Lisa asked.

"The pharmacist told me they were a talisman to ward off evil phone calls," I said, hoping to defuse her stern look.

"I hope so. I have put the same brand right next to my mobile phone," she laughed.

That was the green light I wanted. I started to unbutton her dress; there was no bra today, so I feasted on her nipples, then, down over her tummy, until I reached her knickers. These were white satin, defiantly knickers to be found and removed by a lover.

My wife has dark hair and has a ferocious mat of dark pubes, so wisps of blonde between Lisa's legs were a joy to find. My mouth closed around her pussy, my tongue sorted out her clitoris and buried itself down into her vagina.

I felt her wetness increase until she let out a little moan. I moved up and kissed her mouth; her tongue cleaned her spilt juices from my face. As we kissed again, she found the condoms I brought and opened her pack. I opened my jeans and pushed them down my thighs.

There was no doubt what I wanted; my prick jutted proudly from my crotch. Lisa rolled the sheath down my prick carefully then, straddling me.

She ground her hot and wanton body down into my hips; I felt my prick jar at the top of her vagina. We set a rhythm; she rose and fell on my prick, occasionally dangling her breasts in my face, so I could lick and nibble her nipples.

My need to cum became too much for me. I started to thrust up into her until my balls pumped their load into the bulb of the condom. Carefully Lisa lifted from me, holding the sheath around my softening prick, then slipped the overfilled sheath from me.

"Oh my, you did need that as much as I did," she laughed.

We dressed and lay together until Lisa said she had to go back to her family. I asked if we could meet again; she didn't know.

Another text from Lisa, this time a little-known Roman fountain. I collected her from the town and drove the twenty or so miles to the site. We walked up the hill a little until we found a Victorian drinking fountain.

"It's not this, what we want is further up the hill, in that clump of bushes. This is just what some Victorian landowner built because he was offended by a prick pissing water on his land," Lisa laughed.

We dug our way through the undergrowth, and there it was, as she described it, a little weathered by time and the elements, but clearly, a carved prick jutting erect from the hillside. Even on the block of stone that supported the base, there was the faint outline of a ball sack

"Straddle it," I told her.

"I can't, it's a listed monument," she said.

"Go on, I won't tell," I said.

She sat astride it and giggled; I slid my hands up under her skirt and pulled her knickers off. She rocked back, then pulling the hem of her dress up, she sat down on the cold stone phallus.

Lisa froze for a moment; her eyes took on a distant look. I too moved forward. Her gaze seemed to take me in but not recognize me.

I pulled my cock out and started to roll a condom on it. All she did was stare; it was as if she had no notion of what I was doing. Some deep, almost primordial desire was overtaking me; for a moment I considered ripping the condom off and impregnating her womb, but I left the sheath on.

We both fucked trance-like, an animal passion. I cared only for my prick in her warm hole; she only responded when I thrust deep in her body.

She leant forward and seemed to mutter 'Dominic' to me. I didn't understand, but I didn't stop; I was too close, and what did I care if she had other lovers? She too was close to orgasm and said something I did understand, even with my poor Latin.

Sic, sic Dominus.

Yes, yes, Master.

I drove in deep one last time; my prick pulsed the spunk into the condom. She gripped me tightly, her body convulsing two or three times. Then she placed her head on my shoulder and her gaze on the world behind me.

I helped her from the stone prick and handed her knickers back; she stared at them for a moment, then handed them back. We walked back down the slope to the car; she refused my help and followed a few steps behind me.

I sat her in the passenger's seat and watched her. I didn't know what to do; was she having some sort of nervous breakdown?

Gradually, she started to look around; the lost and confused look was fading from her face.

"Did we have sex up there?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Did you use a condom?"

I told her that I did; it was on my penis if she wanted to check. She shook her head.

Again we sat for a while.

"Have you ever heard of past-life regressions? I think I have just had one," she said turning to me.

I listened while she told me that she was a slave girl, sixteen perhaps; the master of the house had taken her to the phallus to break her virginity and impregnate her. She described the joy of having a penis in her for the first time. She could feel the spunk jetting up into her, and her body's orgasms. Then how she felt as a woman for the first time.

"I could even see the landscape; they have always said there should be a Roman farmstead or small palace around here. I saw it, they have been looking in the wrong place," she said.

"You know you said, 'sic, sic Dominus' to me," I said.

"That would be the day," Lisa laughed.

I dropped her off in the town and returned to my hotel. That evening I found her knickers buried deep in my trouser pocket. I thought about sending her a text to see how she was, but decided not to.

During the week, I got a message asking to meet her at the café; we sat outside. I wondered how this conversation was going to go, so I spoke first.

"My work is over, some paperwork tomorrow, then home," I told her.

"That's good, I felt our time together should end. You were right about the feeling of self-worth that a little paramour could have. After our tryst in the cellar, I stopped shouting at the kids. I am coming off the anti-depressants I've been taking; hubby said I have been completely different over the last few weeks. He confronted me about it, and I had to tell him about you," she told me.

I felt my blood run cold; I didn't need an angry husband. These things could lead to trouble at home.

"It's okay, he said he would rather I got fucked back to health than take the damn pills, in moderation of course. Look, if you can spare the time, and don't mind camping, I've been offered the job as assistant director on a dig in August. It would be fun to have you there," Lisa smiled.

"What about Hubby, won't he get upset?" I wondered.

"I refer you to my previous statement, the job can be stressful, he thinks that having you sneak into my tent and sort me out would keep me off the tablets. In fact, he said that he wouldn't mind helping you," Lisa smirked.

"You're kidding me?" I said in disbelief.

"I'm not, but I think a hotel for the weekend would be better. I don't fancy being spit-roasted in a tent with all the other diggers looking on," she said.

"I love the idea about helping on a dig, but I still don't believe you about your husband," I told her.

She pointed to a car parked at the roadside. The driver waved; half-heartedly I waved back. Then Lisa leant forward and kissed me full on the lips.

"Now do you believe me?" she asked.

She left me with my head spinning; the prospect of a couple of weeks on an archaeological dig was exciting enough, but getting to fuck Lisa and well, really got my balls churning.

I decided it would be a great adventure, but the reality wasn't like that, and I still wasn't sure it was Jack that waved from the car.