Museum Restorer Theresa is thrilled when an ancient, dirt covered Roman Statue of Priapus comes into her care. She finds him fascinating and he becomes her erotic obsession. Night and day she is consumed by her lust for Priapus. Unknown to Theresa another person has been overtaken by the same obsession. It is only when her project is completed and Priapus is out on display that she discovers she is not the only one willing to take great risks just to worship the ancient god's giant penis.
Priapus is his name and he has a huge cock. Not only is it huge, it is erect, sticking out obscenely from his Roman skirts. He’s completely covered in moss and dirt so that I can only just make out the lines of his body. He was discovered in Turkey, hidden at the bottom of somebody’s garden, of all places. Luckily the owner recognised what he was, or he’d be on some municipal dump by now.
My fingers are shaking. It’s not often something of this rarity comes into my possession, well, technically it’s the museum’s possession, but let’s not get too hung up on technicalities. Talking about hung, this ancient Roman statue is hung, well hung. Now it’s my job to bring him back to his full glory. He’s made of stone, we suspect marble because he’s so very heavy and I need to take back the years of dirt and organic invasion to buff him up to all his shining glory.
It’s my first job as a fully qualified restorer. This is the first piece I get to work on alone. The excitement and nerves are overwhelming. I’ve trained hard to get to this point, years of learning and practice are now finally coming to fruition. I should be calmly and thoughtfully going through the procedure in my mind because this will be a very delicate and intense job, however, the need to uncover that massive member (it has got to be close to a foot long) is burrowing down into my cunt and I just want to reveal it as soon as I can. I want to jump upon him now and rip off the dirt of centuries so I can see him in all his glory.
I have to haul in my sex-starved woman and bring out the calm historian as I choose my delicate brushes to start the task. I’ll begin with his head, the one upon his shoulders, of course. There has to be an order, a method to my workings. He’s easily six foot tall, even if we do lose a couple of inches with the cleaning process. I can’t tell if he’s butt ugly or not – all I’ve read about him says he is – but I’m betting it won’t matter because people will not be looking at his face when they view him.
