The Whore and the Captain by Lori Grenci -- ROME A.D. 2370 --

"Over here, Jean-Luc, I have found an old sign." Professor Vicelius was a distinguished elderly gentleman who wore one of those big-brim hats that archaeologists love. He handed over a broken piece of inscribed stone to Picard, who cleaned off the dirt with a small brush.

"Yes," Picard said, examining the marble, "it does appear to be a marker of some kind. You are the Latin expert, Professor, can you translate the inscription?"

The Professor examined the piece closely, "It says Domus Matrillae, The House of Matrilla. Interesting..."

The enterprise was in orbit around earth while several senior officers attended training sessions run by Starfleet's Recreation Department. Picard, very in character, chose an archaeology seminar held in Rome. It was amazing to him that, after hundreds of years of excavations in this eternal city, there were still artifacts to be found. Professor Vicelius was an old friend as well as an eminent classical archaeologist. Picard had found this trip to be thoroughly relaxing and educational, so far.

"Follow me," Professor Vicelius beckoned, "I want to show you something really unique. We are on the cutting edge of archaeological technology."

Picard and Dr. Vicelius walked over the far side of the dig. Two graduate students were operating a machine that resembled a large phaser canon. Around the periphery of the area mechanical hooks were moving in and out of the generated beam. It appeared that objects were being pulled from nowhere.

"This instrument, Jean-Luc, is the first wormhole generator to be used specifically for retrieving archaeological artifacts. We actually pull objects out of space-time. Of course, this is still experimental, but it is an wonderful feeling to hold an actual pot instead of a potsherd."

Picard was both impressed and confused. "Doctor, how can you just reach in and take things out of time? What if you grab hold of something that shouldn't be displaced?"

Dr. Vicelius shook his head, "Don't worry. We're not changing space-time. We have a method of looking before we leap. See those goggles? Go take a peek, you'll be astounded."

Picard walked over to a viewscope being used by a student. The young man reluctantly gave up his position to the Captain, who after a few seconds exclaimed, "Incredible, I wonder..."

He never finished his sentence. A huge flash occurred by the wormhole generator. The smoke cleared quickly, but Picard had disappeared.

-- ROME A.D. 31 --

"Quis est, Matrilla?"

Who is it, Matrilla?

"Nescio, Miryam. Est vir calvus, inustitate vestitus."

I don't know, Miryam. He's a bald man in

strange clothes.

"Estne mortuus?"

Is he dead?

"Non credo."

I don't think so.

Matrilla and Miryam both poked at Picard with their fingers trying to get a reaction. Matrilla was the older of the two; a corpulent matron with a belly so pendulous that her dirty blue stola was "decincta" unbelted as if she were pregnant. Miryam, in sharp contrast, was a lovely young woman with dark Mediterranean coloring. Her brown eyes gleamed with fire and a wisdom far beyond her years. She also was the most popular whore in Matrilla's brothel.

Miryam bent close to Picard and shook his head, hoping to wake him. She was successful. Picard started coughing and moaning, and his eyes fluttered. Matrilla was relieved that she would not have to explain a strange dead man to the authorities. Any suspicious activity might cause her brothel license to be revoked. She called in one of the eunuchs to help move Picard to a couch.

Picard had regained some consciousness. His vision was blurry and he was extremely weak, but he was aware of being carried from the floor to some kind of bed or couch. He only vaguely remembered where he had been before everything went blank. Faint voices were speaking a language that was unintelligible to him, yet somehow familiar. As more of his vision came back, he saw he was in a small room with several pieces of exotic furniture and walls painted with large friezes. He recognized it as Roman and wondered if this was an archaeologist's dream, or more likely, nightmare.

A lovely young woman bent over him. She looked Middle-Eastern but was speaking a language that he finally recognized to be Latin.

"Tibine est nomen? tuum nomen?" What is your name?

His first instinct was to reach for the tricorder but he stopped himself. A special version of the universal translator that contained all known earth languages, past and present, had been downloaded into it. This was often used by archaeologists during excavations. He was reluctant to activate it while this woman was present but the question being asked was clear, especially to a native speaker of a romance language. Given the situation, "Picard" seemed a quite adequate response.

"Peeecaaaduh," the young woman repeated, imitating what to her was a very odd sounding name.

Picard passed out again and the two women decided it would be best to remove his unusual clothing. He was also carrying some unique objects that they could not identify. Since they were professional prostitutes, not thieves, they gently undressed him and placed his belongings on another couch.

Matrilla gestured to Miryam that they should quietly leave the room. The man needed to recover in peace.

Outside the room Matrilla instructed Miryam, "Until I decide what to do with this stranger, Miryam, I am making it your job to take good care of him. And don't annoy him with questions. He is obviously someone of wealth and nobility. Did you notice his hands, his skin, his teeth..."

"His big cock," Miryam interjected, grinning mischievously and holding up two hands to mark the length.

"Miryam, you really are a wanton she-wolf."

"Of course, Matrilla," Miryam answered back saucily, "why else would I be here in this she-wolf den? But I love my work, and it will be my pleasure to take care of Picard. hahahahaha." Miryam laughed even louder at the old woman's feigned outrage.

Matrilla sometimes thought that Miryam enjoyed her work too much. If she didn't know that Miryam was a former Judean slave, Matrilla would have suspected her of being one of those rich Patrician women who worked the brothels in disguise to make up for a impotent husband. She wondered how a pretty young woman like Miryam could get such tremendous pleasure from fucking strange men. "But," she thought to herself, "it keeps the clientele coming back."

Picard woke up with an agonizing headache and feeling of nausea. He slowly recalled what had happened, but hoped it would turn out to be a huge holodeck joke that some member of his crew had orchestrated.

"Computer, end program."

Nothing happened. Picard wondered if they had rigged the computer not to respond to his voice. He was not appreciating the joke.

"Computer, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard. End holodeck program immediately."

Still nothing changed. Picard tried to stand up but waves of dizziness caused him to sit down again. The realization was settling in that the holodeck was not responsible for his predicament.

As he slowly regained his stability, he noticed that he was completely naked. This panicked him, not so much from modesty, but because his comm badge and tricorder were now gone along with his pants and shirt. He tried to calm down, reasoning with himself that the clothes were probably somewhere within the chamber. He turned and saw his clothes and equipment neatly placed on another couch in the corner of the room. As he walked over to retrieve them he heard a voice from behind him.

"Picard, valesne maius?" are you feeling better?

He turned and saw the same young woman that had leaned over him when he first woke up. She was standing in the doorway staring at him and babbling away in Latin. He grabbed the comm badge with his left hand and initialized the translator, leaving the tricorder on the couch since he had no pockets or belt.

"Picard, didn't you hear me? Are you feeling better?"

She spoke to this naked man with a casualness that only a whore could have. Naked men were an everyday occurrence for Miryam, although this one was much better looking than most she had seen. She hoped he would not make her wait long; she was already wet and throbbing for him.

"Yes, thank you, I am much improved," he said in a voice that betrayed his discomfort. He was awkwardly trying to get dressed as fast as possible, a task made more difficult by the need to keep hold of his comm badge.

Miryam walked over and interrupted his dressing, grabbing his shirt out of his hands in a very matter-of-fact way.

"The britches and undergarments are all right. They only make you look like a foreigner. But this small tunic will have to be replaced. It is too unusual. You will draw unnecessary attention to yourself. I have brought you something more suitable."

She threw his shirt in the corner and replaced it with a white tunic and sash. Without being asked, she helped him slip it on, letting her hands fondle and caress him in the process. Picard saw the wisdom in this maneuver and made no attempt to argue with her. He was a little surprised at the way she touched him, but she had given him good advice and he attributed her actions to cultural differences. He still did not know where he was or who this woman was, but he decided to be cautious and wait a bit before interrogating anyone.

"Thank you. I concur completely with your observations. I insist, though, on wearing this pin and carrying this instrument."

She nodded approval without questioning and he placed the comm badge on the tunic and the tricorder in the belt. Picard took a deep breath and tried to relax.

"And by the way," he said, "you have the advantage. You know my name; I don't know yours."

She smiled warmly at him, "They call me Miryam."

Miryam arranged for a discreet male slave to attend to the stranger's personal needs and help him clean up. Later Otho, Picard's new 'valet', led him into a kitchen area where Miryam was waiting with some food. As he and Miryam sat together eating bread and fruit, Picard saw this as an opportunity to get some answers. He could guess where he was, but had no clue WHEN he was. He considered for a moment how best to construct his question so as not to alarm Miryam or give her too much information. Disturbances in time were serious; he had to be careful not to reveal anything concerning future events. It seemed best to feign partial amnesia resulting from a pretended head wound; that way he could avoid answering questions. Not that anyone was asking.

"Miryam, a blow to my head has made me forget some things. Can you tell me where I am? How did I get here?"

"We found you unconscious in that other room. I don't know how you got there. I was hoping you would tell me."

"You say 'WE'? Who else knows about me?"

"Well, WE all know about you now," she said as she gave him an affectionate pat on the knee, "but it was Matrilla and I who found you. Matrilla is the old woman who runs this brothel and watches over the girls here."

Picard couldn't resist letting a small grin slip out. A brothel explained the many strange things about this place. Actually, he thought he was very lucky to have been found unconscious in a brothel, rather than inside a prison or the middle of a market- place. At least he would be fairly unnoticed here.

"I am assuming that this is Rome. At least that's where I was before I fainted. Unfortunately, I don't remember exactly where I lived or much about my life prior to the accident."

"Yes, Picard," she said shaking her head at his misfortune, "you are still in Rome, just south of the Forum along the main road."

Picard thought for a moment how best to ask the year. This was not going to be easy.

"Miryam, forgive this ridiculous question, but I must know -- who is in charge of the city now?"

"Who is in charge? That is a strange question, Picard. I'm not even sure what you mean. But if that's your way of asking who is the Emperor, I will tell you it is still that monster Tiberius. Thank God he has chosen to live in Capri, far away from here. You must have hit your head very hard if you were able to forget Tiberius!"

She reached out and stroked his leg with two fingers; it was the act of a person offering comfort. Picard responded to the friendship she was offering. He briefly returned her touch by placing a hand on her shoulder, somewhat embarrassed by this almost involuntary gesture. That brief exchange lasted only a few seconds, interrupted by Otho bringing in some wine.

Picard had gotten the answers he needed. He also had a gut feeling that this woman Miryam was quite intelligent and perceptive, and he would have to be very careful. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. As an amateur archaeologist he should be enjoying every second of being here, but he was not thrilled about the possibility of never getting home.

They sat silently - eating, relaxing, and observing each other. Miryam was as perceptive as Picard had feared. She wondered if he really expected she would not notice that his lips were speaking a different language than her ears were hearing. She had deduced almost immediately that the instrument on his belt, that he was so protective of, was the cause of this strange phenomenon. Like most intelligent people living in the Roman world, she relied less on superstition and more on pragmatic reasoning. To her, Picard was not a sorcerer or a god but someone who possessed an incredible bag of tricks.

She watched him carefully as they sat without talking. This Picard certainly was a very unusual man, but being a prostitute in Rome had introduced her to many bizarre people and bizarre behaviors. The Emperor Tiberius had invented such perverted practices that the common people complained there were no words in Latin to describe them. Miryam knew instinctively, however, that Picard was not one of those twisted, dangerous people that roamed the city streets. She sensed his caring and intelligence.

While Miryam was mentally checking him over, Picard was busy mulling over in his mind how to begin searching for a way home. The wormhole that had transported him here was apparently no longer in that small room and might have moved entirely out of the building.

He knew he would have to leave Matrilla's eventually to get some answers, and was less than comfortable about his tricorder hanging in plain site.

Picard broke the brief silence. "I need something to wear over this tunic that will cover my equipment. It is very valuable and might attract thieves."

Responding to that comment, Miryam startled Picard by suddenly jumping at him, knocking him to the floor. He was not prepared for resistance as she straddled him and laughed in his face. It was an affectionate maneuver, though, and Picard smiled up at her.

In the midst of her giggling she managed a few sentences. "Picard, you are a moron! What barbarian land do you come from - where people are such idiots? Do you think I haven't noticed that this object you carry speaks Latin for you!"

She grabbed the tricorder out of his belt and waved it over his head, teasing him to get it back.

"Does it speak Hebrew also?" she asked playfully, holding the tricorder up to her mouth. "shalom, hashem shelee Miryam...".

She was thoroughly enjoying herself. It was not often she got to see or do anything as intriguing as what this strange man offered.

"And what are these little lights inside? And what kind of material is the casing made of?"

Picard just stared at her in total shock.

"Don't worry," she said pinching his cheek and returning the tricorder to his belt, "I am not interested in your little toy. I won't tell anyone about it. You have nothing to fear from me."

Before he could utter a word, she bent down and kissed him forcefully, pushing her tongue into his mouth.

His body tensed up as if in resistance; the swiftness of her move causing him to involuntary try to push her off. But Miryam was a professional and she had no intention of letting him get away. As much as she enjoyed her customers, she had rarely been as aroused as she was at that moment. Picard was a very appealing man, and in comparison to what Miryam was accustomed to, he was an Adonis.

Picard had no idea what to do. He was not often in the position of being attacked by a woman. Given his strength against hers, he could easily have flung her across half the room, but something in him surrendered and the battle was over. Miryam felt his body give itself over to her and she relaxed her grip on him. She was the victor and he was the booty. Staying on top of him, she slowly worked her mouth down his clothed body, kissing and caressing every inch between his lips and his swelling penis. She wanted this first time to be for him alone; she wanted to make him moan and scream in pleasure.

She removed the tricorder from the sash and placed it close by so it would still function. Then, untying the belt, she hungrily reached down his pants.

"Oh Picard, You are a man among men."

She tried to get the pants off, or at least pushed all the way down, but something about their construction baffled her. Eventually she was able to get them down just far enough to free up the object of her lust. His penis was only half-erect and Miryam pushed back the foreskin that was partially covering the tip. After all these years in Rome, she still had difficulty facing an uncircumcised man. But circumcised or not, they all were the same when saluting. Putting her lips over the first inch, she pressed her tongue against the slit. In less than a minute she had results; Picard's cock growing in length and thickness in her mouth.

He was in a stupor; letting it all happen; wanting it to happen. She had excited him beyond the point where he could stop. The only sounds out of his mouth were soft moans. Miryam let up her sucking for a moment to gaze on what she had accomplished. Here was a magnificent shaft on a magnificent man. She had to fight hard to keep herself from mounting it.

While she was momentarily preoccupied Picard attempted to flip her over and thrust himself inside, but she forced him back down, pressing his shoulders towards the floor.

"No, this time you do nothing. Let me pleasure you."

As soon as she was sure he was going to stay still she grabbed hold of his penis with her left hand and returned it to her mouth. Her right hand she put back down his pants to caress his testicles. He had never been worked on by anyone so expert, and the arousal was too intense to last long. In just a few minutes he was spurting hot cum deep into her throat. After the last drop was released, she moved up to kiss his lips so he could taste his own fluids on her. She had conquered him.

It was late morning the next day when Otho woke his master. Picard got dressed and then told Otho he preferred to just wander around by himself.

He was lazily observing the various items and aspects of the house when he was heard what sounded to him like Miryam moaning. No one else seemed the least bit concerned, and although he knew better, Picard peeked into the room where the noise was coming from.

What he saw, what he really didn't want to see, was Miryam with a customer. He was a elderly man who was having a great deal of difficulty maneuvering around her body. She was doing her best to help him and ultimately the act was consummated. She nodded to the man, he handed her two gold coins, and left happy. Miryam set aside one coin for Matrilla and put one into her private hidden box. She turned and saw Picard.

Furious at him for watching, she ran up and slapped his face. "Why are you spying on me? Didn't you ever learn manners?"

Picard knew her anger came more from humiliation than from anything else. He was embarrassed at being caught. He was also feeling new emotions - jealousy and disgust at what he had seen. He wished somehow to free her from this life.

"Miryam, I'm sorry. I don't..."

She interrupted him, "What do you think I'm doing here? Do you think this is a game? This is how I make a living. This is how I bought my freedom. And this is how I will earn my escape. So spare me any pity, please. I have a better plan for my life."

He was acting so dejected, she softened up and gave him an affectionate caress. After the ridiculous wrestling match with that last pathetic customer, she was in the mood for some good sex.

"Come with me. Matrilla has a really nice bath. I'll clean Gaius the baker off me, and then I'll treat you to a soothing rub."

The bath was extremely elegant and seemed to Picard out of place and out of character for the dwelling. There was a dressing room, separate saunas for damp and dry heat, and warm and cold tubs. The whole bath was heated by flues that channeled hot air through the walls and under the floors. Matrilla had spared no expense.

Miryam saw that Otho had followed and signaled him to leave, indicating that she would take care of his master herself. She led Picard to the dressing room and took off his clothes.

"Leave your translator here. No one will touch it. You won't need it anyway to understand what I'll be saying." She smiled wickedly at him and, for the first time, he felt himself blush. Without a bit of modesty she undressed herself as well and then led him to the warm pool.

They were alone in the water. He began to unwind immediately, soothed by the warmth. Miryam had a sponge which she used first on herself to remove all traces of her last customer. She then began to wash Picard. She cleaned every inch of him with the sponge and then put it aside. He was so relaxed he was almost asleep. Miryam turned her attention back to his body which she began to massage with her hands, gently unkinking his neck and shoulders and rubbing his arms and chest with enough pressure to get his attention. Picard was waking up, noticing the heat not only from the water, but from Miryam's own body. She had moved her rubbing down to his penis and testicles while she wrapped one arm and one leg around him. The water gave a certain buoyancy to their bodies so she was able to easily press hard against him. She was very aroused and was working on getting him to respond to her needs. No words were exchanged between them as she leaned forward to kiss him hard, still holding fast to his organs. The combination of her ardor and her manipulation caused Picard's erection to swell fully.

The Whore and the Captain

by Lori Grenci

---

-- ROME A.D. 2370 --

"Over here, Jean-Luc, I have found an old sign." Professor Vicelius was a distinguished elderly gentleman who wore one of those big-brim hats that archaeologists love. He handed over a broken piece of inscribed stone to Picard, who cleaned off the dirt with a small brush.

"Yes," Picard said, examining the marble, "it does appear to be a marker of some kind. You are the Latin expert, Professor, can you translate the inscription?"

The Professor examined the piece closely, "It says Domus Matrillae, The House of Matrilla. Interesting..."

The enterprise was in orbit around earth while several senior officers attended training sessions run by Starfleet's Recreation Department. Picard, very in character, chose an archaeology seminar held in Rome. It was amazing to him that, after hundreds of years of excavations in this eternal city, there were still artifacts to be found. Professor Vicelius was an old friend as well as an eminent classical archaeologist. Picard had found this trip to be thoroughly relaxing and educational, so far.

"Follow me," Professor Vicelius beckoned, "I want to show you something really unique. We are on the cutting edge of archaeological technology."

Picard and Dr. Vicelius walked over the far side of the dig. Two graduate students were operating a machine that resembled a large phaser canon. Around the periphery of the area mechanical hooks were moving in and out of the generated beam. It appeared that objects were being pulled from nowhere.

"This instrument, Jean-Luc, is the first wormhole generator to be used specifically for retrieving archaeological artifacts. We actually pull objects out of space-time. Of course, this is still experimental, but it is an wonderful feeling to hold an actual pot instead of a potsherd."

Picard was both impressed and confused. "Doctor, how can you just reach in and take things out of time? What if you grab hold of something that shouldn't be displaced?"

Dr. Vicelius shook his head, "Don't worry. We're not changing space-time. We have a method of looking before we leap. See those goggles? Go take a peek, you'll be astounded."

Picard walked over to a viewscope being used by a student. The young man reluctantly gave up his position to the Captain, who after a few seconds exclaimed, "Incredible, I wonder..."

He never finished his sentence. A huge flash occurred by the wormhole generator. The smoke cleared quickly, but Picard had disappeared.

---

-- ROME A.D. 31 --

"Quis est, Matrilla?"

Who is it, Matrilla?

"Nescio, Miryam. Est vir calvus, inustitate vestitus."

I don't know, Miryam. He's a bald man in

strange clothes.

"Estne mortuus?"

Is he dead?

"Non credo."

I don't think so.

Matrilla and Miryam both poked at Picard with their fingers trying to get a reaction. Matrilla was the older of the two; a corpulent matron with a belly so pendulous that her dirty blue stola was "decincta" unbelted as if she were pregnant. Miryam, in sharp contrast, was a lovely young woman with dark Mediterranean coloring. Her brown eyes gleamed with fire and a wisdom far beyond her years. She also was the most popular whore in Matrilla's brothel.

Miryam bent close to Picard and shook his head, hoping to wake him. She was successful. Picard started coughing and moaning, and his eyes fluttered. Matrilla was relieved that she would not have to explain a strange dead man to the authorities. Any suspicious activity might cause her brothel license to be revoked. She called in one of the eunuchs to help move Picard to a couch.

Picard had regained some consciousness. His vision was blurry and he was extremely weak, but he was aware of being carried from the floor to some kind of bed or couch. He only vaguely remembered where he had been before everything went blank. Faint voices were speaking a language that was unintelligible to him, yet somehow familiar. As more of his vision came back, he saw he was in a small room with several pieces of exotic furniture and walls painted with large friezes. He recognized it as Roman and wondered if this was an archaeologist's dream, or more likely, nightmare.

A lovely young woman bent over him. She looked Middle-Eastern but was speaking a language that he finally recognized to be Latin.

"Tibine est nomen? tuum nomen?" What is your name?

His first instinct was to reach for the tricorder but he stopped himself. A special version of the universal translator that contained all known earth languages, past and present, had been downloaded into it. This was often used by archaeologists during excavations. He was reluctant to activate it while this woman was present but the question being asked was clear, especially to a native speaker of a romance language. Given the situation, "Picard" seemed a quite adequate response.

"Peeecaaaduh," the young woman repeated, imitating what to her was a very odd sounding name.

Picard passed out again and the two women decided it would be best to remove his unusual clothing. He was also carrying some unique objects that they could not identify. Since they were professional prostitutes, not thieves, they gently undressed him and placed his belongings on another couch.

Matrilla gestured to Miryam that they should quietly leave the room. The man needed to recover in peace.

Outside the room Matrilla instructed Miryam, "Until I decide what to do with this stranger, Miryam, I am making it your job to take good care of him. And don't annoy him with questions. He is obviously someone of wealth and nobility. Did you notice his hands, his skin, his teeth..."

"His big cock," Miryam interjected, grinning mischievously and holding up two hands to mark the length.

"Miryam, you really are a wanton she-wolf."

"Of course, Matrilla," Miryam answered back saucily, "why else would I be here in this she-wolf den? But I love my work, and it will be my pleasure to take care of Picard. hahahahaha." Miryam laughed even louder at the old woman's feigned outrage.

Matrilla sometimes thought that Miryam enjoyed her work too much. If she didn't know that Miryam was a former Judean slave, Matrilla would have suspected her of being one of those rich Patrician women who worked the brothels in disguise to make up for a impotent husband. She wondered how a pretty young woman like Miryam could get such tremendous pleasure from fucking strange men. "But," she thought to herself, "it keeps the clientele coming back."

---

Picard woke up with an agonizing headache and feeling of nausea. He slowly recalled what had happened, but hoped it would turn out to be a huge holodeck joke that some member of his crew had orchestrated.

"Computer, end program."

Nothing happened. Picard wondered if they had rigged the computer not to respond to his voice. He was not appreciating the joke.

"Computer, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard. End holodeck program immediately."

Still nothing changed. Picard tried to stand up but waves of dizziness caused him to sit down again. The realization was settling in that the holodeck was not responsible for his predicament.

As he slowly regained his stability, he noticed that he was completely naked. This panicked him, not so much from modesty, but because his comm badge and tricorder were now gone along with his pants and shirt. He tried to calm down, reasoning with himself that the clothes were probably somewhere within the chamber. He turned and saw his clothes and equipment neatly placed on another couch in the corner of the room. As he walked over to retrieve them he heard a voice from behind him.

"Picard, valesne maius?" are you feeling better?

He turned and saw the same young woman that had leaned over him when he first woke up. She was standing in the doorway staring at him and babbling away in Latin. He grabbed the comm badge with his left hand and initialized the translator, leaving the tricorder on the couch since he had no pockets or belt.

"Picard, didn't you hear me? Are you feeling better?"

She spoke to this naked man with a casualness that only a whore could have. Naked men were an everyday occurrence for Miryam, although this one was much better looking than most she had seen. She hoped he would not make her wait long; she was already wet and throbbing for him.

"Yes, thank you, I am much improved," he said in a voice that betrayed his discomfort. He was awkwardly trying to get dressed as fast as possible, a task made more difficult by the need to keep hold of his comm badge.

Miryam walked over and interrupted his dressing, grabbing his shirt out of his hands in a very matter-of-fact way.

"The britches and undergarments are all right. They only make you look like a foreigner. But this small tunic will have to be replaced. It is too unusual. You will draw unnecessary attention to yourself. I have brought you something more suitable."

She threw his shirt in the corner and replaced it with a white tunic and sash. Without being asked, she helped him slip it on, letting her hands fondle and caress him in the process. Picard saw the wisdom in this maneuver and made no attempt to argue with her. He was a little surprised at the way she touched him, but she had given him good advice and he attributed her actions to cultural differences. He still did not know where he was or who this woman was, but he decided to be cautious and wait a bit before interrogating anyone.

"Thank you. I concur completely with your observations. I insist, though, on wearing this pin and carrying this instrument."

She nodded approval without questioning and he placed the comm badge on the tunic and the tricorder in the belt. Picard took a deep breath and tried to relax.

"And by the way," he said, "you have the advantage. You know my name; I don't know yours."

She smiled warmly at him, "They call me Miryam."

---

Miryam arranged for a discreet male slave to attend to the stranger's personal needs and help him clean up. Later Otho, Picard's new 'valet', led him into a kitchen area where Miryam was waiting with some food. As he and Miryam sat together eating bread and fruit, Picard saw this as an opportunity to get some answers. He could guess where he was, but had no clue WHEN he was. He considered for a moment how best to construct his question so as not to alarm Miryam or give her too much information. Disturbances in time were serious; he had to be careful not to reveal anything concerning future events. It seemed best to feign partial amnesia resulting from a pretended head wound; that way he could avoid answering questions. Not that anyone was asking.

"Miryam, a blow to my head has made me forget some things. Can you tell me where I am? How did I get here?"

"We found you unconscious in that other room. I don't know how you got there. I was hoping you would tell me."

"You say 'WE'? Who else knows about me?"

"Well, WE all know about you now," she said as she gave him an affectionate pat on the knee, "but it was Matrilla and I who found you. Matrilla is the old woman who runs this brothel and watches over the girls here."

Picard couldn't resist letting a small grin slip out. A brothel explained the many strange things about this place. Actually, he thought he was very lucky to have been found unconscious in a brothel, rather than inside a prison or the middle of a market- place. At least he would be fairly unnoticed here.

"I am assuming that this is Rome. At least that's where I was before I fainted. Unfortunately, I don't remember exactly where I lived or much about my life prior to the accident."

"Yes, Picard," she said shaking her head at his misfortune, "you are still in Rome, just south of the Forum along the main road."

Picard thought for a moment how best to ask the year. This was not going to be easy.

"Miryam, forgive this ridiculous question, but I must know -- who is in charge of the city now?"

"Who is in charge? That is a strange question, Picard. I'm not even sure what you mean. But if that's your way of asking who is the Emperor, I will tell you it is still that monster Tiberius. Thank God he has chosen to live in Capri, far away from here. You must have hit your head very hard if you were able to forget Tiberius!"

She reached out and stroked his leg with two fingers; it was the act of a person offering comfort. Picard responded to the friendship she was offering. He briefly returned her touch by placing a hand on her shoulder, somewhat embarrassed by this almost involuntary gesture. That brief exchange lasted only a few seconds, interrupted by Otho bringing in some wine.

Picard had gotten the answers he needed. He also had a gut feeling that this woman Miryam was quite intelligent and perceptive, and he would have to be very careful. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. As an amateur archaeologist he should be enjoying every second of being here, but he was not thrilled about the possibility of never getting home.

They sat silently - eating, relaxing, and observing each other. Miryam was as perceptive as Picard had feared. She wondered if he really expected she would not notice that his lips were speaking a different language than her ears were hearing. She had deduced almost immediately that the instrument on his belt, that he was so protective of, was the cause of this strange phenomenon. Like most intelligent people living in the Roman world, she relied less on superstition and more on pragmatic reasoning. To her, Picard was not a sorcerer or a god but someone who possessed an incredible bag of tricks.

She watched him carefully as they sat without talking. This Picard certainly was a very unusual man, but being a prostitute in Rome had introduced her to many bizarre people and bizarre behaviors. The Emperor Tiberius had invented such perverted practices that the common people complained there were no words in Latin to describe them. Miryam knew instinctively, however, that Picard was not one of those twisted, dangerous people that roamed the city streets. She sensed his caring and intelligence.

While Miryam was mentally checking him over, Picard was busy mulling over in his mind how to begin searching for a way home. The wormhole that had transported him here was apparently no longer in that small room and might have moved entirely out of the building.

He knew he would have to leave Matrilla's eventually to get some answers, and was less than comfortable about his tricorder hanging in plain site.

Picard broke the brief silence. "I need something to wear over this tunic that will cover my equipment. It is very valuable and might attract thieves."

Responding to that comment, Miryam startled Picard by suddenly jumping at him, knocking him to the floor. He was not prepared for resistance as she straddled him and laughed in his face. It was an affectionate maneuver, though, and Picard smiled up at her.

In the midst of her giggling she managed a few sentences. "Picard, you are a moron! What barbarian land do you come from - where people are such idiots? Do you think I haven't noticed that this object you carry speaks Latin for you!"

She grabbed the tricorder out of his belt and waved it over his head, teasing him to get it back.

"Does it speak Hebrew also?" she asked playfully, holding the tricorder up to her mouth. "shalom, hashem shelee Miryam...".

She was thoroughly enjoying herself. It was not often she got to see or do anything as intriguing as what this strange man offered.

"And what are these little lights inside? And what kind of material is the casing made of?"

Picard just stared at her in total shock.

"Don't worry," she said pinching his cheek and returning the tricorder to his belt, "I am not interested in your little toy. I won't tell anyone about it. You have nothing to fear from me."

Before he could utter a word, she bent down and kissed him forcefully, pushing her tongue into his mouth.

His body tensed up as if in resistance; the swiftness of her move causing him to involuntary try to push her off. But Miryam was a professional and she had no intention of letting him get away. As much as she enjoyed her customers, she had rarely been as aroused as she was at that moment. Picard was a very appealing man, and in comparison to what Miryam was accustomed to, he was an Adonis.

Picard had no idea what to do. He was not often in the position of being attacked by a woman. Given his strength against hers, he could easily have flung her across half the room, but something in him surrendered and the battle was over. Miryam felt his body give itself over to her and she relaxed her grip on him. She was the victor and he was the booty. Staying on top of him, she slowly worked her mouth down his clothed body, kissing and caressing every inch between his lips and his swelling penis. She wanted this first time to be for him alone; she wanted to make him moan and scream in pleasure.

She removed the tricorder from the sash and placed it close by so it would still function. Then, untying the belt, she hungrily reached down his pants.

"Oh Picard, You are a man among men."

She tried to get the pants off, or at least pushed all the way down, but something about their construction baffled her. Eventually she was able to get them down just far enough to free up the object of her lust. His penis was only half-erect and Miryam pushed back the foreskin that was partially covering the tip. After all these years in Rome, she still had difficulty facing an uncircumcised man. But circumcised or not, they all were the same when saluting. Putting her lips over the first inch, she pressed her tongue against the slit. In less than a minute she had results; Picard's cock growing in length and thickness in her mouth.

He was in a stupor; letting it all happen; wanting it to happen. She had excited him beyond the point where he could stop. The only sounds out of his mouth were soft moans. Miryam let up her sucking for a moment to gaze on what she had accomplished. Here was a magnificent shaft on a magnificent man. She had to fight hard to keep herself from mounting it.

While she was momentarily preoccupied Picard attempted to flip her over and thrust himself inside, but she forced him back down, pressing his shoulders towards the floor.

"No, this time you do nothing. Let me pleasure you."

As soon as she was sure he was going to stay still she grabbed hold of his penis with her left hand and returned it to her mouth. Her right hand she put back down his pants to caress his testicles. He had never been worked on by anyone so expert, and the arousal was too intense to last long. In just a few minutes he was spurting hot cum deep into her throat. After the last drop was released, she moved up to kiss his lips so he could taste his own fluids on her. She had conquered him.

---

It was late morning the next day when Otho woke his master. Picard got dressed and then told Otho he preferred to just wander around by himself.

He was lazily observing the various items and aspects of the house when he was heard what sounded to him like Miryam moaning. No one else seemed the least bit concerned, and although he knew better, Picard peeked into the room where the noise was coming from.

What he saw, what he really didn't want to see, was Miryam with a customer. He was a elderly man who was having a great deal of difficulty maneuvering around her body. She was doing her best to help him and ultimately the act was consummated. She nodded to the man, he handed her two gold coins, and left happy. Miryam set aside one coin for Matrilla and put one into her private hidden box. She turned and saw Picard.

Furious at him for watching, she ran up and slapped his face. "Why are you spying on me? Didn't you ever learn manners?"

Picard knew her anger came more from humiliation than from anything else. He was embarrassed at being caught. He was also feeling new emotions - jealousy and disgust at what he had seen. He wished somehow to free her from this life.

"Miryam, I'm sorry. I don't..."

She interrupted him, "What do you think I'm doing here? Do you think this is a game? This is how I make a living. This is how I bought my freedom. And this is how I will earn my escape. So spare me any pity, please. I have a better plan for my life."

He was acting so dejected, she softened up and gave him an affectionate caress. After the ridiculous wrestling match with that last pathetic customer, she was in the mood for some good sex.

"Come with me. Matrilla has a really nice bath. I'll clean Gaius the baker off me, and then I'll treat you to a soothing rub."

The bath was extremely elegant and seemed to Picard out of place and out of character for the dwelling. There was a dressing room, separate saunas for damp and dry heat, and warm and cold tubs. The whole bath was heated by flues that channeled hot air through the walls and under the floors. Matrilla had spared no expense.

Miryam saw that Otho had followed and signaled him to leave, indicating that she would take care of his master herself. She led Picard to the dressing room and took off his clothes.

"Leave your translator here. No one will touch it. You won't need it anyway to understand what I'll be saying." She smiled wickedly at him and, for the first time, he felt himself blush. Without a bit of modesty she undressed herself as well and then led him to the warm pool.

They were alone in the water. He began to unwind immediately, soothed by the warmth. Miryam had a sponge which she used first on herself to remove all traces of her last customer. She then began to wash Picard. She cleaned every inch of him with the sponge and then put it aside. He was so relaxed he was almost asleep. Miryam turned her attention back to his body which she began to massage with her hands, gently unkinking his neck and shoulders and rubbing his arms and chest with enough pressure to get his attention. Picard was waking up, noticing the heat not only from the water, but from Miryam's own body. She had moved her rubbing down to his penis and testicles while she wrapped one arm and one leg around him. The water gave a certain buoyancy to their bodies so she was able to easily press hard against him. She was very aroused and was working on getting him to respond to her needs. No words were exchanged between them as she leaned forward to kiss him hard, still holding fast to his organs. The combination of her ardor and her manipulation caused Picard's erection to swell fully.

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