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43 AD. Britannia.
While gazing at the flickering lantern beside him, Legate Vespasian shuddered, though not from the cold.
He glanced down to watch the slender, pale fingers of another’s hand trail down his scarred, olive skin and slither beneath the silk sheets that draped across him. The tender fingers encircled his now-limp shaft and gently stroked another shudder from his weary body.
Rolling over, into a bundle of red hair, he stared into his companion’s green, enchanting eyes. Undeterred, her fingers still strummed across his length, enticing quivers from his slumbering manhood.
‘How did I get here?’ He wondered to himself.
*
The hill-top inferno was visible for miles around; a glowing beacon through the abyss of night. The sounds of screams; crackling fire and the breaking of groaning timbers were unmistakable from the opposite hill, a mile or so away. This is where Vespasian sat astride his steed, his calloused hands soothing the horse’s long mane. The surrounding woodlands were almost alive with the echoes, which rang through the otherwise eerie silence.
His horse whinnied, turning and trotting on the spot, its nose held high. Vespasian stroked the stallion’s long neck and whispered a soothing song in its ear, unable to tear his eyes away from the blazing fort. His horse had seen him through many years of conquest; no doubt it was tuned into his own unease by now, Vespasian thought.
The thunder of approaching hooves forced the Legate and his assembled party from their reverie. The clearing suddenly rippled with the drawing of swords and shuffling hooves as all turned, alert to the stranger.
From the trees sprang a lithe young horse, carrying an even younger looking messenger boy. Garbed in Roman light armour, emblazoned with the Capricorn of Vespasian’s Second Legion, he rode directly towards Vespasian himself.
“Sir, the tribunes report the fort is ours! It is taken, sir!”
The party remained silent until the Legate let out a chuckle. At once, the assembled group broke out in sympathetic, sycophantic titters.
“Yes, I can see that, boy.” The Legate turned and stared at the blazing beacon, almost sure he could feel the heat of the flames against his face. “At least, what’s left of the place. Give it another hour or so and I fear our latest possession will be nothing but ash.”
The group chuckled in time with their leader, awaiting his orders like an excited pack of dogs.
“Let us approach the town, shall we? We should see this great fortress of resistance, before it’s completely destroyed.”
Vespasian whipped the reins of his loyal stallion and charged down the hill. Behind him, the hillside erupted with the sound of beating hooves and neighing mares as his entourage gave panicked chase.
The evening air was cool against his flushed cheeks, compared to the warmth of Rome’s climate, but Vespasian knew that the weather was on his side. Crashing through the undergrowth, he could smell the spring flowers smashed aside by his galloping steed and his eyes cast up at the clear, starry sky lit by man-made flames.
“There’s not a drop of rain in sight. It makes a damn change in this Gods-forsaken place. It’s dried up in time to watch it burn to the ground.”
Climbing the hill at last, faced with the blaze of the burning fort, Vespasian’s officers began to catch him. Gathering around him defensively, the group rode up the roughly trodden path to the once proud stronghold of resistance.
“At least I won’t have to give this place a road, now.” Vespasian’s powerful voice carried over the clamour of hooves and earned another appreciative laugh from his entourage.
The group surged through the broken remains of the charred and splintered gate into a vision of Hades itself, complete with tortured screams. The officers, resplendent in their pristine uniforms, stood in awe of the inferno around them, gleaming against the fire’s light like Godly messengers.
The muddied street was baked hard from the heat of the firestorm. Whole buildings were engulfed in a wall of fire and the sky alight was with the crackling embers of a thousand blazes. The fort seemed to double in size, covering the world in a terrible haze of smoke that streaked into the obsidian sky and towered above. A river of blood flowed across the scorched earth, almost boiling with the heat. The horses bellowed, dancing their hooves in the crust of mud as Romans and locals alike ran from house to house and street to street through the cacophony of noise.
Vespasian heard a woman’s screams from inside a nearby building before a thunderous crash of collapsing woodwork cut them off for good. The men wrestled with their unwilling, rebellious mounts, shouting out their orders.
“Sir, it’s not safe here!” The almost echoed voice of a tribune somewhere behind Vespasian was lost on the Legate’s ears.
He paid no attention, mesmerised by the fleeing shadows of the fort’s populace, backlit against the intense light of the blaze. Men, women and children retreated from the encroaching flames and the marauding army of foreigners rampaging through their homes.
The Legate, stupefied and overwhelmed, could focus on nothing but the assault on his senses. Scowling against the singing heat, with a hand covering his face, he desperately wished to cover his ears and drown out the horrific, chilling screams and the spitting flames.
A woman ran out across his path, making a desperate dash for freedom. Her red hair trailed out behind her. Her torn and ragged shirt barely covered her pale skin - darkened by streaks of mud. Her thin arms and bare legs flailed frantically as she scrambled away.
She barely passed in front of the Legate before two Legionaries had pounced on her, tumbling to the floor in a tangle of twisted limbs. As she started to scream, thrashing on the scorched earth, the Legate dived from his horse in an instant.
“Sir! Sir, no! What are you-“
Vespasian strode ahead and seized the soldiers by their tunics, scattering them through the blood and mud. As one, the two men turned in anger, a war cry building in their throats. Their trained hands snapped to their sheathed swords, tearing the weapons from their scabbards as they leapt to their feet.
The Legate stared them down, defiantly facing his soldiers with his plumed helmet held high.
The Legionaries stopped dead in their tracks, amazed, as the Legate’s tribunes formed up around him, presenting a wall of sharpened steel.
“Go now, before I change my mind.” Vespasian’s tone was quiet, but carried the menace no legionary would dare to question.
The men retreated at once, scattering into the fort’s twisted streets. Vespasian hauled the girl – shaking and delirious – onto his shoulder and tossed her over the saddle of a nearby tribune with ease. She did not resist, now sobbing quietly into the leather piece. The assembled group shared questioning looks. All eyes avoided the unmistakable flash of her bare thighs in the fire light.
“I want her alive,” Vespasian growled, mounting his own horse again. “Take her to my quarters. She might have useful information.” The Legate turned to stare down his confused tribune with a look that made the man sink into his saddle. “Now! Go!”
Eyes wide and shocked, the tribune turned and tore out of the once proud gateway, leaving the Legion’s officers to mill about in a strangely quiet moment of shared confusion.
*
The girl sobbed almost endlessly, eyes streaming into the dark leather saddle. Her eyes never lifted when the horse cantered into a camp and she heard the loud, lewd calls and whistles of the soldiers they passed. She had no idea where they were and she didn’t want to know.
She looked up at the rider’s face only once as he steadied her across the mare’s back. The man looked straight ahead and refused to see the tear-strewn eyes pleading with him.
The evening was quickly darkening now that she was away from the flames. Here, her ripped and shredded clothes provided no warmth against the cool evening air.
Halting among an encampment of tents, the rider dismounted. It was with flaming cheeks and bloodshot eyes that she was finally lifted from the saddle. Her torn shirt rode up around her waist for a few humiliating seconds – something no nearby Legionary failed to cheer about. She hugged her rags tight, seeking any comfort, and desperately tried to hide the arrow sharp tips of her cold, stiffened nipples.
The girl was marched into the nearby tent, pushed inside by her rider. Ducking under the door, she stood up straight in a tent bigger than the home she’d had back in the fort.
Her eyes shone and blinked back tears, her lip quivering, and bitten, as she relived the horrific night. When she closed her eyes, the flames still danced behind her eyelids; the silence still bore the echoing screams of loved ones and friends.
The tent flap whipped shut behind her. Her cold, pale skin prickled and she ran for the corner of the tent. The soldier was gone and the thick canvas walls seemed to isolate her from the din of the camp outside. Hugging her knees, red hair tumbling wildly over her ragged clothes, she settled on the floor in the darkest corner, closed her eyes and quietly cried to herself.
*
The appalling slaughter was just beginning and Vespasian wanted nothing to do with it. The clinging smell in the air was enough to sicken him. He barked out a few quick orders, smacked the hide of a few horses and let the officers scatter into the town.
The Legate turned for the gate and rode out at a gallop, glad to be away and alone at last. He knew that his tribunes would achieve nothing now, the rout was all too strong to halt; he just couldn’t be around them anymore.
At the bottom of the hill, he stopped against the line of trees and drew deep, ragged breaths. The clear air felt intoxicating compared to the close, bitter taste of the fire. His churning stomach slowly settled and he leaned against the horse for a minute. The beast barely moved but for a whinny until its rider climbed up once more.
“Water. We’ve gotta find some water. I’m filthy!”
*
She had no idea how long she cried for; she just knew that she was done when her eyes dried up and she could cry no more. Hugging herself on the spot and taking heavy breaths, her heart rate soon began settling down.
Getting to her feet, she ran her hand through a bowl of clear water on a nearby table, taking deep breaths and blinking away her weary eyes.
She could see the large tent was well filled with solid chests, a fine bed of silk sheets and a large oak desk, covered in maps and plans. She peered at the works, but the foreign language was beyond her. A small fire of spitting embers sputtered in the middle of the tent and she felt her whole body shudder.
“Must be someone important who lives here.”
The water was cool between her fingers; a stimulating feeling of freshness. A couple of splashes gave her pale cheeks a ruddy glow and flushed her tired eyes. The smell of the fire seemed to cling to her rags, though, and no matter how much she washed, she couldn’t feel clean.
She peered around herself, clutching the remains of her clothes. Slowly, she inched the garment higher up her thighs, her head swivelling for any potential intruder.
At last, the girl shrugged and lifted away her shirt to stand naked in the empty tent, stretching her exhausted limbs. Sitting down and huddling against the pale warmth of the dying fire, her cold, pimpled skin began to thaw.
Pulling up the water bowl, she dunked her dress inside to wash and sighed, glancing at the flickering lanterns hanging nearby. They gave her a tiny quiver of unease. Hugging her modest breasts tight and rubbing the numbness from her arms, she sighed to herself.
“I’m lucky to be out of there alive. I just hope this place is safer.”
Clasping the bowl, she closed her eyes and braced herself before splashing the freezing water across her aching body. The chill sucked the breath from her sooty lungs, through her gritted teeth. She stood bolt upright and shuddered as her skin erupted in tingles and goose bumps. She washed herself all over, rubbing her skin for warmth before huddling up close to the feeble fire, feeling truly invigorated.
*
Soldiers saluted and approached as Vespasian entered the camp, hailing their Legate. He ignored them all, staring ahead and feigning ignorance as he cantered towards his tent.
‘I don’t care what these people want. I don’t care, today. Let them burn that place to the ground and have their fun. I’m going to my tent for the night and that’s it!’
The Legate slid from his horse the second it reached his tent, his boots slamming into the mud on impact. Vespasian threw the reins to the approaching optio and stormed into his tent without a word or a gesture, his armour’s gentle chinking the only sound bar his hurried steps.
A quick couple of yanks at the ties loosened his armour enough for him to cast it down next to his bed - just in time to collapse onto its soft comfort. Lying across the silk sheets, he closed his eyes and sighed, glad to be able to lie down and relax at last. His heavy eyes were unstoppably drawn shut and he lost himself to the world for a few delightful moments.
Something rustled nearby and, trained to react in an instant, Vespasian’s eyes flew open. Diving to his feet, he whipped about on the spot, alert and defensive.
Only a few feet away stood an ashen Briton girl with a fiery mane of wild hair. Her green orbs were held wide open as she backed slowly away from the threatening Roman, clutching the wet, heavy shirt she wore, tightly.
“Oh fuck, it’s you.” Vespasian breathed out and stood up straight, intent on hiding his heavy inhalations. “Thank fuck for that, I thought you were… I completely forgot about you.”
The two stood staring at each other for a moment. Her eyes refused to leave his for a second.
“You don’t speak my language, I’m assuming.”
Still she did not respond, but took another careful step backwards.
“Why are you backing away, girl?” Vespasian stepped forward to follow her, alarming the poor girl further. She started to quickly retreat into the corner of the tent. “What’s wrong? I’m not going to hurt you. I saved you, remember? It’s my men who wanted to hurt you. I SAVED YOU!”
He roared out the last three words, taking two great lurching steps towards her. His anger and frustration boiling over, he turned and swiped a bundle of official scrolls off the table, scattering them across the room.
The pallid local let out a whimper and dropped to the floor, hugging her knees in a tiny, defensive ball.
Vespasian watched her and felt the bile rising in his throat once more. He turned away and shuffled towards his washing bowl. Staring at his gaunt expression in the dim reflection cast from the water, he sighed to himself.
“Sure, why not? Fear me. I suppose you have every right to.”
With that, he dunked his face into the shallow water and surfaced with a deep, shuddering breath.
*
She watched him for a long time, but he didn’t move again. He had walked with heavy steps back towards his bed, thrown himself down and sat with his head in his hands for a very long time. The girl had barely moved from her spot, hugging herself and hoping that he wouldn’t start shouting again.
‘He hasn’t tried to come at me yet, at least. Why’s he so angry? I wish I knew what he was shouting at me. He hasn’t attacked me…’
Slowly, she uncoiled her knees and rose quietly to her feet. The Roman still didn’t move as she stood, letting the sodden shirt drip its freezing water down her skin until it ran down her pale, slender thighs in tiny streams. The damp shirt was slowly making her teeth chatter, her muscles shivering.
‘Didn’t he save me, in the street? He’s the one who pulled the men off.’
She shuddered and bit back another surge of tears as she thought of the night’s last events. Stepping closer to the man on the bed, she shivered with the cold, edging towards the fire. He looked up just as she reached the flickering embers, watching her carefully.
‘Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt me? Maybe I’m safer with him than I am with… Them, out there.’
She slowly knelt in front of the fire and held her shirt forward, hoping to dry the sodden material by its weak heat. The Roman watched her sit and frowned. She was determined to avoid his eyes.
‘Don’t provoke him. Don’t provoke him. He might leave you alone.’
He rose at once and her muscles tensed. She followed his every step with wide eyes that blinked back tears. He strode towards her and she started to shake, praying to all her Gods that she’d be safe.
The Roman snatched up a small, thin log from the pile and tossed it casually into the fire. The flames roared up as he showered them in tiny pieces of kindling. The heat was like a thousand kisses across her skin.
He spoke, but it made no sense to her. Shrugging, he went back to his bed and left her almost hugging the fire. She watched as he lazily rolled the tunic over his head of dark hair, baring his uniquely olive skin, and let it drop to the floor next to him.
She stared, a little transfixed, at the foreigner she saw. She had never seen a Roman without his shining armour – never seen into Roman eyes through anything but a helmet. He glanced in her direction. His eyes followed the length of her flowing red hair, while she couldn’t tear her eyes from the dark, chiselled shape of his sculpted chest.
He looked away and reached for his breeches. A thought seemed to flash across his mind as his fingers found the knot holding them together. She felt her pulse race, heart hammering against her chest. She felt her skin flush and hoped to all the Gods she could muster that he wouldn’t notice.
His hands pulled back, though, and he sat down on the bed – much to her disappointment. With a pair of green eyes watching him through the twilight of the tent, he rolled onto his cot without another word. He seemed to pass out at once and the tent was silent once more. She watched him doze for a long time before she looked away, glancing at her dripping clothes.
As he slumbered, she slipped the shirt over her head once more and huddled closer to the fire. Hanging the tattered rag nearby to dry, she rubbed her palms down her arms, comfortingly.
Glancing down at her own pale skin - highlighted by the pink flashes of her stiffened nipples and the shade of deep red that seemed to throb between her thighs - she couldn’t help peering at the sleeping man’s darker, richer skin. Her hand gently slid across her swollen sex and she struggled to contain the gasp behind her lips.
‘I wish I could thank him. Maybe I am safer here.’
*
Vespasian begrudgingly rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, licking and smacking his dry lips. The very air seemed tense and close, with a biting chill in the air. Beyond it all, though, was the gentle crackling of a fire.
His eyes flew open and he sat upright in his cot, his head and heart pounding as the hill fort flashed before him. He could hear the screams and the breaking timbers, bringing him out in a fiery, sweltering sweat.
He saw no devastating scene, no rampage and violent conquest.
His head, instead, tipped gently to the side in appreciation of the view before him. A tight, white ass seemed to float ahead of him – swaying from side to side in the flickering, silhouetted light of the fire. Perched on long, slender legs that rippled with the tiny movements, the girl was quietly humming a tune to herself.
Bending to the floor, she seemed to grasp at a cloth, holding it before the fire. Vespasian only saw the red, glowing heat between her alabaster thighs – the smooth, seductive shape of her sex shown before his very eyes.
The girl stood, shaking out the cloth she was holding. Her hair cascaded down the length of her dimpled back like the waves of a sea kissed by sunset. Her entire body tensed and rippled with every tiny movement, until at last she turned to face him.
Both pairs of eyes widened at once as they both jumped in surprise – ashamed of being caught. The girl wrapped her flimsy shirt around herself, mumbling and talking under her breath in a tongue the Roman couldn’t begin to understand. He stood, hands out in apology and stepped towards her, but the girl retreated.
Hiding behind a support pole, she watched him sit again on the side of his cot and lay his head in his hands.
“What were you staring at, you stupid fool? Have you never seen a woman before?” Vespasian grumbled to himself. “Okay, she’s beautiful, but… For fuck’s sake, man, she’s a native! She’s a Briton! Why is she even here? God, I should’ve left her where she…”
He stopped as he heard a quiet, padded footstep nearby. Vespasian looked up through the web of his fingers. She stood watching him and released her robe, to float harmlessly to the floor.
The Legate looked up and couldn’t help but stare at the lithe, athletic figure of the woman in front of him. Her hair fell around her beautiful face, framing her shining green eyes. Her figure was slender, with breasts he could easily fit in his palms and a waist he could wrap an arm around, but there was more to her than that.
She stepped closer and the fire’s warm light gave shadow to the defined muscles across her torso. Vespasian’s finger traced the lines of her muscles, completely of its own accord. He sat and stared, his finger slowly tracing every curve of her body as he committed her to memory. She tingled and shivered as he went, but she refused to move until his palm crept along the inside of her thigh.
Almost imperceptibly, her legs opened for him. Their eyes met and stared, together, as his fingers inched closer to the unmistakably tender sex she held at his eye level. The merest graze of his fingers on her inflamed skin was enough to throw back her head, mouth open in a seductive sigh.
Her hips pushed instinctively forward and the Legate couldn’t help but run his fingers through the sodden, swollen lips presented to him. The wet, velvet heat of her sex was all too alluring. He shuffled forward on his cot, his fingers tickling across her folds as she delightedly opened her thighs even further.
The Roman slipped his tanned forearm around her pale, almost translucent, waist and pulled her hips towards his waiting, open tongue. She squeaked to feel the probing warmth of his tongue, wet against the swollen nub of her clit, casting her eyes down in time to see his thick, olive fingers slowly sink into her scarlet sex.
The instinctive, appreciative groan she let out was one he knew well in any language; one that spurred on his tongue to flick and lap hungrily around her perfect, puffy pussy. The gentle stroking of his fingers soon turned harder and faster until the lithe, quiet girl seized his hair in her clenching fingers.
The Legate looked up, beneath his eyebrows, to see the pleasure etched across her beautiful face before she threw back her head again. Seconds later, her hands pulled him deeper into her than he’d ever been as she ground harder against his mouth, sighing and shaking on the very tips of her toes. She rode his face harder and rougher, until at last, she shuddered against him, crying out and lacing his tongue with sweetness.
The Roman’s head sagged as the pressure released, the girl dropping to her knees. He stared, a little stunned, as her lips mashed with his. Cupping his face, she delighted in licking her every wayward drop from his tanned skin.
Her strong fingers clawed at his breeches next, tearing them down his legs before he could resist. Her palm was pleasantly warm around his throbbing shaft, a sensation that had his hands clutching the sheets, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
His lover bent and engulfed his leaking tip in the crucible of her mouth, sliding down his length, and up again, better than any Roman whore. His swollen, pulsing tip slipped into her throat with ease. He thought he might finish there until she pulled away, her tongue floating across her talented lips.
The girl’s strong arms needed one shove to get him onto his back. She prowled up his body as he lay, shell-shocked, beneath the force of her. A hurried sentence tumbled from her lips. He had no idea what she said; he only wished she’d say it again – the arousal in her voice gave him shivers.
Vespasian finally seized her breasts, pulping the perfect mounds in his palms and pinching her puckered tips tightly. His fair lover sighed and straddled him. She rested her slick folds on the length of his manhood, sliding on his rigid pole.
Gripping her hands on his chest, she rocked her hips and ground along his shaft until her man squirmed and whimpered beneath her, his need building by the second. A deft rising of her hips poised the officer’s tip at the clenching opening of her hungry sex. A single thrust of his hips was enough to send him soaring into her at once.
She collapsed upon him at once, all air forced from her lungs, and he finally caught control of her. His strong, calloused hands seized her slender hips and hooked around her back. Pulling her to his chest, the Legate lifted his hips and thrust hard into the tiny girl in his arms.
Her breathless gasps echoed in his ears and every thrust dragged her nipples across his chest, stealing more of her staccato moans. Her hand darted between them to needily paw at her sex, rubbing hard as she took his solid shaft over and over, his balls slamming loudly against her firm ass.
The girl’s panted gasps became almost howls as she approached her climax, her fingernails scoring angry welts along her lover’s chest. Every pinch and scratch had him hissing through his teeth, cracking his hand across the tight flesh of her ass.
She squirmed in his arms as her every muscle began to shake. He held tight, refusing to stop his assault, until she broke free of his grip. She glowered at him but then her eyes rolled into the back of her head. A second later, she mashed her lips to his and howled into his mouth.
She broke out in convulsions, shaking and crying into their endless kiss. The strain against his manhood proved too much as her rippling muscles squeezed around him. With a desperate, rushing gasp for air, his climax struck. He shuddered and shook inside her, his sweat-soaked body clinging to hers as she rode out his orgasm, feeling him drain streams of his thick seed into her, repeatedly.
Emptied, she sighed and rolled off to lie beside him. Together, they caught their breath in a quiet moment of breathless recovery.
He glanced down to watch the slender, pale fingers of another’s hand trail down his scarred, olive skin and slither beneath the silk sheets that draped across him. The tender fingers encircled his now-limp shaft and gently stroked another shudder from his weary body.
Rolling over into a bundle of red hair, he stared into the wide, green eyes of his companion for a second. Undeterred, her fingers still strummed across his length, enticing quivers from his slumbering manhood.
‘How did I get here?’ He wondered to himself. ‘What would they say back in Rome?’
Closing his eyes, he savoured the texture of her silky red hair – and the softness of her cheek – against his rough fingers, while her own still expertly entwined around his pulsing shaft.
‘I should call the guards. I should have her taken away. She could ruin my career. My family.’
He opened his eyes and stared into the verdant pools of her eyes, still running her hair through his fingers.
‘What would they say?’ he thought to himself as he cupped the native Briton’s cheek and pressed his lips delicately to hers, savouring her unique flavour.
While gazing at the flickering lantern beside him, Legate Vespasian shuddered, though not from the cold.
He glanced down to watch the slender, pale fingers of another’s hand trail down his scarred, olive skin and slither beneath the silk sheets that draped across him. The tender fingers encircled his now-limp shaft and gently stroked another shudder from his weary body.
Rolling over, into a bundle of red hair, he stared into his companion’s green, enchanting eyes. Undeterred, her fingers still strummed across his length, enticing quivers from his slumbering manhood.
‘How did I get here?’ He wondered to himself.
*
The hill-top inferno was visible for miles around; a glowing beacon through the abyss of night. The sounds of screams; crackling fire and the breaking of groaning timbers were unmistakable from the opposite hill, a mile or so away. This is where Vespasian sat astride his steed, his calloused hands soothing the horse’s long mane. The surrounding woodlands were almost alive with the echoes, which rang through the otherwise eerie silence.
His horse whinnied, turning and trotting on the spot, its nose held high. Vespasian stroked the stallion’s long neck and whispered a soothing song in its ear, unable to tear his eyes away from the blazing fort. His horse had seen him through many years of conquest; no doubt it was tuned into his own unease by now, Vespasian thought.
The thunder of approaching hooves forced the Legate and his assembled party from their reverie. The clearing suddenly rippled with the drawing of swords and shuffling hooves as all turned, alert to the stranger.
From the trees sprang a lithe young horse, carrying an even younger looking messenger boy. Garbed in Roman light armour, emblazoned with the Capricorn of Vespasian’s Second Legion, he rode directly towards Vespasian himself.
“Sir, the tribunes report the fort is ours! It is taken, sir!”
The party remained silent until the Legate let out a chuckle. At once, the assembled group broke out in sympathetic, sycophantic titters.
“Yes, I can see that, boy.” The Legate turned and stared at the blazing beacon, almost sure he could feel the heat of the flames against his face. “At least, what’s left of the place. Give it another hour or so and I fear our latest possession will be nothing but ash.”
The group chuckled in time with their leader, awaiting his orders like an excited pack of dogs.
“Let us approach the town, shall we? We should see this great fortress of resistance, before it’s completely destroyed.”
Vespasian whipped the reins of his loyal stallion and charged down the hill. Behind him, the hillside erupted with the sound of beating hooves and neighing mares as his entourage gave panicked chase.
The evening air was cool against his flushed cheeks, compared to the warmth of Rome’s climate, but Vespasian knew that the weather was on his side. Crashing through the undergrowth, he could smell the spring flowers smashed aside by his galloping steed and his eyes cast up at the clear, starry sky lit by man-made flames.
“There’s not a drop of rain in sight. It makes a damn change in this Gods-forsaken place. It’s dried up in time to watch it burn to the ground.”
Climbing the hill at last, faced with the blaze of the burning fort, Vespasian’s officers began to catch him. Gathering around him defensively, the group rode up the roughly trodden path to the once proud stronghold of resistance.
“At least I won’t have to give this place a road, now.” Vespasian’s powerful voice carried over the clamour of hooves and earned another appreciative laugh from his entourage.
The group surged through the broken remains of the charred and splintered gate into a vision of Hades itself, complete with tortured screams. The officers, resplendent in their pristine uniforms, stood in awe of the inferno around them, gleaming against the fire’s light like Godly messengers.
The muddied street was baked hard from the heat of the firestorm. Whole buildings were engulfed in a wall of fire and the sky alight was with the crackling embers of a thousand blazes. The fort seemed to double in size, covering the world in a terrible haze of smoke that streaked into the obsidian sky and towered above. A river of blood flowed across the scorched earth, almost boiling with the heat. The horses bellowed, dancing their hooves in the crust of mud as Romans and locals alike ran from house to house and street to street through the cacophony of noise.
Vespasian heard a woman’s screams from inside a nearby building before a thunderous crash of collapsing woodwork cut them off for good. The men wrestled with their unwilling, rebellious mounts, shouting out their orders.
“Sir, it’s not safe here!” The almost echoed voice of a tribune somewhere behind Vespasian was lost on the Legate’s ears.
He paid no attention, mesmerised by the fleeing shadows of the fort’s populace, backlit against the intense light of the blaze. Men, women and children retreated from the encroaching flames and the marauding army of foreigners rampaging through their homes.
The Legate, stupefied and overwhelmed, could focus on nothing but the assault on his senses. Scowling against the singing heat, with a hand covering his face, he desperately wished to cover his ears and drown out the horrific, chilling screams and the spitting flames.
A woman ran out across his path, making a desperate dash for freedom. Her red hair trailed out behind her. Her torn and ragged shirt barely covered her pale skin - darkened by streaks of mud. Her thin arms and bare legs flailed frantically as she scrambled away.
She barely passed in front of the Legate before two Legionaries had pounced on her, tumbling to the floor in a tangle of twisted limbs. As she started to scream, thrashing on the scorched earth, the Legate dived from his horse in an instant.
“Sir! Sir, no! What are you-“
Vespasian strode ahead and seized the soldiers by their tunics, scattering them through the blood and mud. As one, the two men turned in anger, a war cry building in their throats. Their trained hands snapped to their sheathed swords, tearing the weapons from their scabbards as they leapt to their feet.
The Legate stared them down, defiantly facing his soldiers with his plumed helmet held high.
The Legionaries stopped dead in their tracks, amazed, as the Legate’s tribunes formed up around him, presenting a wall of sharpened steel.
“Go now, before I change my mind.” Vespasian’s tone was quiet, but carried the menace no legionary would dare to question.
The men retreated at once, scattering into the fort’s twisted streets. Vespasian hauled the girl – shaking and delirious – onto his shoulder and tossed her over the saddle of a nearby tribune with ease. She did not resist, now sobbing quietly into the leather piece. The assembled group shared questioning looks. All eyes avoided the unmistakable flash of her bare thighs in the fire light.
“I want her alive,” Vespasian growled, mounting his own horse again. “Take her to my quarters. She might have useful information.” The Legate turned to stare down his confused tribune with a look that made the man sink into his saddle. “Now! Go!”
Eyes wide and shocked, the tribune turned and tore out of the once proud gateway, leaving the Legion’s officers to mill about in a strangely quiet moment of shared confusion.
*
The girl sobbed almost endlessly, eyes streaming into the dark leather saddle. Her eyes never lifted when the horse cantered into a camp and she heard the loud, lewd calls and whistles of the soldiers they passed. She had no idea where they were and she didn’t want to know.
She looked up at the rider’s face only once as he steadied her across the mare’s back. The man looked straight ahead and refused to see the tear-strewn eyes pleading with him.
The evening was quickly darkening now that she was away from the flames. Here, her ripped and shredded clothes provided no warmth against the cool evening air.
Halting among an encampment of tents, the rider dismounted. It was with flaming cheeks and bloodshot eyes that she was finally lifted from the saddle. Her torn shirt rode up around her waist for a few humiliating seconds – something no nearby Legionary failed to cheer about. She hugged her rags tight, seeking any comfort, and desperately tried to hide the arrow sharp tips of her cold, stiffened nipples.
The girl was marched into the nearby tent, pushed inside by her rider. Ducking under the door, she stood up straight in a tent bigger than the home she’d had back in the fort.
Her eyes shone and blinked back tears, her lip quivering, and bitten, as she relived the horrific night. When she closed her eyes, the flames still danced behind her eyelids; the silence still bore the echoing screams of loved ones and friends.
The tent flap whipped shut behind her. Her cold, pale skin prickled and she ran for the corner of the tent. The soldier was gone and the thick canvas walls seemed to isolate her from the din of the camp outside. Hugging her knees, red hair tumbling wildly over her ragged clothes, she settled on the floor in the darkest corner, closed her eyes and quietly cried to herself.
*
The appalling slaughter was just beginning and Vespasian wanted nothing to do with it. The clinging smell in the air was enough to sicken him. He barked out a few quick orders, smacked the hide of a few horses and let the officers scatter into the town.
The Legate turned for the gate and rode out at a gallop, glad to be away and alone at last. He knew that his tribunes would achieve nothing now, the rout was all too strong to halt; he just couldn’t be around them anymore.
At the bottom of the hill, he stopped against the line of trees and drew deep, ragged breaths. The clear air felt intoxicating compared to the close, bitter taste of the fire. His churning stomach slowly settled and he leaned against the horse for a minute. The beast barely moved but for a whinny until its rider climbed up once more.
“Water. We’ve gotta find some water. I’m filthy!”
*
She had no idea how long she cried for; she just knew that she was done when her eyes dried up and she could cry no more. Hugging herself on the spot and taking heavy breaths, her heart rate soon began settling down.
Getting to her feet, she ran her hand through a bowl of clear water on a nearby table, taking deep breaths and blinking away her weary eyes.
She could see the large tent was well filled with solid chests, a fine bed of silk sheets and a large oak desk, covered in maps and plans. She peered at the works, but the foreign language was beyond her. A small fire of spitting embers sputtered in the middle of the tent and she felt her whole body shudder.
“Must be someone important who lives here.”
The water was cool between her fingers; a stimulating feeling of freshness. A couple of splashes gave her pale cheeks a ruddy glow and flushed her tired eyes. The smell of the fire seemed to cling to her rags, though, and no matter how much she washed, she couldn’t feel clean.
She peered around herself, clutching the remains of her clothes. Slowly, she inched the garment higher up her thighs, her head swivelling for any potential intruder.
At last, the girl shrugged and lifted away her shirt to stand naked in the empty tent, stretching her exhausted limbs. Sitting down and huddling against the pale warmth of the dying fire, her cold, pimpled skin began to thaw.
Pulling up the water bowl, she dunked her dress inside to wash and sighed, glancing at the flickering lanterns hanging nearby. They gave her a tiny quiver of unease. Hugging her modest breasts tight and rubbing the numbness from her arms, she sighed to herself.
“I’m lucky to be out of there alive. I just hope this place is safer.”
Clasping the bowl, she closed her eyes and braced herself before splashing the freezing water across her aching body. The chill sucked the breath from her sooty lungs, through her gritted teeth. She stood bolt upright and shuddered as her skin erupted in tingles and goose bumps. She washed herself all over, rubbing her skin for warmth before huddling up close to the feeble fire, feeling truly invigorated.
*
Soldiers saluted and approached as Vespasian entered the camp, hailing their Legate. He ignored them all, staring ahead and feigning ignorance as he cantered towards his tent.
‘I don’t care what these people want. I don’t care, today. Let them burn that place to the ground and have their fun. I’m going to my tent for the night and that’s it!’
The Legate slid from his horse the second it reached his tent, his boots slamming into the mud on impact. Vespasian threw the reins to the approaching optio and stormed into his tent without a word or a gesture, his armour’s gentle chinking the only sound bar his hurried steps.
A quick couple of yanks at the ties loosened his armour enough for him to cast it down next to his bed - just in time to collapse onto its soft comfort. Lying across the silk sheets, he closed his eyes and sighed, glad to be able to lie down and relax at last. His heavy eyes were unstoppably drawn shut and he lost himself to the world for a few delightful moments.
Something rustled nearby and, trained to react in an instant, Vespasian’s eyes flew open. Diving to his feet, he whipped about on the spot, alert and defensive.
Only a few feet away stood an ashen Briton girl with a fiery mane of wild hair. Her green orbs were held wide open as she backed slowly away from the threatening Roman, clutching the wet, heavy shirt she wore, tightly.
“Oh fuck, it’s you.” Vespasian breathed out and stood up straight, intent on hiding his heavy inhalations. “Thank fuck for that, I thought you were… I completely forgot about you.”
The two stood staring at each other for a moment. Her eyes refused to leave his for a second.
“You don’t speak my language, I’m assuming.”
Still she did not respond, but took another careful step backwards.
“Why are you backing away, girl?” Vespasian stepped forward to follow her, alarming the poor girl further. She started to quickly retreat into the corner of the tent. “What’s wrong? I’m not going to hurt you. I saved you, remember? It’s my men who wanted to hurt you. I SAVED YOU!”
He roared out the last three words, taking two great lurching steps towards her. His anger and frustration boiling over, he turned and swiped a bundle of official scrolls off the table, scattering them across the room.
The pallid local let out a whimper and dropped to the floor, hugging her knees in a tiny, defensive ball.
Vespasian watched her and felt the bile rising in his throat once more. He turned away and shuffled towards his washing bowl. Staring at his gaunt expression in the dim reflection cast from the water, he sighed to himself.
“Sure, why not? Fear me. I suppose you have every right to.”
With that, he dunked his face into the shallow water and surfaced with a deep, shuddering breath.
*
She watched him for a long time, but he didn’t move again. He had walked with heavy steps back towards his bed, thrown himself down and sat with his head in his hands for a very long time. The girl had barely moved from her spot, hugging herself and hoping that he wouldn’t start shouting again.
‘He hasn’t tried to come at me yet, at least. Why’s he so angry? I wish I knew what he was shouting at me. He hasn’t attacked me…’
Slowly, she uncoiled her knees and rose quietly to her feet. The Roman still didn’t move as she stood, letting the sodden shirt drip its freezing water down her skin until it ran down her pale, slender thighs in tiny streams. The damp shirt was slowly making her teeth chatter, her muscles shivering.
‘Didn’t he save me, in the street? He’s the one who pulled the men off.’
She shuddered and bit back another surge of tears as she thought of the night’s last events. Stepping closer to the man on the bed, she shivered with the cold, edging towards the fire. He looked up just as she reached the flickering embers, watching her carefully.
‘Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt me? Maybe I’m safer with him than I am with… Them, out there.’
She slowly knelt in front of the fire and held her shirt forward, hoping to dry the sodden material by its weak heat. The Roman watched her sit and frowned. She was determined to avoid his eyes.
‘Don’t provoke him. Don’t provoke him. He might leave you alone.’
He rose at once and her muscles tensed. She followed his every step with wide eyes that blinked back tears. He strode towards her and she started to shake, praying to all her Gods that she’d be safe.
The Roman snatched up a small, thin log from the pile and tossed it casually into the fire. The flames roared up as he showered them in tiny pieces of kindling. The heat was like a thousand kisses across her skin.
He spoke, but it made no sense to her. Shrugging, he went back to his bed and left her almost hugging the fire. She watched as he lazily rolled the tunic over his head of dark hair, baring his uniquely olive skin, and let it drop to the floor next to him.
She stared, a little transfixed, at the foreigner she saw. She had never seen a Roman without his shining armour – never seen into Roman eyes through anything but a helmet. He glanced in her direction. His eyes followed the length of her flowing red hair, while she couldn’t tear her eyes from the dark, chiselled shape of his sculpted chest.
He looked away and reached for his breeches. A thought seemed to flash across his mind as his fingers found the knot holding them together. She felt her pulse race, heart hammering against her chest. She felt her skin flush and hoped to all the Gods she could muster that he wouldn’t notice.
His hands pulled back, though, and he sat down on the bed – much to her disappointment. With a pair of green eyes watching him through the twilight of the tent, he rolled onto his cot without another word. He seemed to pass out at once and the tent was silent once more. She watched him doze for a long time before she looked away, glancing at her dripping clothes.
As he slumbered, she slipped the shirt over her head once more and huddled closer to the fire. Hanging the tattered rag nearby to dry, she rubbed her palms down her arms, comfortingly.
Glancing down at her own pale skin - highlighted by the pink flashes of her stiffened nipples and the shade of deep red that seemed to throb between her thighs - she couldn’t help peering at the sleeping man’s darker, richer skin. Her hand gently slid across her swollen sex and she struggled to contain the gasp behind her lips.
‘I wish I could thank him. Maybe I am safer here.’
*
Vespasian begrudgingly rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, licking and smacking his dry lips. The very air seemed tense and close, with a biting chill in the air. Beyond it all, though, was the gentle crackling of a fire.
His eyes flew open and he sat upright in his cot, his head and heart pounding as the hill fort flashed before him. He could hear the screams and the breaking timbers, bringing him out in a fiery, sweltering sweat.
He saw no devastating scene, no rampage and violent conquest.
His head, instead, tipped gently to the side in appreciation of the view before him. A tight, white ass seemed to float ahead of him – swaying from side to side in the flickering, silhouetted light of the fire. Perched on long, slender legs that rippled with the tiny movements, the girl was quietly humming a tune to herself.
Bending to the floor, she seemed to grasp at a cloth, holding it before the fire. Vespasian only saw the red, glowing heat between her alabaster thighs – the smooth, seductive shape of her sex shown before his very eyes.
The girl stood, shaking out the cloth she was holding. Her hair cascaded down the length of her dimpled back like the waves of a sea kissed by sunset. Her entire body tensed and rippled with every tiny movement, until at last she turned to face him.
Both pairs of eyes widened at once as they both jumped in surprise – ashamed of being caught. The girl wrapped her flimsy shirt around herself, mumbling and talking under her breath in a tongue the Roman couldn’t begin to understand. He stood, hands out in apology and stepped towards her, but the girl retreated.
Hiding behind a support pole, she watched him sit again on the side of his cot and lay his head in his hands.
“What were you staring at, you stupid fool? Have you never seen a woman before?” Vespasian grumbled to himself. “Okay, she’s beautiful, but… For fuck’s sake, man, she’s a native! She’s a Briton! Why is she even here? God, I should’ve left her where she…”
He stopped as he heard a quiet, padded footstep nearby. Vespasian looked up through the web of his fingers. She stood watching him and released her robe, to float harmlessly to the floor.
The Legate looked up and couldn’t help but stare at the lithe, athletic figure of the woman in front of him. Her hair fell around her beautiful face, framing her shining green eyes. Her figure was slender, with breasts he could easily fit in his palms and a waist he could wrap an arm around, but there was more to her than that.
She stepped closer and the fire’s warm light gave shadow to the defined muscles across her torso. Vespasian’s finger traced the lines of her muscles, completely of its own accord. He sat and stared, his finger slowly tracing every curve of her body as he committed her to memory. She tingled and shivered as he went, but she refused to move until his palm crept along the inside of her thigh.
Almost imperceptibly, her legs opened for him. Their eyes met and stared, together, as his fingers inched closer to the unmistakably tender sex she held at his eye level. The merest graze of his fingers on her inflamed skin was enough to throw back her head, mouth open in a seductive sigh.
Her hips pushed instinctively forward and the Legate couldn’t help but run his fingers through the sodden, swollen lips presented to him. The wet, velvet heat of her sex was all too alluring. He shuffled forward on his cot, his fingers tickling across her folds as she delightedly opened her thighs even further.
The Roman slipped his tanned forearm around her pale, almost translucent, waist and pulled her hips towards his waiting, open tongue. She squeaked to feel the probing warmth of his tongue, wet against the swollen nub of her clit, casting her eyes down in time to see his thick, olive fingers slowly sink into her scarlet sex.
The instinctive, appreciative groan she let out was one he knew well in any language; one that spurred on his tongue to flick and lap hungrily around her perfect, puffy pussy. The gentle stroking of his fingers soon turned harder and faster until the lithe, quiet girl seized his hair in her clenching fingers.
The Legate looked up, beneath his eyebrows, to see the pleasure etched across her beautiful face before she threw back her head again. Seconds later, her hands pulled him deeper into her than he’d ever been as she ground harder against his mouth, sighing and shaking on the very tips of her toes. She rode his face harder and rougher, until at last, she shuddered against him, crying out and lacing his tongue with sweetness.
The Roman’s head sagged as the pressure released, the girl dropping to her knees. He stared, a little stunned, as her lips mashed with his. Cupping his face, she delighted in licking her every wayward drop from his tanned skin.
Her strong fingers clawed at his breeches next, tearing them down his legs before he could resist. Her palm was pleasantly warm around his throbbing shaft, a sensation that had his hands clutching the sheets, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
His lover bent and engulfed his leaking tip in the crucible of her mouth, sliding down his length, and up again, better than any Roman whore. His swollen, pulsing tip slipped into her throat with ease. He thought he might finish there until she pulled away, her tongue floating across her talented lips.
The girl’s strong arms needed one shove to get him onto his back. She prowled up his body as he lay, shell-shocked, beneath the force of her. A hurried sentence tumbled from her lips. He had no idea what she said; he only wished she’d say it again – the arousal in her voice gave him shivers.
Vespasian finally seized her breasts, pulping the perfect mounds in his palms and pinching her puckered tips tightly. His fair lover sighed and straddled him. She rested her slick folds on the length of his manhood, sliding on his rigid pole.
Gripping her hands on his chest, she rocked her hips and ground along his shaft until her man squirmed and whimpered beneath her, his need building by the second. A deft rising of her hips poised the officer’s tip at the clenching opening of her hungry sex. A single thrust of his hips was enough to send him soaring into her at once.
She collapsed upon him at once, all air forced from her lungs, and he finally caught control of her. His strong, calloused hands seized her slender hips and hooked around her back. Pulling her to his chest, the Legate lifted his hips and thrust hard into the tiny girl in his arms.
Her breathless gasps echoed in his ears and every thrust dragged her nipples across his chest, stealing more of her staccato moans. Her hand darted between them to needily paw at her sex, rubbing hard as she took his solid shaft over and over, his balls slamming loudly against her firm ass.
The girl’s panted gasps became almost howls as she approached her climax, her fingernails scoring angry welts along her lover’s chest. Every pinch and scratch had him hissing through his teeth, cracking his hand across the tight flesh of her ass.
She squirmed in his arms as her every muscle began to shake. He held tight, refusing to stop his assault, until she broke free of his grip. She glowered at him but then her eyes rolled into the back of her head. A second later, she mashed her lips to his and howled into his mouth.
She broke out in convulsions, shaking and crying into their endless kiss. The strain against his manhood proved too much as her rippling muscles squeezed around him. With a desperate, rushing gasp for air, his climax struck. He shuddered and shook inside her, his sweat-soaked body clinging to hers as she rode out his orgasm, feeling him drain streams of his thick seed into her, repeatedly.
Emptied, she sighed and rolled off to lie beside him. Together, they caught their breath in a quiet moment of breathless recovery.
He glanced down to watch the slender, pale fingers of another’s hand trail down his scarred, olive skin and slither beneath the silk sheets that draped across him. The tender fingers encircled his now-limp shaft and gently stroked another shudder from his weary body.
Rolling over into a bundle of red hair, he stared into the wide, green eyes of his companion for a second. Undeterred, her fingers still strummed across his length, enticing quivers from his slumbering manhood.
‘How did I get here?’ He wondered to himself. ‘What would they say back in Rome?’
Closing his eyes, he savoured the texture of her silky red hair – and the softness of her cheek – against his rough fingers, while her own still expertly entwined around his pulsing shaft.
‘I should call the guards. I should have her taken away. She could ruin my career. My family.’
He opened his eyes and stared into the verdant pools of her eyes, still running her hair through his fingers.
‘What would they say?’ he thought to himself as he cupped the native Briton’s cheek and pressed his lips delicately to hers, savouring her unique flavour.
Mckenna
- 01.10.2020
- 7
- 0
- Category:
- Historical
