Titus stood at nearly six feet tall, of solid bone and sinewy muscle. He was a proud Roman Centurion. He marched his hundred men forward; the strong Roman soldiers shook the ground of ancient Britannia. Titus was a career military man, having started from the lowest rank during his first campaign in Africa. Over the years, his physical prowess and charisma had accelerated his advance, allowing him to climb to his present rank.
He was a native Roman, from Capua, a city outside of Rome. While he marched his men through the cold woods of Britannia, his beloved home was all that was on his mind. He dreamed of the vast fields and the smell of fresh wine. He thought of his two children, and the memories of their laughter were the only thing that kept him marching at times, unfortunately, they passed during one of his long campaigns.
Suddenly, the vicious war cry of British warriors shook his men from every side. An ambush! Titus had encountered them before. They were admirable enemies, but vicious in victory. He confidently turned to confront the enemy warriors. The battle was quick, Titus witnessed his dear friend get slaughtered by the brutes, and shortly after that Titus was knocked unconscious, and presumed dead.
~
The familiar smell of blood and iron filled the fallen warrior's nostrils. He pried his eyes open and frantically tried to rise to his feet. He heard rustling coming from just above him, fear gripped him, but he was a warrior, and he would not feign death for his survival. He rolled to his side and tried to see where the sound was coming from.
For a minute Titus had worried that he had passed over and was looking at Venus herself. There was a wild woman, straddled a dead Roman, picking at his pockets. She had long blonde hair, flowing down past her cleavage that was ready to burst out of the hard leather she was wearing. She had a petite face, freckled dotted her cheeks, and a blue stripe was painted down her left eye. This was the enemy, Titus realized.
Quickly he reached for his sword, but a dagger flew towards him and sliced his hand, she was quick, and as Titus turned to face her, she was already charging him; she jumped on him and tackled him to the ground. The Roman tried to toss her aside but she latched on, wrapping her slender legs around him and slamming him to the ground on his back.
Her breasts jiggled in his face, barely contained by her armor. Titus felt his manhood harden at the vile thoughts that ran through his head. The woman shouted something in her language. Titus couldn't speak this savage tongue though; he looked up at her dumbstruck. At this distance, her beauty was ever clearer. Titus wondered for a moment if he could avoid bloodshed, or rather his hardening cock was.
Titus, however, knew this was the enemy. Within an instant, he was grappling her wrist and turning the fight against her. She savagely clawed at the warrior drawing blood. Soon he was on top of her, and with one of his hands, he had her wrists pinned down over her head. Her legs wrapped around him, trying to maintain some control.
Time froze as they stared each other down. The rugged man's heartbeat was heavy. It has been quite a long time since Titus had felt the warmth of a woman, and having her legs around him didn't make it any easier. Titus' eyes lowered, hungrily eyeing up her body. She spoke again in her foreign tongue, Titus peered into her eyes, she was afraid, and intrigued. Her eyes spoke volumes.
His other hand roamed her body as she spits insults at him in her foreign tongue. His hard cock was pressing against her, and the stoic warrior was thinking about taking her right then and there. She must have felt the heat pressing into her, she fell silent. God damn this barbarian. He should, if he was a lesser man he would.
Titus dialed it back an inch, his cock would have to wait. He looked at her and told her, "My name is Titus, surrender to me and Rome and I will show you mercy," He tapped his armor, "Titus."
Once again, she let insults fly in response. The only word that did make a dent was Alia. He surmised that he must be the name she goes by, "Alia?" He asks sternly, pointing his finger at her.
With a nod and the slightest hint of a smile, every man on this god-forsaken island must have wanted her. He wished that she wasn't a sworn enemy, "So, do you surrender Alia?"
She nodded again. Titus wasn't even sure if she knew what she was nodding for. Nevertheless, he slowly loosened the grip on her wrists. If he had rope, he would bind her, but this would have to do, "Go. Move," He beckoned towards his home camp. He stood up, and to his embarrassment, his bulge was showing the world that it was dying to be set free.
He spotted a glance from the foreign fighter, if she thought it was a weapon poking into her, she knew better now. No pity rose for this woman though. She was the enemy, if his cock didn't know the difference, his heart did.
She and everyone like her had slaughtered Titus' brothers like animals. They were trying to bring them civilization and technology, and they rejected it with barbarism. Nothing would let him forgive her, not her beauty, not her warrior spirit nor her slender body. The single blue stripe of war paint brushed down across her left eye was enough to remind him of exactly what she was.
A firm hand shoved her in the direction of the camp, more forceful this time. He intended to show her how defeated she already was in this duel, but all it would do would spark resistance within her. They started making their way in the direction Titus was ushering her. She was making jokes, judging by her laughter and coy smile. He wanted to drag her to the ground and wipe that smirk off her face.
The stoic warrior's mind wandered on what she might look like under those furs, he wondered if she was a real soldier or if it was, she just kept around for fun. He wondered to himself if her mouth could do more than make jokes and insults. He thought about those supple lips wrapped around his thick manhood, forcing it down her little throat to silence her and her venomous insults. She wouldn't last long at his camp. The men would tear her apart, fill her holes for days on end, and she would deserve it for what her people did to his men, or so Titus told himself.
Alia never thought she'd end up captured. She would have chosen death over defeat any day. The Romans influenced her. He might be an old pervert, but he did have his charm, she saw a rugged, clean-shaven man. His green eyes pierced, and his body was what you'd want from a soldier or a lover. There isn't much difference between the two she thought. With cute short hair, this was uncommon to her.
The birds chirping in the war-torn woods was soon the only sound aside from the crunching of leaves under their feet. Titus walked behind Alia and was thankful for her silence; if she kept up her mockery, he may lose control of his temper. Despite his anger, he couldn't deny that this girl had the sex appeal of any Roman patrician. Her hips swayed when she walked, and her legs were a nice distraction for his eyes.
They were climbing up now, and the ground was becoming difficult to traverse. She was in her element, and she very well may have lured him into this treacherous ground deliberately. The grizzled veteran wasn't impressed, it would take him a little more than that to slow him down, and his eyes darted downwards at the mud underfoot. Within seconds Alia was tackling him.
The Roman's sword flew out of his hand as the two of them tumbled downwards, rolling and spiraling downward through the muddy ground. Eventually, a tree stump broke their fall against Titus' back. The struggle was quick, Titus rose deceptively fast and tried to grapple her, but she evaded him. She reached down and pulled a crude knife out of her boot. 'Clever bitch', the legionnaire thought, he should have stripped her down with the chance he had.
"C'mon you savage bitch, it'll take more than a bread knife to kill me," He spat blood. Training took over the bold Centurion as she lunged forward, she was quick, and he'd give her that. Alas, she wasn't quick enough, the soldier grabbed her wrist and twisted it, causing her to cry out in pain and release the knife.
Titus kicked the blade away, and with his free hand grabbed Alia by the throat, with one hand still on her wrist she winced in pain as he walked her backward until she was pinned against a tree. Adrenaline coursed through his body as he tightened his grip on her. His knee pushed in between her thighs while he leaned in close to her neck, savoring the scent of her.
Alia was taken aback; she was only ever beaten by another fighter from her hometown on a couple of occasions. She was always quicker when fighting men, and stronger when fighting women. Her skills were unmatched, yet this foreigner had her pinned against a wall in a second. Alia didn't hate it, despite her better judgment, the thought of being dominated for once sent a rush to her heart.
Her knees got weak, and she would have fallen if his hand wasn't wrapped around her throat. She smiled despite her captor. Her heart sped up when the rugged man leaned in close. She was at his mercy, she knew it. She loved it. She had never felt so powerless. Not since she was a child. Alia's free arm clutched at his thick bicep. It seemed that judgment was in short supply in these woods. Her hand slipped from his bicep, down the side of his chest and in a moment, it was slipping up his tabard.
