Grow your armies.

Those men of Mauh's that you did not have put to the sword integrate into your forces. In time, they are comfortable fighting beside your men. The brutality they once inflicted on women, children, any who held something they coveted, is now reserved for Rome's enemies.

Not content with the size of your military, you channel most of your burgeoning kingdom's resources towards it. Craftsman work through the night, producing manifold sets of leather armour, and wooden clubs and stone axes for any man with enough years on him to swing one.

Sherhunn, you keep for yourself. The deceased chief's wife is bathed, put into attire more fitting for the concubine of a king of Rome, and taken to your quarters.

You fuck her most nights, the events of that day becoming a barometer for how you treat her.

Sometimes your hear reports of how your warriors spread over the surrounding wastes, sending valuable tributes from wayward villages, eager to embrace a developing civilization or simply relieved to have a measure of protection from the barbarian and bandit clans. On these nights, you take Sherhunn almost as you would a lover, or have her worship your cock as you unwind with a cup of strong, red wine.

Other times, the events of the day leave you rather more incensed.

More than once, you leave a meeting of your council, your advisors offering only problems, which take your precious time to untangle, or excuses, for production targets not met, for logistical errors. After whipping your people into shape (usually only figuratively), you adjourn to your rooms, where Sherhunn finds you in a foul mood.

You pin the barbarian to the wall, lifting the hem of her gown. Grinding yourself at her pussy, you quickly become hard, if only to seek an outlet for your pent-up aggression. The short-haired woman pants and moans like a true whore in her uncivilised mother tongue as you ram yourself home. Something about taking her just feels so utterly right. Primal. Even as Rome as a whole rose from base instinct and barbarity towards something higher, something more, you knew that would never entirely be your way. The legends said you and your people were ultimately descended from wolves. You would not forget this. And neither would your foes.

Sherhunn the Barbarian Whore would feel your displeasure once again, after a particularly bad day.

At morning light, a ragged, bloody warrior returned to the city. The poor man clung to life just long enough to relay to your commander news of his ****'s defeat. Your scouts had located several more bandit encampments in the nearby area, and you had put several to the sword. Now, with only one remaining, those brigands who had not swelled the ranks of Rome had fled behind the last clan's log walls.

You had ordered an ****, and due to the fatigue of your own men, as well as some well-timed barbarian ambushes, it had gone poorly, your own forces routed to a man. The very man who had bled out in Rome's streets.

After ordering the soldier be buried with the utmost respect, you rallied your council. Furious, and guilty at how you had failed the soldiers under your command, you had desired a swift and merciless second attack. You would show every barbarian who walked the woods beyond Rome hell, and then send them there.

Your plan, your rage, was met with the cold indifference of reality, however. Communication being what it was, it would be days before runners reached your other units in the field, and had them return to Rome, re-equip, and march on the bandits.

You were furious, but came to accept what had to be. You knew when your men you returned, this time you would march out with them. Your sword would find their throats, ten for every Roman they had slain.

Almost before you knew it, your council meeting had adjourned, and you were on your way to your quarters, not yet a palace befitting a king, to snatch a few hours rest.

Sherhunn is resting on your bed as you march in, her curvaceous and fuckable body clad in a tight and revealing garment, fashioned by one of your artisans with plundered silk.

The captured barbarian regards you with unease as you approach her, not breaking your stride.

"My king..." she begins, but you're in the mood for none of it. You pull her up, and throw her to the floor. She lands hard, catching herself with her forearms.

"What's wrong?" the barbarian woman asks, pivoting onto her back, looking up at you, fear tempered by respect.

"What's wrong?" you mirror her question. "What's wrong is that I'm losing good men to the likes of you. What's wrong is that land that could host a half dozen Roman cities is overrun by animals like your husband. What's wrong is that hundreds of warriors toil under the banner for nothing, instead of fighting for me, making my city stronger."

"You're clearly under a lot of stress, my king." Sherhunn says haltingly. "But-"

"But nothing." you say coldly, leaning down, bringing the weight of yourself atop the uncivilised woman's lithe, curvaceous form. "Lucky for me, I've got you."

You kiss Sherhunn's neck, enjoying the taste of her skin as you wolfishly maul it. The pace of her breathing accelerates. You nip at her neck with your teeth, and she rewards you with a little pained gasp. It only spurs you on.

You grind yourself against her, the feminine silken garment she'd been **** to wear after her enslavement riding up around her waist. Your clothed groin meets the barbarian woman's bare sex. As you make contact against her cunt, you're gradually spurred to your full hardness.

It's there in her eyes, you killed her husband, you made her a ****, and still... she wants you. It's hardly surprising. Every quality that was in Chieftain Mauh, raw strength, **** of will, that made her want to mount his cock is there more potently in you. And they find themselves tempered by others. Creativity, intelligence, an eye to reshaping the future of the world.

You pull out your cock. Bringing it to the barbarian's wet twat, you take it in your hand, and pound the powerful head of it down on her pussy.

She all but whines for it, writhing on the floor, opening her legs for you that little bit more. Why deny your favourite little slavegirl?

You enter her, engulfed in the constricting pleasure of her vagina. You see passion flit across Sherhunn's face as you begin to fuck her. She tosses her head back, eyes rolling up into her head, her lower lip aquiver. As pleasing as the sight is, it's not what you want this time.

You take hold of her throat, even as you continue to fuck her hard. You give it a squeeze.

"Look at me." you say, your cold tone a contrast with the heat and pleasure dancing through your body. You're disciplined enough not to betray it, of course.

Sherhunn opens her eyes, quickly meeting yours with them. Her pleasurable gasps are caught in her throat now, stopped up by a little pressure from your fingers.

"I'm going to kill them all, you know." you tell her, bringing yourself back and forth as you do. "To. A. Person. There'll be none of the mercy I showed your tribe."

You reach out with your free hand, feeling one of Sherhunn's bountiful tits with it.

"None of them will join my armies, or serve as whores for my men. We'll kill them all, pile their bodies high and leave them for the birds. A demonic Wonder, to show everyone you stand against Rome, you meet the same fate."

You're pistoning in and out of the barbarian now, and she's responding as a whore should. You bring your left hand to join it's partner on her throat, applying a little more pressure. She's red in the face, looking fit to pop almost, but you decide when she's had enough.

She responds by wrapping her legs around your ass, spurring you on like she would a rambunctious horse.

"Do it." Sherhunn manages to gasp out. "For the glory of Rome!"

Her words bring a smirk to your lips, but you sense something genuine in them. You let your fingers slide from her neck. In response, she takes a mighty gasp of air, her tits heaving, like she's almost just drowned.

"The glory of Rome, eh?" you ask her. Sherhunn nods.

"Killing my husband was the best thing you could've done for me, my king. I've seen this place, now. In days, you've surpassed what took Mauh years." Sherhunn tells you.

You're a little surprised by her fervour. But it's far from unwelcome. Perhaps, if your seed took root in her womb, you would free her. It wouldn't do to let her know that now of course, but if she believed in you, in Rome...

Every great civilization needed women such as her. She had raided and killed, the fruit of her womb would be strong, much more so than babes produced from some timid needleworker. From her, you could breed a second generation worthy of the first.

You move your hands over breasts. With a sharp movement, you rend the woman's silken garment apart, leaving her naked.

Savouring her breasts, kissing them for a moment or two, you extricate yourself from her.

"Up." you say to her, rising to your feet yourself. She stands, her nude sensuality a contrast your military dress.

You push Sherhunn back, pinning her against a wall. She looks at you, the dark admiration evident in her glance, and it only makes you want her more.

You lift her, pressing her ass against the wall as you begin to really fuck her in earnest. A wall that will one day gleam in marble, as every one in your palace, no... your city! will.

The barbarian cries out the name of some god you've already toppled and erased as you give her her first climax of the encounter. You sense that every one you provide brings her that much closer to being a real woman of Rome. A she-wolf to raise your Romulus and Remus.

You kiss her, a hungry passionate kiss. As you withstand the immense pleasure for longer and longer, sweat begins to bead on both your bodies. You lick it from her neck, enjoying the taste of her passion.

She's driven wild, overwhelmed by your cock. Sherhunn throws herself at you with wild abandon, losing herself in the throes of delight.

"Look at me." you growl, grabbing the nape of her neck, forcing her eyes onto yours. "Say my name."

"Ugh..." Sherhunn groans, orgasming once again. "Trajan!"

You hold nothing back, blasting a powerful load into the conquered woman. If you haven't knocked her up in the past few days, that will have done the deed.

Sated, you stumble back, still carrying Sherhunn, and sink into your bed. Still eager for more, Sherhunn sets about pleasing you.

-

The barbarian woman's head bobs in your lap. She seems to take it as a personal calling to clean you up after the act, now.

You look over at Sherhunn's silk, lying shredded on the floor. You'd have one of the servants mend it. It was valuable, after all, far more so than the rags that fine body had been clad in when you'd first seen her. Of course, you might ensure the repaired garment was a little more... revealing than it had been before.

Just as your hand is trailing down Sherhunn's lower back, you contemplating a second bout with your newly loyal concubine, there is an anxious rapping at your chamber door.

"My king!" Comes the voice of one of your soldiers. "Urgent news, an envoy has arrived at the city gates."

"Humph." you say. "Do those barbarians really think I'll treat with them, after what they've done?"

"Begging your pardon, my king" comes the voice from through the door. "But this envoy, it's not from the Barbarians they claim to come from, but another kingdom, same as ours."

Things were about to get a lot more interesting, you thought to yourself.