On Campaign

The torchlight flickers around the yurt. On the tent flaps, the silhouettes of your bodies make a two backed beast. You grunt and moan from under her as she bucks her ass into you. Her wetness encourages your thrusts as she repeatedly impales herself onto you. She grips your quads as she raises herself up and begins to ride you faster. Staring at her wide hips and muscular ass in front of you, your moans grow louder. Without warning, your stamina fails you as you unload into her. She gasps when she feels your white, hot seed fill into her in spurts.

Climbing down, she smiles at you tiredly before nestling herself in your arms and falling soundly asleep. You pull the animal skins over both of your sweaty bodies and stroke her raven hair gently.

Staring silently ahead, you ponder your current situation.

Over the past few weeks, the constant labor of travel and campaigning have not dulled Astana's cravings in the slightest. Whether it be pulling you into a dark tent-space, or forcing you to mount her atop the campaign table when the others left, her appetite was insatiable. On numerous occasions, passerbys have stumbled on the two of you rutting into each other. Rather than act ashamed, Astana seemed quite unabated by the intrusions. According to steppe culture, this was completely normal of newlyweds and almost expected. To her, the voyeurism attested to not only your virility as a man and husband, but your potential as a tribe leader, maybe even chief, one day.

That put a worry on your face. Many times, when you could find some peace and quiet to yourself, you find yourself meditating and feeling homesick. You sometimes long for the woman you left at home. You remind of yourself of her fiery, intelligent eyes and her beautiful face. You wonder if you had left her with child and if she is doing well. You were far from home and your supply train was inconsistent and spotty, constantly dodging raids.

You had hoped to one day bring Astana and her tribe into the fold of civilization. However, with her wild nature and steadfast traditional values, you have begun to see it as less feasible. Perhaps this barbarian girl, with her rough, strong beauty, was not meant to be tamed. Regardless, your heart has a special place for her and she clearly adores and madly loves you.

Refocusing your mind onto the campaign at hand, your scouts had caught sight of a large barbarian host within distance of your own camp. Seemingly unaware of your position, you were still wary of their forces since these horse nomads were known for their deceptive ways. You had been following them for the greater part of 2 weeks and devised a plan with your commanders . Their front would be encircled with a light screen of your faster, lighter Eseni cavalry, reinforced by your own less experienced light cavalry. They feign weakness and flee which would lure the enemy host into a shallow valley which hid a majority of your forces. Your pikemen would then collapse and fold around the whole host, all whilst your experienced repeater crossbowmen deter any horse archer harassment. Finally, after their ranks have been shoved in by your pikemen and thinned out, your trained formations would open for your personally led heavy cavalry to deliver the coup de grace.

As the fire begins to smolder out, you observe the sleeping beauty nestled into you. You lightly rub at her flat belly, worrying about her and the safety of your offspring in the coming days.