Summer Days III (Solus)

Mewling moans and the sound of slapping flesh reverberated around your tent as you pistoned your shaft into the tight tush of a particularly cute legionnaire. Her voice reached a frenzied peak before crashing into an orgasmic cry while her muscles spasmed for the third time.

You pulled out of the woman, even though you hadn’t cum yet, and reclined against the post of your bed. You had been screwing the girl on a richly decorated carpet next to your bed rather than on the bed itself.

The woman, for her part, stretched herself out enough that she could grab a nearby cushion and then curled herself around it with a massive grin on her face.

You took this time to observe your latest bedmate. She was blond, pale skinned, and short. Even for the times she was pretty short. While the standard girl might have been five foot five or five foot eight, you’d think she’d be hard pressed to make it to five foot.

Naturally, this had precluded her from frontline service. However, her height was her only fault when it came to her training, and as such, she was still allowed to complete her training and join the legion. When asked which backline section she wanted to join, she chose the cooking tents and this is where she shined.

Looking at the woman, if you hadn’t already known she was twenty four, you’d have been amazed. Her youthful appearance had her looking like an eighteen year old and the way she acted after sex gave her an immature air. This was amazing simply because whenever she is in the kitchens and cooking tents, she is considerably more mature and domineering. Taking control of the almost unorganised cooking tents the moment she was shown to them. Already she had scored promotion to Optio with murmurings of even further promotions.

The fact that there wasn’t an officer in charge of the cooking tents surprised you, but the fact that everyone in them was competent made sure that no soldier had to eat sub-par rations.

“You didn’t cum” whined the woman still snuggling a pillow. She had cracked an eye open and was staring at you through the strands of her hair. You chuckle in response.

“No, I did not” you reply and your bedmate hauled herself up until she was sitting seiza in front of you, leaving the pillow behind. This lets you admire the woman’s body.

Being short, her proportions were greatly accentuated. Teardrop breasts full enough a big, meaty handful adorned her chest in such a fashion that it easily shone through any garment she wore, including her armour, while curvy hips stuck out no matter how flowing of a dress she wore.

She embodied a kind of sexiness that was very rare, and had taken a lot of flak for it. Romans didn’t appreciate large breasts, seeing those with them as bimbos.

You are trying to breed that mentality out, attempting to remove such body shaming from society, but still.

“I’m surprised you’ve never had sex before” You comment as you finish oggling the woman. It was indeed surprising to note that she was a complete virgin. Even now, she was still a vaginal virgin.

“The other legionnaires like their women like they like their swords” she muttered “long, thin, and easy to handle” she added. You snort at that as a legion woman was most definitely not easy to handle.

“The fact that you are foreign doesn’t help” you comment idly, noting the beautiful shade of pale skin that had remained deliciously creamy despite the Italian sun. she was indeed foreign, even her name was foreign, having been born as Siegrd Gottersdotta, even though she always introduced herself as Sera.

Sera gave you a forlorn smile. Joining the legion was a clear attempt to get away from the discrimination that comes with being Germanic. Specifically she was an Angle and thus could speak Anglish.

“Do you think you can help me out in the cook tents? I heard about this kind of food from the orient called . . . ‘nwedels’” she asked. You chuckle at her stumbling over the word ‘noodles’.

“Just call it pasta, nobody will ever know the difference” you comment and Sera giggled softly. “I’ll be delighted to help” you tell her and she smiled a bright and sweet smile at you. Then, in a display of how toned her core muscles were, began shuffling towards you while still sitting seiza. She slipped herself into your lap and began grinding herself against your still rock hard shaft.

“Great,” Sera murmured, “Now about this virginity of mine” she added, lifting herself up and positioning herself over your cock. Slowly, gently, she began to slide herself down your rod, wincing slightly as her unclaimed depths were stretched out for the first time.

She took a moment to bask in the sensation of becoming a woman before wrapping her arms around your back and you hers. Then she began to bounce herself upon your cock and soon she was making the most adorable moans you had ever heard.

****

Feminine giggles filled the air as you watched a group of teenage girls sitting around some benches, riveting iron rings together in the final stages of making a maille shirt. A thatched roof kept the gently falling rain off of their heads while they worked.

Behind them a short ways was a forge, being maintained by a bear of a man, his hair almost as long as his beard, who was rhythmically tugging on a cord by his very Skyrim style forge, working the bellows as he kept watch on the dozens of iron bars in the fire.

In between the girls and the forge master was where most of the action was happening. The ringing of hammer on anvil rang out as teams of three worked four anvils, hammering away at glowing bars of iron, drawing them out into long, thin rods.

Off to one side, a small group of much older men, their hair grey and their eyes keen, worked on making the rings themselves while a smaller fire near them was being maintained by a girl not yet in her teens.

The most important thing you noticed with this large group of people, all dedicated to making maille armour, was that they all wore Scottish great kilts. This was in spite of the fact that you were only a few kilometers out from Londinium, and in spite of the fact that the garment wouldn’t be invented for at least another thousand years.

“Exactly how did that come to be?” you ask, amused, as Gwen gave you an embarrassed look.

“I wanted something kinda like a toga” she told you, tugging at her own kilt “They call it a breacan” she added.

“Bless you” was your reply to her Gaelic. Gwen chuckled in response and shook her head.

“The raiders get more . . . violent,” Gwen told you, her expression dropping into a more serious one. “The small hamlets and towns they take, but larger settlements are exterminated” she told you and you frowned. You hadn’t realised it would be that bad, but then you remembered that only England speaks a Germanic language with remarkably few Celtic words in it.

“I can’t do much, I have my own wars to fight” you tell the storm goddess. “Even if I could get trade up between our peoples, it would take too long for anything of value to get here” You add “Perhaps Andraste might like to return home” you muse thoughtfully

“Thankfully, King Arthur is uniting the disparate groups” Gwen told you with a sigh. “I just wish there was more I could do aside from making it rain” she grouched, looking at the fluffy grey clouds gently disgorging their contents.

“I always did like the English rain” you comment.

“English!?” Gwen exclaimed, rounding on you with a near panicked expression.

“Sorry, it’s what we call this section of Britannia in the distant future . . . the Anglo-Saxons **** the Britons to a small mountainous region on the west coast” you explain.

“Traitorous bastards” Gwen muttered darkly. “Arthur gave them a slice of the east coast in exchange for aiding us against the Pictish and Scottish raiders” she told you. You were very surprised the first time you learnt that the Picts and Scots were the biggest threat to the Brits.

“After the thrashing you gave them off the cliffs of Dover, I doubt they’ll betray you this time ‘round” you comment, earning a look from the goddess.

“I hope you’re right,” she told you.

“Many things have changed from the history books I read and the events we are witnessing” you assure her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah” Gwen sighed and the two of you lapsed into comfortable silence.

“Have you considered trying to get your people into longbows?” you asked.

“Longbows?” Gwen asked with a thoughtful frown.

“The Welsh were famous for it, and it bleed over to the English as well” you tell her.

“Something to consider,” Gwen answered. The two of you lapsed back into silence as you watched the clan work on making maille. The teens are still chattering away about whatever they found important. From what little Latin they were speaking, you gathered that one of the girls had yet to try some treat and the others needed to rectify that immediately.

“Apparently I’m a popular figure for statues” Gwen commented, giving a small smirk to the girls. “They are depicting me wearing my breacan . . . just my breacan . . . with it going between my breasts and over my shoulder” she told you and you imagined her without the tunic she was wearing since she was wearing her kilt the way she’d just described.

“Kinky” you comment.

“I suppose if I wanted them to stop, I really should give them a sign . . .” she sighed but the small smile adorning her face told you she intended to do no such thing.

“My what a corrupting influence I have become” you comment and Gwen chuckled.

“Stop calling my people ‘Romano’” she told you, still smiling as she gave you a side eye. “We are the Brits of Britannia” she added.

“Well then, I look forward to getting to know the British people” you reply in a flirtatious tone. Gwen met your flirtatious tone with a lustful look and a hand on your chest.

“Wanna see what I look like in just my breacan?” she asked playfully.

“I’d be delighted” you reply.