50 Results with the "Historical" genre
-
Chapter
II
His life is defined by how much pain he brings his mother. Twenty-two years ago, Ciniod left her princely father’s house to live with a coastal druid named Fintan, who, for all his holistic prowess, never suspected her already caught. Her pains began on the autumnal, and her unborn babe insisted on coming out ass first. The old druidess tending the delivery cut her belly to liberate him, and she reminds her son of this trauma every time she forces a fart. Aedan the Ancalite is a bony sort with…-
109.5 K • Ongoing
-
-
Chapter
III
Longhouses cover the white expanse while half-built ships stretch for miles along the shoreline. The majestic forest is gone, its slenderest remains fueling barracks stoves, its thickest trunks now backbones for Caesar’s flat-bottom boats. Roman victory kills more than those on the battlefield. Like locusts, the legions consume everything. They slaughter livestock and leave those natives unfit for enslavement to starve. One of them, Decurion Servius, marches through the snow, his furry boots crunching…-
109.5 K • Ongoing
-
-
Chapter
IV
Haze blankets a sea that burns silver under the high sun. Shadows appear along the vanishing point, first five and then ten, until there are too many ships to count. Continental refugees decried the fleeing prince Mandubracius and his deal with the Roman wolves. Those fresh from the fight said continental warlord Dumnorix fought hard before his fall. They whispered of impending sabotage and a hidden armada—but alas, it’s now clear that Dumnorix, is as dead as his ships. “The wolves paddle across the…-
109.5 K • Ongoing
-
-
Chapter
V
Skipio leads his scouts ahead of the legions until the roar of wind-swept trees overcomes the drum of infantry boots. Night marches are perilous without a torch or stars. It is lonely work, and anxiety consumes the hours. No one speaks, not even to their horse. A reedy marsh confronts their small procession, its insects and amphibians cavorting so wildly that they drown out the men’s thundering hearts. Somewhere within the swaying bobtails lies water, yet entering foreign wetlands invites death. Actus…-
109.5 K • Ongoing
-
-
Chapter
VI
Father’s owl mask watches from the muddy shore, its top trim black from battle fire. His snowy war prize approaches for a drink and takes her fill before retreating to the grassy bank, where waterlogged cornflowers await her hunger. Falling rain stings his shoulders, a necessary hurt that washes away his warpaint. He drops his bare ass into the pebbled rivulet and spreads his spindly legs. Within the V bobs his pliable manhood as rushing waters flush clean his foreskin. Aedan rises to his feet, sopping…-
109.5 K • Ongoing
-
-
Chapter
VII
Vibrant tunics litter the grasslands, their owners hacking away at the forest. Another group surrounds them, collecting newly cut trees and rolling them over a ribbed assembly of smaller logs. Workhorses form lines at the roping station, their twitchy legs eager to haul fresh timber to the carpenters near shore. Nothing matches the hardness of a tree against one’s ass when a climax comes. Britannia’s narrow forests make Skipio long for the thick oaks of home, ageless alpine giants with massive ground…-
109.5 K • Ongoing
-
-
Chapter
VIII
Here lies the beauty from the falls, the lion from his vision. His Roman captive burns hot when he sleeps, never waking no matter how indelicate the druid’s touch. Aedan’s thumb pushes at an eyelid and reveals a lily pad floating in the white, its dark center growing with exposure. Smooth skin stinks of cooking fire and soft nipples taste of roasted rabbit. He sits, relishing how that muscular gut feels against his bare crack. Cock in hand, he grazes the tip over the Roman’s swollen bottom…-
109.5 K • Ongoing
-
-
Chapter
IX – The Slaughter Arena
This violent summer is the hottest in memory. A pretty Roman takes the time to cover the dead farmer and her children while his brothers hack away at her barley field. Aedan the Owl squats on the highest branch, his foot rising to scratch the itch behind his ear with a toe. He sees Bitch Face, whose rage over a slaughtered lover burns hot, and smiles, a rare show of emotion that unsettles his cadre on the forest floor. The leader of this Roman harvest, known on the wind as Gaius Trebonius, grows…-
109.5 K • Ongoing
-
-
Chapter
I
His name is Lucius Scipio Servius, or Skipio to those who call him friend. His shorn head shines like ripe wheat, and he stands taller than most, with a robust frame and pleasingly deep tenor. His piercing, verdant eyes come darker than river moss, and his chiseled face boasts a captivating mouth no man can resist. Vitus Servius is his father. A patrician with a vast orchard in the Lepontine Alps, he also farms a thriving walnut grove, its crops famous throughout Rome. Unfortunately, his only son…-
109.5 K • Ongoing
-
-
Chapter
XI – The Tamesa Encounter
Roman horses smell more of their kind across the river as tension hangs heavily and tightens their nerves. A durable palisade guards the opposite bank, with an elderly man favoring his staff on a rampart behind it. Wind lashes at his long white hair, revealing facial cracks that prove him the oldest man on this island. “This is as far as you go, Rome!” cries Ostin the Ageless, his grasp of Latin impressive. “I do have an offer for you if you’re willing to entertain it,” Caesar, the Roman battle…-
109.5 K • Ongoing
-
- Previous 1 2 3 4 Next
