You hear word of a third legionary expedition into Germania.
It is rumored Rome seeks allies in the region.
You have heard of their victories in Gaul, it seems the empire's reach stretches further.
Your council is swift to remind you that you remain heirless and without a wife, and your rule is questionable without both.
You hear another rumor about the leader of this third expedition.
You get an idea.
You arrange a greeting party and don your best armor, and head out in the direction of the legion.
It doesn't take long for their foraging parties to find you and to be quickly directed toward the bulk of the army.
The splendor of such an army dazzles you, and the idea of riches dances around in your head, you will have to act your best.
You are marshalled through the Roman camp until you finally reach the legate's tent.
She emerges in full imperial robe, their strange costumes accentuating her gray fur, decisive green eyes analyzing yours, marking your every weakness and strength.
In their more gender-equal society, it is still surprising to find a female legate, her renown and prowess on the field of battle cuts fear through your kin.
The rumors regarding her conduct toward human prisoners are bone-chilling.
"Hail, renown legate of the third expedition into Germania. You have found yourself entering these lands which I call my own."
She glares at you.
"The Roman legion may pass where it pleases, for any tract of land the state desires might as well be owned by the state. As you can see..."
She gestures toward the vast army.
"It would not be very difficult to take it."
"Your army is plentiful, that I must admit. But you must understand there is a tribute to be paid for any army who crosses these lands."
And with two sentences you've already crossed her temper.
Your party is under threat by multitudes of drawn bows. Your councilmen and guards begin to sweat.
But you have a hunch about this canid legate.
Thanks to special preparations, you are able to strip your armor clean off your body, revealing your bare chest and toned arms for all to see.
You have been hardened by the lands you call home, and you know that canid musculature is often hidden by fur; you might as well have been a body builder to her wolven eyes.
You stare directly into the legates eyes with vitirol equal to hers.
"Strike me down, legate! Can you not see I am without armor? Loose the arrows and plunge them into my chest if you will. I am not afraid of death."
Her eyebrow flies up in confusion. The audicity, the insanity, the raw suicide it was to walk into her camp and to ask for tribute, and then death immediately after.
She stares right into your eyes. But there was something else there besides anger.
"Halt. Undraw your bows."
The canid archers relax with bewilderment. Your men breath a sigh of relief. And in the legate's eyes, perhaps there is a spark of her own insanity.
You smile. You're not dead.
"See? It wasn't that hard. Come legate, for we have much to discuss over this tribute."
But wariness had not completely left her face.
"So we shall."
She turns to enter her tent, expecting you to follow, but that is not what you had in mind.
"Perhaps legate, you come to my hold; I have heard that Rome seeks allies in the region. It would be best for me to show you the capabilities of my people. Besides, within the confines of my walls I could better serve you."
Another insanity. You swear you can see a smile. But she agrees.
Your entire council and guardsmen are made to be hostages. She marches the entire legion to your walled town, and brings an entire cohort within the walls, as well as her personal guard within your keep.
There will be layers of destruction should you decide to do anything rash. But you don't. You plan for dinner.
A large feast is laid before the both of you, and you immediately plow into the meal, having not ate since the morn.
She watches with mild intrigue.
"So, what tribute do you insist upon?"
You take the time to swallow.
"Say, a tribute paid in bodies. Certainly you have many slaves from your countless victories in tow."
"I would like a certain amount."
She stares at you, wondering if her own gambit wasn't worth the time at all. Her ears stand alert.
"I will provide no slaves."
"Five hundred slaves."
Her anger mounts. She slams up from the table and points a claw at you, her teeth gnashing.
"You will not be given a single canarii! You ought to be---"
You rise and grab her hand firmly.
It doesn't take a philosopher to understand the inference you just made. The canine's neck hair stands at its end, her ears relax, and her eyes open to yours. She's entrapped.
"No... don't be ridiculous."
"For a single night."
Finally, her angry eyebrows break.
"That... can be arranged."
She dismisses her guard, knowing any rumors they spread would be met with utmost disbelief.
You take her hand and lead her to your chambers, your heart pounding. It's really happening.
The sexual tension in the air would be enough to intoxicate Venus if she was to bare witness.
She speaks a few words.
"You know, I shouldn't be doing this..."
"Relax legate. The senate cannot see you here. You are far, far away, from those worries and problems. Surely, indulging yourself for one night could not hurt?"
You close the door behind you. You turn, and already see the legate herself disrobed.
She is smaller than you but not by much. Her body is still toned, muscular, impressive. Her moderate breasts easily concealed by armor if she was to wear it. But above all, her eyes screamed for your human embrace.
You bed her, hard, slamming her by the shoulder onto the linens. It initially was a viscious, rapid hatefuck that caused her to whimper with every single thrust.
The rumors told of her tasteless using of humans to satisfy her libido before slitting their throats herself. She was the face of the encroaching armies of canines that threaten your ways of life. You hadn't forgotten that anger, an anger you released by gripping her hips, grabbing her head and pulling her by the fur. Your thumb forced her mouth open a few times as her tongue lolled out of her mouth.
But with every scream and whine, every sunk claw into your back, she enjoyed it thoroughly. It was something she could never recieve as legate of the great empire. It was someone as brash, as bold, and as stupid as you could give.
A final slam of her backside against your hips, as at some point she had been turned around, allowed you to fill her with your warmth, satisfying her clenching insides.
You unsheathe yourself and land next to her on your back as she lay face down in a pillow. You both pant in ecstasy, both understanding that the primal needs you both share have been fully quenched.
A minute passes with your hand on her back before she raises her head to view you.
"Do you take tributes of single slaves often?"
You put your head back in fake thought.
"Hm. Come to think of it, I do not. You would be the first."
She laughs at the notion.
"Perhaps we will have to arrange this transaction on a monthly basis."
You give her a sly look as your fingers craw across her rump.
"Perhaps. We can ink it out tonight."
She crawls over the top of you, her snout dangerously close to your nose.
In her eyes you could see she wanted more.
"We can decide the terms tommorow."
She drew a finger across your chest.
"I have to say... it is nice to escape the politics of the civilized world. You have no idea how many knives are to my back."
"There's nothing civilized about war and politics. I find this much more appealing."
And just like that, she mounts you, surprising your reinvigorated member.
She brought herself up and down upon you of her own accord. It was slow, tender, each draw was meant to please. You placed your hands on her hips again, but to feel her fur and the muscles that she consisted of, instead of using them as handles.
Her hands rested on your chest; her eyes were drowning in yours.
Those reflective green eyes seemed to cast apprecation upon you with every flutter.
You let her use you, helping her as she goes, her whimpers much more quiet and deep until finally she came, her hands gripping yours tightly, her seating herself far down upon you.
At peak satisfaction, she took herself from you and found safety in the crook of your arm, her whiskers tickling your chest.
You shared a few words about your world and she shared a few about hers. Despite the differences in fur and skin, in culture and lifestyle, you both found similarities within each others arms.
You entertain a few fantasies of marrying her, a cross-species union not seen since Gaul; but you know her status is too high for that to come to fruition. The power the both of you would wield would be monumental. She has her wits, and you have your boldness. But alas you were born across from her in the known world.
With dawn she returned to being a legate. The legion reformed and she marched further into Germania. Your goodbyes were terse, formal. How an outsider should treat a Roman.
But you knew she promised return. Apparently there was a practice of senators disguising themselves from time to time as they traveled.