Wix leaned in the chair so that it stood on its two back legs. His feet were kicked up on the fancy, varnished table. It was pretty nice as far as tables went. Nice wood, engraved with the crest of Nilfgaard. Some mud stuck to the heel of his boot smeared. He shoveled spoonfuls of vegetable soup into his mouth. A guard stared at him with disdain.
What a time it had been, working for the Child of Destiny. What a time it was, listening to her fuck the shit out of those two Sorceresses. It seemed that Cirilla split her time between legislation and leisure. Fine with him, as long as he got paid.
No one in the palace seemed to acknowledge the Queen’s lecherous hobbies. Guards brought her out to the stables and returned with her flustered and ragged. They never said anything. No matter how many remarks Wix made, they never rose to the occasion. It was easier to talk to a wraith than these men. Wix knew that from experience.
He smiled at the frowning guard. “Nice night, eh?”
The guard said nothing, eyes locked on the Witcher. Wix rolled his eyes. These people were so uptight. Maybe because their previous Emperor had ordered Wix’s entire order wiped out. The most famous Witcher from the Viper School *was* a regicidal monster after all. And Wix was meandering through their lands.
Wix was no White Wolf, that’s for sure. Hard to live up to a reputation like that. Despite the White Wolf’s actions and fame, people still liked to keep Witchers at arm’s length. People wanted them to kill monsters, not live with them. That would just be ridiculous.
He finished his soup, flung the bowl on the table, and checked his weapons as he stood. Wix carried four, an absolutely excessive amount of metal. Two longer swords on his back with half-scabbards so he could draw them, and two short swords on his left hip. Two steel, two silver. It was easy to get all these tangled up, but Wix had been fighting like this for a long time. Too long.
The guard shadowed him as he strolled through the palace halls, whistling and trying to be as loud as possible. Torchlight flooded the halls with orange light. The Black One’s armor reflected slivers of amber. Every guard glared at him as he walked. Wix made it a habit to wave and wink to as many of them as possible.
Witcher work was hard work. Ask the few of them there still were how they felt, and most would glumly mumble something about how it didn’t matter. This was their life. No use fighting it.
Wix thought it was proper bullshit, honestly. The monster hunting, the prejudice, the expectations. He would proudly complain about being a Witcher to his kin, after trying to coax them out of their emotionless shells. When your life was defined by violence, you tended to repress a lot of shit.
Not Wix. He decided a long time ago he wouldn’t be the gloomy, harsh Witcher of children stories. He wouldn’t be the grim-faced monster that people wanted him to be. No matter what the White Wolf put in people’s heads, Wix was determined to be different. He *was* different.
He whistled his way right into the grand ballroom, the guard stomping after him. It, like everything in palaces, was absolutely fucking ridiculous. High ceilings for no reason, gilded drapes, a glossy obsidian floor, massive flags of Nilfgaard hanging on the walls. Wix’s whistling took on a magnificent volume that the hallways just couldn’t produce. There was something wonderous about it. Maybe there was a reason for these dumb, shitty rooms.
Wix stopped in the middle. At the far end was a woman with bright red hair and wearing a tight green gown. She wore a wedding band and had pulled her messy hair into a bun. There was a cut in her dress that showed her long, shapely leg, and when she turned to him he couldn’t take his eyes off her large tits.
“You’re the Witcher,” she said, snapping him out of his ogling. Who could blame him? He was still a man, after all.
“And you’re Merigold, right? Famous Sorceress, and all that.” Wix asked. She grimaced.
“Aye, that’s me.”
There was an awkward air between them, and when he sniffed he noted there was something…*Off* about her smell.
“Where’s Yennefer?”
“Ciri is having words with her,” said Triss, which probably meant Yennefer’s throat was up to Cirilla’s balls.
“Right. Think she could have words with this guy?” Wix jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the guard. The man shifted nervously.
“I don’t think he’s her type.”
“Well, he’s been up my ass since I got here, so maybe he should find out what it’s like.” Wix said. The guard winced but didn’t say anything. Triss glanced at the Black One before looking back at Wix with a frown spreading across her face. She folded her arms under her breasts, making it very, very difficult to keep his eyes on her face. Eyes on the face, eyes on the face.
“You’re not the first Viper Witcher to be on a ruler’s retainer.”
“Aye, though I believe I will be the last.”
“Ciri must have some trust in you.”
“Doubt it,” Wix shrugged. “I’m a Witcher. My loyalty is measured in the weight of the purse. You should know a thing or two about that,” he grinned as she looked away, face flushed. “How’s the old wolf doing these days?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” mumbled the Sorceress.
“Fine by me. I’m getting a little tired of all the stories and songs, anyhow. There’s an impersonator in Novigrad who sings songs about ‘Geraldo del Rivero,’” Wix laughed. “Keeps my attention longer.” He saw something flash across her face, the same look he always got from powerful people pushed too far. It was a bad habit of his, to press people. Got him in trouble, made him too many enemies. A part of him begged for Triss to attack him. Something, anything, to draw his blades. The urge to fight was like the pox. Itching, always itching.
Instead, her features softened, and she turned to the guard. “I’ll take over escorting the Witcher.”
“Lady Sorceress –”
“The Empress will be extremely displeased if you go against my wishes.” Triss said. She had that cold, flippant tone so many people acquired working in the courts.
Wix watched the guard bow awkward and stomp out of the ball room, throwing glances over his shoulder as if Wix would turn into smoke at the first chance. The doors banged shut.
“Going to set me on fire?” He asked.
“Follow me, Witcher.” Triss gestured, exiting out the other side of the room. With a sigh, Wix followed, swords rattling. She took him down wide halls and past leering guards. He understood why. In that tight, cut green dress, it was impossible for him to keep his eyes off her swaying hips. He focused more on trying to spot the slight jiggle of her ass than he ever had on anything in his whole life.
Wix also spotted why she smelled off, as a thin white line glistened around her ankle. He grinned like an idiot, knowing what she was leaking. If the Sorceress was aware of her position, she didn’t show it, instead guiding him down some narrow staircases and into one of the palaces many side rooms.
Her face was flushed when she turned to him, fingers tugging nervously at the hem of her dress.
“Ciri…” She started.
“Has a dick.” Wix said now that they were private. Triss opened her mouth as if she could rebuttal the remark, but it was true so there was nothing to say.
“She has certain tastes.”
“Like Sorceress pussy.”
“…And she…”
“Fucks you two senseless.”
“Can you be any cruder?” Triss shouted. He smiled, hooking his thumbs into his belt and jerking his hips back and forth.
“Yeah, probably.”
“…How are you a Witcher?” She muttered.
“Same as the others. Lots of fucked up potions, and twice as many fucked up expectations. We aren’t all gravel voiced sulks, sorry.” He said, which caused her to wince again. She looked down at her dress and shook her head.
“Wait here,” said Triss. Before Wix could question why, she breezed past him and out the door. He stood there in the windowless side room, staring at the cold grey walls. After waiting for a couple minutes, he plopped down on a chair and kicked his feet up on a rickety table. The beer stains and blood smears on the wood led him to believe this was a break room for the castle guards.
Wix lounged and thought. In the palace were some of the most gorgeous women in the world, being railed by the equally beautiful Child of Destiny, and he got to be a part of it. At least vicariously. Seeing Yennefer gutfucked and bloated with Griffin cum made him feel a certain way he hadn’t since first seeing a pair of tits as a lad. He sighed. There were few realities where he’d ever get his dick wet with one of them. Not everything could be a storybook. World didn’t work like that.
He cocked an eyebrow in surprise when the door opened and in padded a large, white dog. It stopped in the middle of the room, regarding him with equal interest. Looked like one of the Empresses hunting hounds. It started wagging its tail and panting after a moment. Wix just stared.
And stared some more as Triss stepped in, face red hot.
“This is Harl,” she muttered.
“It’s a dog.”
“Right. And he has a name.”
“Never asked me for mine.” Wix noted.
“You never offered.”
“Well, I doubt fluffy Harl here introduced himself,” said Wix, reaching out to scratch the hound’s head. It leaned into his hand. He wasn’t much of an animal guy. Pets seemed like such a weird concept. Why would you bring another living being in your house and take care of it just because you were sad? Just go to a whorehouse.
Wix was about to inform Triss about this when she dropped her green robe, and his jaw quickly followed. She stood naked in the dim glow of the room, heavy breasts free and pink nipples soft. The smell hit him like a fist. There were white trails of old cum stained to her inner thigh, drooling from her pussy. The more he stared the harder he got. If it was physically possible to be any harder, he would have been.
“Uh,” started the stunned Witcher.
“Ciri is…Grateful for bringing Yennefer to her,” said Triss. Wix just nodded like an idiot. “And wants to repay you with…With…” Her lips quivered.
“You.”
“Right.”
“So, why the fuck is there a dog in here?” Wix asked.
He didn’t imagine much could surprise him anymore. Years, centuries steeped in the blood of men and monsters had a way of dulling the edge of life. Wix killed an Archgriffin, which was more than what even other Witchers could claim. Still, he practically fell off his chair when Triss coaxed over the dog, spreading her lips for him.
Harl shoved his nose between her legs with the authority of something that had done this before. The sounds of him lapping at her, slurping up the cum inside and drawing moans out of the Sorceress, filled the break room.
“Ciri’s orders,” moaned Triss, gyrating against the dog. “I’m…To be used.”
*What the actual fuck*, thought Wix, unable to open his loud mouth for once. He never would have imagined this, not even in his craziest dreams. He stared as Triss moaned shamefully, hand on Harl’s head and pushing him against her pussy. The hound also lapped at the cum stains on her inner thigh, tail swishing happily.
“Are you just going to stare?”
Well, you didn’t stay a Witcher by letting things pass you by. Fighting was all about opportunities, and so was fucking. Wix had his weapon harness off by the time he was up, swords clanging to the floor. One hand slipped around the back of the Sorceress’ hip, tugging her toward him. He grabbed a breast and pinched her nipple.
She tasted sweet, with tangs of sweat and lingering cum from the Empress no doubt. Triss pressed back against him, her free hand grabbing his bald scalp and holding him there. Her breaths were hot on his lips as she let out quiet moans as the dog ate her out. His cock hurt, squeezing the leathers of his pants painfully tight.
Fingers fumbling, Triss reached down and rubbed him through his armor. Didn’t do much. Armor was meant to stop him from feeling down there. She pulled at the buckles and clasps with the speed of an expert. He had forgotten in the moment that this woman *was* married to the White Wolf. Most famous of them all.
Something bubbled underneath all the lust in his chest. Something toxic.
His pants finally fell, and he wiggled out of them and felt the wind on his bare ass. Like the rest of his uncovered body, his legs were marked with old scars, places where claws and blades had torn through his flesh. His cock nearly shriveled at the sudden rush of air, but Triss’ hand wrapped around it. She started to jerk him off, pulling at the rest of his clothes.
Wix would have forgotten about Harl lapping at her cunt if he wasn’t so damn *loud*. It would have been nicer if he could have just fucked the Sorceress himself, but he couldn’t get everything he wanted. Besides, as long as he got to fuck her.
Her tongue swirled around his and she chewed on his lower lip. When she pulled away it felt like she was taking his soul with him, and he was drawn to the hard, blue eyes looking back at him. Her hand continued to work his cock, and he teased her with a sharp pinch to her nipple.
“Sit,” commanded the Sorceress. Wix happily planted his bare ass back on the stool. Triss forced Harl’s face away from her crotch before dropping to her knees and crawling toward the Witcher, whose cock throbbed.
She couldn’t even grab it before the dog mounted her. “F-fuck,” she muttered, having to push her fat ass back against him to get him access. Wix watched in wonder as the hound fumbled, front paws hooked around her hips and nails drawing pink lines on her doughy thighs. His back legs jerked awkwardly as he sought his perch.
Wix gasped as she swallowed his cock as the same time Harl finally got his dick in her. He could *hear* the dog fucking her, its furry hips a blur and causing Triss to rock with its movements. She moaned around his cock, sending vibrations of pleasure down his legs and up to his head. He reached down and grabbed one of her swinging breasts.
He couldn’t *believe* he was getting head from the White Wolf’s wife, while she was being mounted from behind by one of the Empresses hunting hounds. The room quickly filled with the stench of sex, and it flooded his nose like an aphrodisiac. Wix leaned back, grabbing some red hair and causing Triss to choke on his cock as he held her still.
There was that look in her eye – partially defiant, partially lustful. It drove him wild and hearing the dog’s hips slap against her made for quite the surreal experience. The fat of her ass jiggled with each doggy dicking, and Harl was panting ferociously as he prepared to breed the Sorceress.
Triss squealed as the dog knotted inside of her, and the only reason it didn’t slip out was because Wix grabbed some of its scruff and held it on her.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” wheezed the knotted bitch. “Fuck, he’s so big. You should have let him off me.”
“Maybe.”
She breathed into his crotch as Harl finally dismounted and turned around, his cock still lodged in and flooding her with cum. Her lips kissed and suckled along Wix’s shaft as she remained on her hands and knees, accepting the torrent of doggy cum. Her hair was matted to her forehead, and she brushed some behind her ear as the dog finally pulled out of her.
Wix heard the cum splash out of her. She groaned.
“So…Good?” She asked, peering up at him past his shaft.
“Eh?”
“I mean, we’re finished, right?”
“I’m not,” he rolled his eyes, and as Triss opened her mouth to protest, he shoved her head back down. She coughed violently, retching as he filled her throat. Fingers in her hair, he pulled her head on and off as if it were little more than a fleshlight. ‘Glrkh, glrkh,’ gargled the Sorceress, patting his thighs in protest as he used her.
He stood up, teeth grinding together, and face screwed in concentration. Triss’ face was a sloppy mess of spit. Bubbles of snot popped out of her nose and tears ran down her face. She was sitting bare assed in the pile of mutt nut that continued to ooze out of her. Wix felt the pressure in his balls, shaft throbbing as he felt her tongue rubbing against its underside, her throat constricting around the sudden abuse.
He came. Hard. Triss swallowed it all, not even a drop appearing around her lips. She shuddered and held his legs as she drank up his cum, and when he was finished her slapped her across the face with his glistening shaft. She glared up at him.
“Now we’re done.”
—————————-
Wix leaned back on his chair, dirty boots smearing the nice table. A guard sneered at him. He chewed on an onion stalk while chattering to the guard about the intricacies of the bruxa’s physiology. So far, no amount of the specifics of vampire pussy could cause the guard to say anything.
“Now, the vampire’s clitoris can be surprisingly difficult to locate, and I’m sure you have difficulty with that sort of stuff already, but…” On droned Wix. He had left Triss to clean herself up after the fiasco with Harl. The dog was padding around the room now, chewing on a bone Wix had provided it. Wix didn’t dwell too much on what happened in the basement. Seems the Sorceresses were as much at the whim of the Empress as he was.
Right as he was about to start explaining the butthole and guts of the bruxa, a messenger slipped into the room and cut him off.
“Master Witcher,” said the man in that high-court bullshit tone they all had. “A request from the Empress.”
“Well, give it here.” He waved the man over and plucked the cream-colored envelope out of his hand. What next? Some monster to kill? Another Sorceress to pick up? Someone to find and bring back so Cirilla could continue to be a degenerate whore? He calmed his flaring temper and opened the letter.
He read the orders and cocked an eyebrow.
“Huh, well I’ll be damned…” Wix muttered.
Guess there were still surprises in the world, even for an aging Witcher. He’d need his swords.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/duxd5o/the_witcher_the_sorceress_and_the_hound_eu
Another masterpiece, good sir.