Triss and the Empress [Witcher] [EU] [Fantasy] [Futa] [Non-con] [Deepthroat] [Creampie]

The Nilfgaardian Black Ones stepped aside, lifting their halberds as they did. Triss gave them a curt nod, and they responded with steely gazes. So much for being cordial. She tucked a strand of scarlet hair behind her ear, shivering slightly as they shut the palace doors behind her and blocked out the cold. Lit candelabrum flanked the extravagant hallway, high curved walls held up by cut marble pillars. Black Ones stood all around, and Triss had a moment of worry seeing so many of them.

“Miss Merigold, hello!” Someone called. She looked over to see a butler scurrying over her, a wide dumb smile on his face. He wore the standard court tunic, with its puffy sleeves and frayed collar. The butler had an unfortunate bald spot and thin red hair that looked a lot like hers. He reeked of perfumes. “We are *so* pleased to have you here!”

“Yes, well, when the Empress of Nilfgaard sends you a personal letter, you don’t really refuse do you?” Triss responded curtly. The butler’s smile flickered, nervousness creeping on his face.

“Why yes, yes, she truly is resplendent. I am here to escort you to the courtroom. It appears you have, eh, already dressed for the part,” stammered the butler, beady eyes looking her over. Triss spent enough time in courts to know how to appease monarchs, even if she knew that monarch personally. There was something about big palaces that made everyone a stickler for tradition. Triss wore a low-cut azure dress, the sleeves and collar decorated with golden patterns of wolves and elks. She had a short coat over her shoulders made of warg fur. Geralt had provided the skins to the leather worker, then paid for the coat to be made. It was a wonderful present. She handed it to the butler.

“If that gets damaged, it’s your head,” snapped Triss. The butler licked his lips and nodded.

“O-of course, Miss Merigold. Will you please follow me?” He choked out.

“Lead the way.” She gestured for him to go. Triss also wore long white gloves that came to her elbow, wearing her modest wedding band outside them. Walking down the palace halls reminded her of older times, when things were different. More dangerous. Tumultuous. It wasn’t like that now. She thought of Geralt, the way he grunted and rolled his eyes when she asked him to do something but did it anyway. His scarred features and rough voice that were a shield for such a gentle man. Triss missed his terribly already.

She couldn’t understand why Ciri had sent the letter. It read terribly urgently, and it was the only reason Triss came. *Please, come to Nilfgaard quickly. I need your assistance. Do not bring Geralt. He must not know.* Whatever it was Geralt couldn’t know was something dangerous, or deeply personal that only a woman could help with. The man basically raised her, saved her. Triss was more nervous by Ciri’s letter than the Black Ones. She hated to lie to Geralt the way she did, but he didn’t press her any more when she said she couldn’t tell him. Bless that man. She found herself smiling as she walked, thinking of their cabin, their home, all the smells that greeted her every time she walked through the door, all the small sounds outside their bedroom window.

“Here, Miss Merigold. The Empress has been waiting for you.” The butler said, drawing her out of her happy daydream. She scowled down at the poor man.

“Remember, anything that happens to that coat happens to you.” The butler nodded quickly and clutched her coat as if it were a babe. Good. Sometimes she felt bad worrying palace staff this way, but she just reminded herself that they were Nilfgaardian, and could always use a bit of a kick. She stepped into the throne room.

It was, like all throne rooms, totally ridiculous. The pillars holding the walls up got thicker, patterns carved into them. The marble floor was split in half by a golden rug with black striping. Off to the sides in the shadows were smaller chairs, probably for Ciri’s guests or parroting nobles. Huge torches burned, flooding the room with light even though it was dark out. Above the throne was a huge portrait of the Empress, hard green eyes staring down at those in attendance, pink scar cutting through her cheek, reminding everyone of her warrior background. Above that was a floral pattern glass window, no doubt to let light stream in and giving a bit of drama to the monarch. Beneath that sat the high seated white throne of Nilfgaard, the coat of arms hanging on it.

And in that throne, garbed in a golden dress decorated with black flowers, was Ciri, Empress of Nilfgaard. She looked slightly older, lines forming on her cheeks and brow a bit wrinklier than before. Ciri wasn’t able to slow her aging like the Sorceresses, and without the Witcher tonics to break her, she was still subject to the march of time just like any other human. Triss noticed that there were no guards, just the two women. It made sense. Both of them were living weapons. Guards for the Child of Destiny seemed silly, especially with the Elder Blood flowing through her.

Just as she was when she was a girl, Ciri leapt off the throne. “Triss!”

Something tugged at Triss’ heart. An old memory, back in Kaer Morhen, telling a group of Witchers about a young girl going through her first menstrual cycle and chastising them for being brutish men with no knowledge of a girl’s needs. She could remember the embarrassment in old Visimir’s face, the slight frown to Geralt’s lips realizing Triss was right. It felt like a lifetime ago. That was the first time Triss really took to Ciri, did her best to defend her from the harshness of the world. She really had grown up.

Few people could share a hug with the Empress of Nilfgaard the way Triss did, meeting her precious friend halfway through the room. Ciri buried her head in Triss’ neck, squeezing the Sorceress tight. Almost painfully tight. Triss smelled the floral herbs that Ciri bathed with in her hair.

“It’s been so long,” whispered Triss. She had to hold back the tears, caught off guard by the emotions flowing through her.

“Too long,” Ciri broke from the hug first, holding Triss by the shoulders and smiling wide. What a stunning smile she had. “I’m so glad you came. I…I’ve missed you. All of you. I haven’t had any time to visit, and you know how court business is. There are treaties, taxes to deal with, potential rebels, everyone needs me to be in charge, and Triss I never really expected to have to be Empress of Nilfgaard and –”

“Ciri, you’re rambling.” Triss put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Ciri laughed nervously.

“Sorry. It’s so rare that I get to speak my mind now-a-days. It’s, well, you know how courts are.” Ciri said. That was true. Backstabbing, plotting, and scheming shared the same space with petty drama and bullshit. It was impossible to talk normally in the court. ‘Court gibberish,’ Geralt once called it in the kitchen.

“Of course, I understand,” Triss smiled. Time truly was cruel. “But your letter was very urgent. Is everything alright? What could have happened that you don’t want Geralt knowing about?” She asked, searching Ciri’s face for clues. The Empress’ eyes flickered down a moment, her jaw working.

“With me,” said Ciri is a commanding tone that seemed to shock both of them. She blushed, scar flushing red. “Sorry, so used to being people’s leader and not their friend. Please, come with me.” Ciri turned, stepping between pillars toward a side door. Triss was a little stunned by the order but relaxed after a bit of walking. Of course, Ciri would have that tone. It was like she said, she had to be their leader. Leaders just happened to often bark their orders.

They passed Black Ones who snapped to attention as they passed. Ciri held her head high, back straight, arms behind her back and cold as the White Frost. Certainly, the air of an Empress. Triss smiled. Even though she had wanted to be a Witcher, she was ruling Nilfgaard well. It was good to be self-confident about your decisions. Triss found that the more arrogant and sure a ruler was, the surer it was their kingdom would collapse. Maybe that’s what Ciri wanted, political advice? It would explain why she wouldn’t ask for Geralt. Triss loved him, but he had no tact.

Ciri led Triss up winding staircases, through narrow hallways decorated with pictures and flowers, all the way to a modest brown door. Inside was the Empress’ chamber, with its towering black and gold bed, wide, squat makeup desk, big rug, and high windows leading out to a picturesque balcony. You could fit Triss and Geralt’s whole house in this one room.

“Lock the door, if you don’t mind.” Ciri said, voice gentle. She must be trying to keep her Empress tone in check.

“There are no guards, and you’re the ruler.” Triss noted.

“Please,” begged Ciri. With a shrug, Triss turned and locked the door. When she turned back, Ciri was sitting on the bed, legs together and to the side, hands in her lap like a prim noblewoman. Triss casually cocked her hip.

“So, Ciri, what is this about?”

“Can you…Come here?” Ciri muttered, voice meek. Triss raised an eyebrow, crossing over to her old friend. When she did, she noticed that the front of Ciri’s dress started to raise. Triss started to shout a warning, fearing an assassin under the bed when Ciri pulled back her dress.

Out popped, frankly, the biggest cock Triss had ever seen on another person.

Triss’ warning spluttered out, jaw dropping as she stared. Right there, sure as could be, was a fat, white cock at least a foot long. Smooth, hairless nuts hung down and already the tip of the cock was slick with precum. Ciri bit her lip but didn’t look bashful. She looked from Triss to the cock and back again.

“Ciri, what the hell is this?” Triss asked once she found her voice. Ciri shifted slightly, the way she wiggled her hips causing the cock to sway back and forth. Triss stared like an idiot.

“Sort of a…Science experiment gone wrong,” said the Empress. There was a look in her eyes, different than the hard gaze of a monarch captured in the painting above her throne, different than the bright flash of joy when she saw Triss. Ciri’s eyes were glassy, wondering over Triss’ figure trapped away in that blue dress.

“What sort of *science experiment* gives you a cock?” Triss exclaimed. She’d never run across a spell like that, only promises from shifty Elves of potions and elixirs that could do this sort of thing. They never had any base for proof. Never!

Ciri shifted, reaching back to pull at some straps holding her dress together. “Damn things are always too tight, aren’t they?” She shifted, standing. When she did, her stiff cock held her bunched up dress up until it fell away. Ciri had to wrestle it off. In a turn of events Triss was not expecting, Ciri stood naked in front of her, body as toned as it was in her younger years, breasts perky, legs long and defined, and her skin marked with various scars. She smiled at her old friend.

“What are you doing?”

“I was hoping you could help,” Ciri hummed, sauntering over. “Maybe you know something. You know, a spell that could fix it.”

“This is far outside of my –” Triss started, but then Ciri kissed her. The Sorceresses eyes snapped open, a jolt of panic running through her body. She tried to pull away and turn her head, but Ciri held her fast, one hand around her waist the other around her head. Ciri’s cock pushed between Triss’ thighs. Their breasts pressed together. Triss was at least a full cup size larger than Ciri. Her tongue dove into Triss’ mouth, and the Sorceress whimpered in surprise. She wiggled her arms between them and shoved Ciri off, breathing heavy.

“What the fuck, Ciri! What the fuck are you doing,” screamed Triss. “You can’t act like this!”

“I’m the Empress of Nilfgaard. I can act however I want,” hummed Ciri, teetering toward Triss again. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Fun? What kind of fun could this be? Triss didn’t know what exactly was going on, or if Ciri was possessed by something, but she knew that this wasn’t how the younger woman normally acted. Her movements were off, tilting like she was drunk, and she had a big stupid grin plastered on her face. Triss had seen that same grin on Temarian beggars too dumb to know how terrible their situation was. She backed up as Ciri advanced, wondering how she could snap the girl out of the trance. What spell could she call on that would work, that wasn’t lethal?

Before she could come up with a solution, her back with the wall and she yelped as Ciri lunged. She moved faster than possible, supernaturally quick thanks to the Elder Blood in her veins, catching Triss before she could move. Powerful hands and a sweep of the ankle sent Triss crashing to her knees, Ciri’s monstrous cock inches from her face. How would she even wrap her hands around that thing?

“Just open your mouth, Triss,” Ciri moaned, pushing her hips forward. The tip of her cock pressed against Triss’ lips, and she could already taste the salty precum. She started to think of a rebuttal but knew that as soon as she opened her mouth, Ciri would have her way. “Oh, you’re so cute like that,” breathed the Empress before reaching down and plugging Triss’ nose. Panic rose in her chest as she ran out of oxygen. As soon as she opened her mouth, she’d cast a spell. Anything to get Ciri off –

Triss sucked in a gasp of air, and then Ciri’s cock was in her mouth. She started to beat against Ciri’s thighs, but the younger girl held her fast, fingers tangling through her scarlet hair. With a buck of her hips, Ciri rammed her cock down Triss’ throat.

“Hrk,” gargled the Sorceress, tears forming in her eyes. She’d deepthroated before, but never without warning like this. Even Geralt wasn’t this rough. Geralt. She thought of him and the band on her fingers and had a surge of energy to fight back. Triss tried to pull her head off, slapping Ciri’s bare thighs.

Triss’ head was shoved back down. “Glrgh,” she gagged, eyes rolling as Ciri started to buck her hips. Those hairless nuts swung and slapped her in the chin, even as thick globs of spit started rolling out of her mouth. At one point she blew a snot bubble, breathing desperately since Ciri wasn’t slowing down. The woman moaned overhead. Her grip was iron. There was nothing Triss could do to stop Ciri from treating her mouth as her personal fuckhole.

Ciri pulled out and Triss sucked air, her chest heaving. Spit and precum dripped from her chin onto her tits. She could only imagine what her makeup must have looked like. “Now, Ciri,” started Triss, but her protests turned into yelps as Ciri began dragging her by the hair over to the bed. Triss kicked and twisted, still struggling. She’d struggled her whole life, hadn’t she? The Lodge. The endless wars. Geralt. Yennefer and Geralt. The White Frost. The Wild Hunt. So many things to fight against, and even now she was surprised there were still things she had to fight. Was that all her life was?

Ciri bent her over the lavish bed. “Ciri! Y-you can’t! I’m married, I’m with Geralt!” Triss moaned as she felt the Empress hiking her dress up and yanking down the lace panties she was wearing. It’s not like she was looking to impress anyone, she just found them comfortable.

“I miss him terribly,” whispered Ciri as she leaned against the frightened Triss. The head of her cock rubbed against the Sorceress. “Every day, I miss him. And I know you miss him now too. But just imagine I’m him. I even look like him, don’t I?” She bit Triss’ ear. That was true. The ashen hair, scarred face, thin frame. The only real difference between them was gender and eyes. Ciri would never have a Witcher’s eyes.

“That doesn’t mean you can just, j-juu- fuck,” Triss let out a hot moan as she felt Ciri push inside of her. The moan melted away into a throaty growl as Ciri pushed deeper. Gods, she was big. Bigger than Geralt, bigger than anyone Triss had been with before. Her pussy was stretched to its limits, both pleasure and pain throbbing up from her crotch. “Y-you can’t j-just do this. Y-you’re not…Geralt.”

“Just imagine.” Ciri breathed before pulling back. Triss tried to protest more, but her hair was grabbed and head yanked back. She felt Ciri pulling back, inch and inch of cock grinding against her insides. Ciri pushed herself back in.

Triss rocked back and forth on that massive cock, moaning against her will and pussy practically dripping from the abuse. Ciri’s rough handling had causing one of her tits to pop out her dress, but Triss tried not to think about that. All she could do was get comfortable. She got off her knees, hiking her ass up instead and stretching her long, picturesque legs out. It meant Ciri hilted even deeper, but that was a small price to pay.

How could something like this happen? Ciri was a beautiful girl, they all knew that, but Triss had never been attracted to her. Especially not like this. All the childish memories, the laughing and chiding in the grounds of Kaer Morhen, the questions over fires, the battles, the tears, all of them melted away like letters to the flame. They melted away as Triss found herself pushing back willingly, moaning not in pain but pleasure. Her ass clapped loudly against Ciri’s hips.

“Fuck. Yes,” grunted Ciri, releasing Triss’ hair and instead grabbing her hips. Her thrusts picked up speed. “Fuck. Yes. Fuck. Yes.” Each word was a throaty growl. Triss reached underneath to rub her clit and found she could feel Ciri’s cock bulging through her abdomen, and that revelation caused Triss to cum. It was shameful, but her thighs quivered as she came around Ciri, who continued to fuck her through her orgasm. Triss bit the betsheets, her moans turning to shrieks as one orgasm turned into another, into another, into another, as Ciri mercilessly fucked her.

“I need this, Triss. I need to fuck you.”

“F-fuck me, C-ciri,” Triss found herself saying the words before she could think better of them. She followed instructions instead, imagining that it was Geralt stretching her out and not Ciri. Just think about Geralt. Geralt. Geralt. Kaer Morhen. Witchers. Ciri. Ciri. Ciri was *fucking* her in a bed chamber and Triss couldn’t lie to herself that it didn’t feel good. Her jaw hurt from biting the bedsheets.

“I’m going to cum inside,” said Ciri. Triss nodded meekly into the bedsheets. She wanted Ciri to cum inside. Maybe then when she went home she could hide was Ciri did to her from Geralt. The smell of sex permeated the room, her ass clapping against Ciri, her animal grunts filling the air and Triss’ girlish squeaks hidden somewhere between all of that.

“C-cumming,” roared Ciri, thrusting into Triss with such aggression the Sorcess couldn’t help but make an audible ‘oof.’ She felt that monster cock throbbing and pulsing inside of her. Triss yelped when the first rope of cum punched her in the womb, a low groan escaping her throat as Ciri bent over her. The Empress wiggled her hips, dumping a load in Triss as if she were some common Novigrad whore. She breathed into the bed, shutting her eyes as Ciri pulled out. Cum dripped out of her cunt in globs, splattering on the floor before rolling down her inner thighs.

“What are you going to tell Geralt?” Ciri said from behind.

“You just…Wanted advice…Womanly advice,” muttered Triss. To an extent it was true.

“Good, good. Now, turn around.” Ciri commanded. There was that monarch voice. Without concern for her dress, Triss sat down in the cum and turned. Her jaw dropped.

Ciri’s cock was still rock hard and covered in cum from both of them. The Empress, once such a fun young girl and a wonderful friend, grinned down at Triss. There were shadows in her eyes as she tugged on her cock.

“You’re going to be advising me for a while,” snapped Ciri, grabbing Triss’ hair and pulling her back toward that monster dick. “Clean it up. The night is young.”

With cum leaking out of her, and the smell of it flooding into her head, Triss stuck her tongue out and complied, running up and down the shaft. She could outlast this. Maybe this was what Ciri needed. Triss could always pretend it was Geralt anyway. She could last. Triss opened her mouth willingly when Ciri put her cock against her lips and didn’t resist when she had to take it in her throat again. The night was young, after all.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/cc0hte/triss_and_the_empress_witcher_eu_fantasy_futa