The Sin Inn

She planted a palm on the table and pulled herself up, perching on it and scooting before Geralt, his precious deck of cards be damned. They scattered across the table as she made herself not just comfortable in her perch. By some small miracle -- if one would call her natural grace and training a small miracle -- she didn't spill a drop of her shot glass. "I've got a confession to make," she told Geralt, letting her green eyes grow round as her voice dropped lower, her whisper quiet enough that he had to lean in to really hear her over the bar's noise.

"Mm?" Geralt grunted as he stepped in close to Ciri, resting his hand on her knee -- letting her know that he had the exact same thing on his mind, however laconic he may be. His strong, callused digits slowly ran up to her thigh, squeezing the taut muscle there and appreciating just how supple it was with a softer grunt. He didn't complain about his cards, even though some of them (particularly his Red Lotus) were worth thousands and thousands of crowns.

"I'm fucking sloshed, and you've got to take this shot for me. If I do it, I'm going to pass out." Ciri pitched her voice even lower, letting it become husky. Her eyes grew half-lidded, leaving no room to mistake her mood; they were clean-cut bedroom eyes, albeit in the semi-shielded corner of an inn's tavern. The kohl rimming her eyes only heightened the effect. Slowly, she slipped the hand she was leaning on to her waist, briefly running her fingers along Geralt's roving hand.

"That so?" Geralt murmured, showing no sign of backing off Ciri but certainly not leaping cock-first into her trap. "And why do you suppose I ought to do that?" he asked, his feline eyes sliding down to follow the trail of her fingers. Just in time, too. As her hand rose higher, Ciri hooked her fingers into the hem of her shirt and began to peel it up, slowly revealing inch after inch of her fair skin. The small scars that intermittently dotted her revealed hips and belly didn't detract from her beauty as a woman. It only changed it. With the soft ripple of her abs, she was the prime example of a warrior woman, built for both combat and fucking with equal vigor.

Ciri's fingers and the shirt's hem only climbed higher and higher, patient and in no rush. Geralt took a step closer to her, not so much as a flicker passing his calm face. But with how close he had gotten to her, she could tell better. Of course, she knew Geralt well enough to pick up on a hundred little different hints on his mood, hints she could only ever notice subconsciously. She didn't need any of them, not with how his tented cock was pushing against her leg.

Fuck, Ciri thought to herself as her fingers passed over her sternum, I want to feel that thing inside of me. But she wasn't going to be impatient, as much as her pussy begged for her to spread her legs wide for Geralt's cock. The shirt caught on the mounds of her breasts, and for a moment everything hung, suspense and sexual tension heavy in the air. Slowly but surely, the shirt slipped up her breasts until it passed over her nipples, revealing the pale pink and pebbled peaks seconds before they spilled out of her shirt altogether, full handfuls that begged for a hand to squeeze them.

She didn't answer Geralt's question until her shirt had been peeled up to her collarbone and she could once again lean her weight back on the spread fingers of her hand. "Here's how," she drawled out before sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. Ciri raised her other hand, lifting the shot glass up to her chest and tilting it, slowly pouring the small glass out. The liquid trickled down Ciri's skin, running between her breasts and down along her belly. Although the first few drops of liquor were going to be wasted--

At least, anyone else would waste the first few drops of the impromptu body shot. Ciri was shocked by just how quickly Geralt bent down, the warmth of his tongue dragging over her smooth skin and making her gasp out in surprise. That surprise made her feel a bit stupid; she had known Geralt practically her entire life and should have known better. Witchers -- real Witchers, made mutants by alchemy and magic, weren't human. They were beyond that. As the glass emptied, Ciri dropped the shot. It hit the table and then rolled to the floor, shattering loudly.

But in the chaos of the tavern, no one heard it. No one bothered to glance in on them. It was only the fourth glass to break that night and nothing worth investigation.

"Fuck, your tongue," Ciri gasped out in praise, her now free hand going up to thread into Geralt's hair as he quickly lapped up every bead of alcohol. Soon he reached her breasts and closed his mouth around one of her peaked nipples, tickling it with his tongue and shooting electric shocks through her body and straight to her cunt. She couldn't stop herself from spreading her legs at that point, but with both of their pants on it wasn't like she was about to take his cock in her wet little pussy. Instead, Ciri wrapped her legs around Geralt's waist, squeezing to bring him in just that little bit closer, feeling the bulge of his hardon press against her desperate cunt.

"Fuck my tongue," Geralt echoed as he pulled his lips away from her stiff nipple, and right away Ciri was trying to push him back down, wanting to get his mouth locked around her needy nipple once more. He was ready and braced against her attempt to force him to do anything, but still met her halfway, turning his head to nip and suck at her neglected nipple until its interest was just as piqued as its twin. When he pulled away, his hands raised to grab at her shirt. "You're not fucking anything tonight," he growled. "You're going to get fucked just the way I want you to, and by the end of the night you're going to thank me for it."

"That so?" Ciri whispered in challenge before swallowing roughly.

"That so," he affirmed, low and purposeful.

Something in his tone made Ciri shiver. It was so primal, so... so raw. She had never heard the like before, and she was sure nothing had ever made her wetter -- at least until Geralt made her gasp again. He ripped her bunched-up shirt wide open with a quick twist and pull of his wrists, and then ripped it again so he could pull its shreds off her body and toss it. Other than her cat-faced Witcher medallion, Ciri was left naked from the waist up. Geralt only took a moment to let himself play with Ciri's modest breasts, squeezing them and tensing just how firm and perky they were. Her breathing quickened.

When that moment was up, he pinned her down against the table with one hand and reached behind himself. With her legs locked around his waist, he wasn't going anywhere without forcing them apart. That only took him a second, and when he was free he took a step back and pulled at either of her boots, dropping them to the floor. Ciri sat up part way, resting her weight on her elbows as she watched Geralt unbuckle and loosen her belt, then begin pulling her trousers down. She helped as much as she could, lifting her hips. Silently, she mouthed what she wanted him to do with them -- off, off, off. Instead, he stopped with them around her calves before sinking down to his knees and scooting in closer to the table, ducking his head before resurfacing it between her thighs, his powerful hands spreading her until they were splayed wide.

Though Geralt was left face to face with Ciri's sweet little cunt, his first observation wasn't on the pale, carefully trimmed hairs guarding her pussy or how pink and delicate it looked. No, his eyes strayed to one of her thighs. "You've got a tattoo," he observed, studying the black, red and green ink. It formed an artful rose. Whoever inked her was talented, but the ink was anything but fresh. "You've had a tattoo."

"Yeah," Ciri mumbled headily, reaching down with every intent of grabbing Geralt's face and forcing it to kiss her pussy. "Don't make me wait," she ordered him like the Queen she was meant to be, but no Queen was going to bridle the White Wolf any more than Yennefer had. He slid his hand up and grabbed her wrist, pinning it to the table as he set to work on exactly what she should have begged him not to do. He kissed her thigh and gently bit her soft skin, repeating the process up along its fair length, his stubble tickling her as he went.

He got close enough that she could feel his hot breath wash over her damp cunt. Even though he just shut down her attempts to steer the night's main event, she squirmed her hips, desperate for a particular kind of stimulation that he of course withheld from her. "Fuck," Ciri hissed out as Geralt gently bit down near the turn of her thigh, sucking the skin. "Oh," she whispered out again before the frictative once more came to her, more moan than word. "Fuck." When he pulled off of her, she knew right away that it was only because he had left a hickey.

"Come on," Ciri whimpered, her squirming growing desperate. For a second, his breath was directly on her cunt again and she was so sure that she was about to get her wish, and of course he once again denied it from her. He set to work making another love bite just opposite of the first. Ciri continued to moan and whimper throughout, her toes curling. Her pinned hand curled its nails into her palm while the other raised to her breast, squeezing and playing with her nipple as she suffered so sweetly.

"Come on," she whined again, and just like that Geralt's mouth left her. Pure coincidence, of course, but when she felt his tongue first touch her pussy and begin to trace the shape of her lips, she was sure that she had uttered magic words. "Fuck, yes," Ciri gasped out, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. "Your fucking mouth," she moaned, understanding why she had heard both Triss and Yennefer cry out so many times in the middle of the night. Geralt's mouth was devilish, a more sure sign of his mutations than his feline eyes. The things he was doing to her with just the tip of his tongue amazed her.

And that was before he started to tease and tickle her swollen little clit with it. In any other tavern, the way that made her squeal out so raw and throaty would have drawn concerned eyes, but instead business in the tavern carried on as normal around them. "Geralt," she cried out. "Oh, fuck. That's-- yes, just like that," she implored him, never wanting him to stop or change what he was doing. It was perfect; she had been eaten out by elves with devilishly long tongues before and they had nothing on the White Wolf, not with his decades and decades of experience.

He changed what he was doing, and it only got better. Two of his fingers slotting inside her sodden pussy made her gasp out anew, an almost shrill and keening moan working its way out of her throat as his spelunking fingers pressed against her g-spot. None of those elves knew to do that to her. "Oh, fuck," she groaned out again, unaware of how severely getting eaten out affected her diction. "Fuck... fuck, fuck, fuck, Geralt!"

Everyone should get to feel this, Ciri thought to herself, giddy and lusty at once. "Fuck... fuck!" The world would be so much better if everyone ate pussy like this. Oh, fuck... fuck... "Fuck," she bit out again, her thighs tensing as she felt pressure build inside of herself. How long had Geralt been down there, fingering her pussy and lavishing her clit with much needed attention? It always took her so long to get off. It must have been ten minutes, maybe a little more --

No. Less than half of that.

Ciri squealed out again when her orgasm hit, her toes curling so hard that her one clear thought was oh fuck they're going to break. Her thighs tensed and released wildly as her hips bucked without any purpose, frantic and desperate for more, more, moremoremore. When it hit its peak, her legs fought to close around Geralt, but he kept her thighs splayed and only continued his assault on her pussy.

"FUUUUUUUUCK," she wailed out in a long and lewd moan, dimly aware of that one thing happening. Her head thumped down on the table and her hand on her breast stilled. As she panted for breath, it began to lazily trace over her chest and belly. High on cumming, she let out an almost mindless and certainly breathless giggle. "Oh, fuck," she whispered to herself, her body suffused with fuzzy warmth. She really should have warned Geralt.

Not only did Ciri get ridiculously wet, but she was also a wild squirter. She giggled again. "Fuck, that was--"

"That was wet," Geralt grunted as he ducked out of Ciri's legs and rose to his feet. That wasn't his 'funny, ha ha' grunt, either. That was the grunt Geralt let out whenever he was irritated. Ciri slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him, hazy with lust. The sight of him with her pussy juice coating his face made her giggle anew, even though she knew she was in for it now. She didn't resist when he pulled at her trousers, tugging them down her legs and dropping them to the floor. Now, other than that damn School of the Cat medallion, she was naked.

"Oh," she gasped out as he plucked her off the table with ease, grabbing her by the hips and sliding her down to the floor before him. At some point, Geralt had unbuckled his own belt and opened his trousers to wield his real silver sword. Being put face-to-face with his cock made her eyes flare wide open. "Oh, fuck," she whispered. She had heard both Triss and Yennefer and even Shani cry out about Geralt's cock before. The man fucked constantly and like a rabbit, and she knew from all that screaming that he was big, but fuck he was big.

For a moment, Ciri only sat there on her knees and stared at Geralt's massive dick, her lips slightly parted and her amazement plain on her face. What the fuck was she even going to do with something that large? It had to be four or five inches longer than any other cock she had. Finally, words came to her, or at least a single word semi-appropriate for the situation came to her. "Fuck," she whispered. Geralt snorted, then reached down to slide his fingers into her hair, drawing Ciri's attention upward.

"If you're not going to get to work..." Geralt muttered at her, pausing for a moment and giving Ciri a chance to do something with his dick, anything with his dick. That moment was spent staring up at him instead, lost with the wanton lust in her eyes. He eyed her for a moment, then grunted and shook his head. "Fine," he said, grabbing his cock by its base and pulling Ciri's lovely face a bit closer to him. He delivered a quick slap of his prodigious meat across her right cheek, clapping out loudly and making Ciri gasp out in shocked surprise. As she swung her face back, he brought his cock back across her left cheek. She gasped again.

The way she felt that second cock slap shoot through her body almost made her want to cum again, right then and there. She didn't, of course, because that would be ridiculous, there was no cock so good that being slapped with it could make a woman squirt again.

Damn if she didn't come close though, and damn if she didn't come even closer when he took advantage of her open mouth and thrust his cock straight into her mouth, shoving his way along her wet tongue and into the tightness of her throat. Her eyes widened as Geralt pushed deeper and deeper into her throat, far past where she ever intentionally took a man and definitely past where she ever unintentionally took a man. She raised her hands to grab at his thighs for support. Though her body begged her to pull away, she wanted it, and she wanted him to feel every second of her throat gagging and squeezing around his length. Soon, her lips kissed Geralt's pelvis, her nose tickled by the short white hairs at his base.

Resting his other hand on Ciri's head, Geralt pulled back and fucked her throat with a few short thrusts before beginning to pull out altogether. Senseless and horny, Ciri chased his cock with her mouth, not wanting to lose it for a moment, but Geralt had other plans. He pulled her head back until his cock could pull all the way free, then delivered another hard and fast slap of his cock across her face. She reeled but quickly recovered, grinning whorishly as she looked back up at her lover and mentor.

Geralt pulled one hand off of Ciri's head and grabbed his cock by the base again, lifting it up straight while the hand still in her hair tugged her forward, presenting his hanging balls to Ciri's sweet lips. "Come on," he growled. "Get to work." This time she knew what to expect if she tarried, and she was split between encouraging his rough use of her body and obeying Geralt's every whim. She only hesitated a moment before darting in and putting her tongue to use on his balls, licking over every inch of them and leaving them damp. Then she took one of them into her mouth, sucking on it gently.

Ciri slid one of her hands up Geralt's thighs, tentatively reaching for his shaft. His hand slid away and let her take hold of it. With her eyes closed, the Lion Cub let the first ball slip from her mouth and went to repeat the process with the second one. As she laved her tongue over the wrinkled flesh, she busily worked her wrist, jacking off his hard cock. Now that she had it in her hand, she could truly appreciate its length, and fuck it was thick.

When she heard Geralt grunt, she opened an eye and peeked up at his face. He had a look of pure focus and concentration on his face -- the look he had whenever he was on the hunt. It was so easy to understand why he had so many women enraptured, and why so many of them didn't even seem to mind that they were sharing him with half the fucking Continent. She slipped away from his nutsack and lowered his cock to point at her face, smearing the mess of his mixed precum and her saliva over her face. "C'mon," Ciri purred, slapping her cheek gently with his cock. "I came on your face. It's your turn, isn't it? Don't hold back on me."

Geralt closed his eyes briefly and made a primal noise that made Ciri shiver. She parted her lips just in time to catch the first rope of the White Wolf's hot white seed on her tongue, not that his prodigious orgasm was neat and orderly. Its wild spray hit her mouth and her cheek, painting both with wild white splatters. She giggled, giddy and high and drunk with pleasure and of course all those shots. As it ended, she took to nuzzling his cock, gazing up at Geralt with love and adoration. Entirely wanton love and adoration, but love and adoration nonetheless. "So, so good," she whispered, expecting him to begin softening.

She expected a respite, a break, and then maybe a round two.

She really didn't expect Geralt to grab her and turn her, pushing her down to the floor. Ciri gasped out in surprise as he grabbed at her, manhandling the athletic woman like she was just his. With her preferences, no one had ever done that to Ciri before -- but she found herself loving every moment of it, even as Geralt pushed her legs back and held them there, leaving her pussy completely exposed and vulnerable. "Don't you-- need a moment?" she asked him breathlessly, her face a mess from a combination of their various fluids, her messy bun of hair finally destroyed, wild waves of white hair cushioning her head. She stared at him with parted lips from between the frame of her knees.

"No," he growled as he squatted down over her, practically pinning her by the thighs. She squirmed as she felt his cock rub up against her mewling quim, still sensitive from her orgasm and flushed far darker than the rest of her fair skin. "Part of being a Witcher. No refractory," he told her as plain fact, something most men would brag about.