Geralt and Ciri rest

I didn't want to make my own branch for something so short so I'll just put this here.

~

The two were on the road together, looking for work. They sat round the fire as night fell and talked as only father and daughter could, even if Ciri wasn’t his true daughter, she was still his.

Drink had colored their conversation and soon went to strange topics.

“So how are things with Yen, Geralt?” Ciri asked brightly.

“Mmmm, complicated, you know how she is Ciri.”

“When is anything not when it comes to her? What is it this time Geralt?”

“Nothing Ciri. Forget I mentioned it,” Geralt said. Geralt rarely hid things from Ciri, so his strange evasiveness only piqued her curiosity more.

“Geraaaalt,” Ciri said. “Did you do something to make her angry again?”

Geralt ignored her and focused on his drink, but after minutes of prodding eventually gave in. “Did. As in past tense.”

Ciri cocked her brow.

Geralt sighed as he explained. “She found out something new about Triss and Flotsam.”

“Flotsam? I thought you two sorted that out?”

“We did. Until Triss and Yen had a talk. I may have been, less than totally forthright.”

“Geralt,” Ciri said sternly.

“I didn’t lie about anything,” Geralt said defensively. “All I did was leave out a little detail.”

“Oh and what’s that?”

“I may not have mentioned where it was I ploughed Triss,” Geralt said into his cup.

Ciri gave him a confused look. “What? Why should that matter? Flotsam or Vegen it-“ Ciri paused as she thought it over more, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “Geralt!” she said, punching her foster father in the shoulder. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Geralt rocked from the blow but didn’t reply.

“Let me guess, during sorceress talk Triss must have let it slip. But surely Yen can’t hold that against you, it’s not like it changes the past.”

“No,” Geralt rasped. “But it does put a new light on why I always pester her about trying it.”

Ciri’s grin widened even further. “Geralt!” she practically yelped.

~

The two kept drinking, with Ciri teasing Geralt more and more as the night darkened. Drink muddled her thoughts further until Ciri started looking at her foster father in a new light.

“Never knew Yen was so much of prude,” Ciri said.

“Stop it Ciri, you’ve had your fun.”

“I’m serious Geralt, for someone almost a century old, I can’t believe she won’t try.”

“You shouldn’t talk about things you don’t know anything about Ciri,”

“Who says I don’t know anything about it? I’m no prude Geralt, I’ve been ploughed in the rear plenty,” Ciri bluntly admitted, the having loosened her tongue.

Geralt said nothing but flushed, he hoped the darkness would hide his coloring.

It was too much to hope for. “Geralt,” Ciri said slowly with a grin. “You aren’t thinking of ploughing me are you?”

“You’re drunk Ciri,” Geralt said. “You should go rest, we’ve a hunt tomorrow.”

Ciri didn’t relent. “I’ll admit, it’d make nights on the road a lot more fun, that’s for sure.”

“Stop it Ciri.”

“What, it’s true. You saying ploughing my arse wouldn’t be fun? I’m offended.”

“Ciri.”

Ciri wanted to laugh, to tease her foster father, but somewhere along the line, it had stopped being a joke and became something more. Ciri found her voice hitching when she spoke. “I’m not that drunk.”

She hadn’t been joking when she’d said she’d been ploughed in the back plenty. Oh she’d heard wenches tell tales of how uncomfortable it was for them but rarely found it so herself. Perhaps it was the adventurer in her, the numerous wounds she’d taken and the countless nights sleeping on hard packed dirt and stones, but she didn’t mind it back there at all, even when men dug their fingers into her hips and thrust in as hard as they could. She’d used her arse more than once to soothe tempers or settle debts that she didn’t have the coin for and found it a cheap and easy solution.

If I can take it from merchants and mercenaries, why not Geralt? Ciri mused to herself.

Making up her mind, she pressed forward. “Truly Geralt. It would make our travels much more pleasant. Just imagine, settling into a nice, warm arse for the night, it’s a better idea than drinking that swill to chase away the chill,” Ciri said laughing. “And you’d hardly have to worry about me telling Yen, it could be our little secret.”

To an ordinary woman, Geralt’s tells may not have even existed, but to Ciri’s heightened ones, she saw them all too well; the slight bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the shifting of his stance to hide the growing bulge in his trousers, the tightening of his fingers around his cup. Ciri knew she was slowly whittling away Geralt’s will with her talk as loathe to admit it as he was.

Ciri found herself approaching Geralt slowly. What’s come over me? Ciri thought to herself as she stared down into her cup. She shrugged. Well, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it before. So why not. She drained the last dregs of her cup. The strange tasting yet fine ale Yennefer had specifically gifted her went down smoothly and left her feeling fuzzy and tingly all over.

Ciri was never one for seduction or elegance so she didn’t undress the way the wenches she’d been with had. Instead, she plopped down next to Geralt on the fallen tree and clumsily grabbed her boot to pull them one after another. The trousers went next with quick jerks down. To Geralt’s credit, he didn’t give in then, not until Ciri finally swung one of her legs over the side and presented him with an unvarnished view of her womanhood.

“Come on Geralt, live a little,” Ciri prodded.

And just like that, Geralt broke. He stopped thinking of the girl in front of him as his daughter, and started thinking of her as a something more.

Geralt moved slowly at first, but with every passing second the hesitation melted away from him. Ciri laid back on the tree and waited expectantly for the familiar sensation of sharp pain and satisfying fullness to claim her. She reached down to play with herself as Geralt unbuckled and surprisingly felt her fingers sink into soaking lips. Pulling her hand away, she saw sticky strings of wetness trail from her fingers to her hole. Ciri hadn’t expected that kind of reaction from her body so soon, she usually didn’t get like that until much later.

She looked back at Geralt as he finished stripping off his armor and felt herself flush in a way she never had before. She grew so wet with need that she felt trails of her own juices flow down her ass, conveniently getting herself ready for Geralt.

Despite being only faintly moonlight, Geralt’s catlike pupils saw, and he grew hungry. Geralt rubbed himself against Ciri’s sopping womanhood until he was slick with her juices before placing his head against her arse.

Ciri said nothing, merely held her legs spread and waited for Geralt to claim her arse like a whore with heavy breath. Geralt speared himself into his foster daughter slowly, stretching out the hole for the first time in months. Ciri sucked in a breath at the sharp sensation as he did, unused to being fucked there after so long out in the wilderness.

But still, she didn’t find the feeling unpleasant. It was a quiet and familiar pain, a price she had gladly paid many times before for the fullness it offered her. Inch by inch Geralt filled her to her limit and then some. Ciri’s fingers dug into the bark of her makeshift seating, accidentally breaking sheets off as she was to take more of Geralt’s length.

I should’ve taken a look at his sword before I said all that Ciri chastised herself, only half joking. But eventually Ciri felt Geralt come to a rest against her and let out the breath she held as he did. Without his sword stabbing deeper into her, she finally got a chance to wriggle her hips and enjoy the sensation of pleasant, throbbing, fullness only men could offer.

Ciri wasn’t certain if Geralt was a large man down there, but it certainly felt like it. None of the Temerians, Kaedwenis or even Skelligese she’d been with came close to the sheer, breathtaking, dominating presence Geralt had in her arse.

Though Ciri might have only needed just a moment longer to adjust to his size, her body betrayed her and reacted as only it could. She felt herself drenching Geralt with her own wetness, and she knew what that would mean, Geralt was still a man after all. Ciri felt Geralt pull back until only the tip was inside before he plunged back into her roughly, hungrily. Her skin rippled and her breasts swayed from the impact but Ciri didn’t retreat from it. She grit her teeth and took what enjoyment she could until her body could adjust.

Geralt ploughed into Ciri’s arse with one hand on the top of her shoulder and the other wrapped tightly around one of her breasts while she held on dearly to the tree trunk.

“Beats a bearskin and cheap wine doesn’t it?” Ciri joked, trying to distract herself.

“Does it? I can’t tell much of a difference,” Geralt replied.

Ciri laughed but struck his shoulder all the same.

As Ciri’s body warmed up to the cock thrusting into her, the sharp pain that always came with it slowly faded and was replaced by a deeper satisfaction that radiated through her body as she milked him with her arse.

Ciri laid back on the tree and let Geralt take her in a perversion of the Lovers Embrace. It was meant to be love making position that produced a child, but Geralt was in entirely the wrong hole. Ciri kept her legs spread and feet planted flat on the ground while her arms struggled to find what purchase they could on the rough bark of her bed as Geralt ploughed her arse.

Fiendish thoughts flickered through Ciri’s head as she embraced the depraved treatment. In another life, I could have been the greatest whore. Ciri knew first hand that arse was always the pricey-est of the three holes wenchs put on offer, and it was a rare offer at that. Too many of the tavern girls turned it down and drove up the price. But that was all business Ciri could have taken, in another life. I’m not one to complain, when it’s my arse on the line. I could take the men all day.

Despite not having a free hand to play with herself, the wicked thoughts alone were enough to drive Ciri mad with lust. She felt herself flowing more and more freely even as Geralt ignored her drooling hole to make a whore of her. It was always the most wicked whores that offered their arses. Mmmm, I would be worse than them all. I would offer nothing but my arse. A cheap arse too, one that all the frustrated farmers, travelers and hungry sailors could afford.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Geralt eventually asked.

“What, just because I carry poison rather than powder doesn’t mean I don’t know of womanly ways Geralt,” Ciri said, pretending offense.

“You’re being ploughed up the arse on a tree Ciri, not much womanly about it.”

Ciri shrugged. “Silks, barks or stones, makes little difference to me. But to answer your question, it’s sometimes been better to part with my arse than my purse.”

“I didn’t know that was an option.”

“Very funny. Hey, don’t stop that.”

“Mmmmm,” Geralt mumbled.

~

When the two finally finished, they moved their beddings together and crawled underneath the same skin.

“This really will make these hunts go a lot faster,” Geralt remarked.

“See, I knew you’d change your tune,” Ciri said.