#celus sex slavery CW

[piceuscelus]

the previously mentioned ciri/lambert + ciri/wolves, i’m too lazy to post on ao3 rn but i’ll do that later

facefucking, objecitifcation, humiliation (via namecalling but she’s not terribly humiliated about it), implied sex slave situation that is not fleshed out or explained, large insertion resulting in belly & throat bulge, fucking machine, a gag and sex toys in general, breathplay

“See,” Lambert murmurs in Ciri’s ear as he ties her wrists tight behind her back, “we want to be able to use that pretty mouth of yours like another cunt. Nice and easy to fuck. So we have to get you used to being throat-fucked like you’re a pretty little fleshlight.”

Her cunt pulses and her hands flex along, caught at the small of her back. The rope is tied tightly enough to dig, if she pulls, but not enough to cut off circulation. 

Which just means that he’ll be leaving her here for a while.

“Because you are a pretty little fleshlight,” Lambert continues, using his grip on her wrists to pull her up so she’s sitting back on her knees again. His fingers shove between her thighs to pet roughly over her cunt and her asshole, both already slick and gaping from the plugs he just removed. “These holes are already trained right –  we can fuck them whenever we want, as hard as we want, and you just cry for more, don’t you?”

She whines. “Y-yes, Sir!”

Lambert chuckles. “Exactly. Stay there.”

He stands from where he’d been crouched nearer her level, and she watches as he moves around the room, grabbing various things. Three large dildos, and lube, and one of the machines end up in front of her. She swallows back a reedy little noise.

“Wouldn’t do to leave our favorite fucktoy empty,” Lambert says as he grabs one of the dildos. He slathers it with lube and then circles behind her, and that’s all the warning she gets before the slick silicone is being forced into her cunt, much bigger than the plug he’d removed.

She wails, and he just laughs, pushing until the toy is sunk into her up to its fake balls. A second dildo is snatched from where it lays against her leg, and there’s the slick sound of more lube; this time she’s expecting the penetration, but it doesn’t make it any less overwhelming. With the massive cock already in her cunt, the one he’s shoving into her ass feels somehow even larger, and when both are sunk into her to the base, she can feel the way her flat stomach has gone round and cock-shaped.

“Good girl,” Lambert praises, somehow half-mockery. “Keep those nice and warm.”

He stands and crosses the room to grab something again, and this time when he returns he stands in front of her. 

“Open that pretty mouth,” he says, and then coos softly when she does. “Good.”

The gag is wide, wide enough that her jaw is already starting to ache a little even as he buckles it behind her head, but with it keeping her jaw wide open and her tongue flat and hanging out of her mouth, she can hardly complain. Once the gag is secured, Lambert pets over her extended tongue.

“That is a nice sight,” he says. “Maybe once we’ve got you nice and trained I’ll put you in this gag just to keep you on my cock all day.”

She immediately tries to say yes, Sir, but obviously can't, and Lambert laughs. He sinks three fingers into her open mouth, just rubbing them over her tongue at first and then slowly pushing them further, into her throat. She gags wildly, and then chokes, but he just keeps going, until his knuckles are pressed against her teeth and her vision is swimming. Just when she thinks he’ll choke her out like this, they pull back, but she barely gets a breath before he’s shoving them inside again.

He finger-fucks her throat like that for a long moment, eyes intent and burning on her reddening face, her eyes rolling back into her head with each violent gag. 

“Shame we can’t keep this and fuck your throat like the fleshlight it is,” he tuts, and finally pulls his hand away entirely. He turns to the machine in front of her and starts attaching the third dildo, then moving it around until it’s perfectly positioned so the head of the toy rests against her tongue.

Once he’s sure the machine is in place and sturdy, he uncaps another bottle of lube. Immediately, from the smell, she can tell this one is flavored; he pours a generous amount over the head of the toy, as well as into her mouth – she chokes when it starts to slide, thick and vicious, down her throat – and then he leans down and turns the machine on.

The speed is slow, for now, so she has time to prepare as the toy shoves into her mouth and then, inexorably, down her throat. She still chokes, of course, but the machine doesn’t care; the toy pulls out of her mouth at the same speed it shoved in, and then does it again, and again, and again. 

“Think we’ll leave it at that speed for a bit,” Lambert says. “I’ll be back soon.”

And with that, she’s alone. 

With nothing else to focus on, she fixates on the toy slowly fucking her throat, trying to time her breathing to its thrusts, clenching her fists to control her gagging. It doesn’t really work, until, after an hour – maybe? she’s not sure of the passage of time – it starts to. And then, when that starts to work, she can more easily focus on the feeling of it. 

The objectification, being left alone with a machine set to fuck her throat – to train her mouth into another easy, convenient hole to fuck. The pulsing arousal in her belly, how it just intensifies each time she gags around the thick toy and her cunt and ass clench down on the toys filling her guts. How she can feel each fake-veined inch of the toy as it sinks into her mouth, and then down her throat; the sore stretch as it pops into a space much too tiny for it – but that stretches to accommodate, all the same; the feeling of her throat bulging around it to match the bulge in her belly. 

How if she forgets herself and chokes hard enough, she rocks forward and shoves the toy even deeper, until she’s certain it won’t come out – and then it does, pulling slowly out of her fucked-raw throat with an obscene, slick noise. 

By the time Lambert returns, she’s gone hazy, and has mostly managed to adjust to the machine’s pace, timing her breathing and swallowing so she’s not choking anymore. She’s also covered in a thick wealth of spit, dripping down her chin and smearing across her tits and rounded belly.

“Oh, very good,” Lambert says as he stops in front of her. It’s hard to keep her eyes open when the toy sinks to the base in her throat again, but she manages it with some minor fluttering, and he grins. “Perfect little fucktoy. I think we can turn the speed up a bit.”

He leans down and fiddles with the knobs on the machine, and slowly the toy starts to move in and out of her mouth at a quicker pace. Not too much quicker, though; she gags a few times and then manages to catch up to it, and Lambert coos approvingly.

“Very good.” He pets through her hair and just watches for a moment, how her eyes flutter and roll each time the toy sinks balls-deep. “Okay, a little faster.”

This time, the speed is enough of a change that it takes her a while to adjust. She’s hacking and choking and gagging harshly on the toy, but just like before it doesn’t care, and keeps sinking forcefully into her throat. Lambert watches with lust in his eyes as she struggles, and her cunt clenches so hard around the dildo plugging her it hurts a little.

The faster pace is near impossible to keep up with properly, but she manages a little bit, getting to the point where she’s only gagging on every third thrust or so.

Lambert pets through her hair. “Good little slut,” he praises. “Another few weeks of this, an hour or maybe two or three a day, and we’ll be able to use that little face-cunt in no time.”

– – – – –

Lambert keeps his promises.

Once a day for the next three weeks, Ciri is tied up on her knees, plugged with too-big toys, gagged wide open and throat fucked by a machine. 

After the first week, she barely gags anymore. After the second, the choking is down to nearly nothing. And after the third, Lambert can turn the machine up to its highest setting and let it ravage her throat and she only nearly passes out from the lack of air.

And then, one day instead of tying her up on her knees, he lays her out on a low futon, her head hanging off of the edge and at the perfect height for his cock, and says, “Time to test if you can handle the real thing. Be a good girl.”

Once again, she wants to say yes, Sir, but the gag prevents anything except a nonsensical, throaty hum. Lambert just chuckles and gets one hand in her hair, the other around her throat, and sinks his cock into her mouth. 

He starts off decently slow, but that doesn’t last long. Soon enough, he’s thrusting balls-deep into her throat with abandon, and she goes gag and choke, because she’d gotten used to the steady rhythm of the machine, but it’s not nearly as much as before the training.

Lambert, his hand tight around her throat to feel how his cock bulges it out with each vicious thrust in, seems delighted.

“Oh, that’s good, just like that – pretty, perfect little fleshlight, fuck. Yeah, just a bit more training with a real cock and you’ll be exactly what we want – a nice set of wet, easy holes that can beg to be ruined.”

That makes her choke in shocked arousal, and he just groans and sinks in as deep as he can get, balls pressed over her nose and cock obstructing her windpipe. She struggles, but it’s child’s play for him to catch her wrists and hold her down, and she can kick all she wants, she can’t reach him.

He pulls out just as she’s certain she’ll pass out, and that first gasp of air hits like a suckerpunch; the second makes her come, just like that, just from being savagely throat-fucked and then choked out from the inside.

Lambert laughs and leans forward to spank her cunt. She whines and jerks but keeps her legs spread, and he keeps spanking until her lips are welt-red and swollen. Somehow, she’s just wetter.

“Good girl. Now…I think I should start coming down your throat, get you used to that.”

– – – – –

Eventually, she’s able to take Lambert’s cock down her throat in any position he wants, with minimal fuss. Some of them require some lube, just because of the angle, but otherwise she’s perfectly able to hold still and let him use her mouth like she’s just another one of his fleshlights. 

She can even hold on to consciousness long enough for him to grind his entire orgasm out in the bottom of her throat, not a single drop of his cum escaping. 

“Good girl,” he tells her, each time she orgasms from being allowed to breathe after he’s used her throat to come. “So nice that it’s so easy to get you to come. Perfect little toy can do all of the tricks.”

Of course, once he’s certain she’s trained properly, he has to present her to the others for testing.

Geralt goes first. His cock is larger than Lambert's, but about the same size as the toy on the machine, and so taking him is easy, especially since he doesn’t give a whit about the resistance in her throat and just works his hips until he pops inside. That makes her choke, but it’s the only time she chokes while he uses her mouth to get off. He comes in her mouth, though, and makes her show it to him before he forces her to swallow all of it, including some that escaped the corners of her mouth that he shoves right back into her throat with his thick fingers.

Vesemir goes next, though he doesn’t really fuck her throat so much as grind into it. He lets her up for a gasp of air every few minutes or so, but otherwise he keeps her pressed tight and breathless to his lap, until he grunts and starts to come. After that, though, he does fuck her throat – hard and fast and deep, still spurting cum, and she gags and chokes on that but manages to hold his cock down her throat for nearly four whole minutes when he’s finally done. Her vision is blurry-black around the edges, but she manages, and the slap to her cunt that he gives her afterward feels like praise.

And then there’s Eskel. Eskel is a challenge no matter how many times she’s taken him – even if he’s fucked her that same day, she needs a little coaxing to get him back into her cunt or ass – and him fucking her throat proves to be the same. It takes a lot more work, and some lube, and a not-insignificant amount of force to get his cock into her throat, and she’s airless so much faster with him. Of course, that’s not going to stop him; he fucks her throat just as hard and fast as he would her cunt or her ass, no holds barred, and more than once she thinks she does pass out with her face pressed down into his lap, but if she does and he notices, clearly he doesn’t care.

He also fucks her for the longest, refusing to come down her throat until she’s in a near catatonic state with the lack of air and how dizzy his rough thrusting has made her. When he finally does come, though, he forces her to choke on it, lodging the thick, fat head of his cock just inside her throat so she can feel each pulsing slick of cum as it hits her throat and slides down, and she chokes violently on it.

He just moans and plugs her nose as he shoves all the way to the base again to grind against her face. 

The orgasm when he finally yanks her up and lets her breathe at the same time that Lambert spreads her cunt open and smacks three fingers harshly down on her clit does make her black out.

– – – – –

From that point on, she really does serve as a cocksleeve. 

She did before, of course – it’s her place – but now it’s even more literal. Lambert kept his promise of gagging her open and keeping her on his cock all day, several times, and Geralt has done it too. One of them will grab her as they pass and shove her onto their cocks, usually with some lube in consideration but nothing more.

She screams and cries and begs them for more every single time, just like a good fucktoy should, and when they smack her cunt or wrap their hands too tight around her throat she bruises, she comes like a good slut.

#celus writes #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #celus wrecking ciri #celus pseudo-incest CW #celus belly bulge CW #celus face fucking CW #celus sex slavery CW #celus sex toys CW #celus humiliation CW #i think that's all of it lmfao

[piceuscelus]

fucktoy verse tangential thought, most just want this in general though:

the wolves have to remind ciri to thank them when they hurt her. after all, good sluts thank their masters for whatever they’re given, even and especially pain.

geralt, fucking her throat like a cocksleeve, but pulling back when she waves an arm - “i-it hurts, sir, i - “ “and what do you say when it hurts?” “...th-thank you, sir.” “exactly.”

lambert, fucking her ass with just enough prep so she doesn’t tear or hurt him - “sir, sir, ow, ow, sir, please - “ “that’s not what you’re supposed to say when it hurts.” “i - th-thank - thank you, sir, sorry, thank you!” “good girl.”

eskel, grinding his cock into her cervix until she cries, asking her, “what are you supposed to say to me, sweetheart? i know it hurts.” “th.....thank you, ow, sir, thank you!” “there you go.”

also related: reminding ciri that her place is as a fucktoy and a cumdump, and making her repeat the rule - whenever, wherever, however. if one of them wants to bend her over in a tavern and fuck her ass, she’s supposed to say “yes, sir” and then thank them for how much it hurt, like a good girl

if one of them wants to whore her out for some extra coin, she’s supposed to do as she’s told, let the stranger(s) fuck her, and bring the money back, and keep servicing her witchers if they ask, even if she’s sore and chafed and bruised

#celus speaks #celus writes #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #celus wrecking ciri #celus non-con CW #celus sex slavery CW #celus pain kink CW #fucktoy ciri verse #celus psuedo-incest CW

[piceuscelus]

📓

*lovingly selects one of many sex slave ideas*

modern-but-still-magic AU where slavery is established and normal. mob boss!geralt ends up at a slave auction, not intending to buy any slaves but just there for business purposes

and then they bring ciri out on stage

the idea has a very different divergences here (one where she's just pretty and geralt is a creep, one where he knew pavetta and recognizes ciri's relation) but the important part is that he wants her, and immediately bids triple her asking price. no one contests him, both because it's an outrageous amount of money and also most people there know who he is and don't dare

featuring: examination kink where he inspects his new slave before officially agreeing to the contract, then taking her to have body modifications, including but not limited to a few magical tattoos that can do fun things like make her immediately horny or clean her system out to fuck her ass, as well as piercings and a pretty, customized permanent collar

once he's got her all modified how he wants, and then eventually trained up perfectly, he uses her as a party favor at mob meetings, letting the men who have his favor fuck her, making her put on shows with fucking machines or bondage during dinner, etc

but he's a very good owner, and ciri is treated exceptionally well, to the point that one of geralt's underlings is a little too rough with her one night and that underling goes suddenly and mysteriously missing the next morning, just to be found floating in the river a month later with a suicide note no one believes but no one questions, either

#celus speaks #celus writes #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #celus sex slavery cw #celus body modification cw #celus violence cw #celus wrecking ciri

[piceuscelus]

Ages and ages ago, you shared a snip of geralt being presented with his omega law of surprise ciri, wearing only silver body jewellery (i think its under sex slavery tag?). Is that from the same idea as the more recently discussed geralt/ciri law of suprise? Or are there TWO law of suprise ciri ideas?

there's two, kind of!

that one was from, more specifically, a sex slave ciri idea, wherein when ciri is born an omega, calanthe switches from "never gonna let the witcher have my granddaughter" to "well, if she's going to be an omega she may as well be a useful one" and has her trained to be a sex slave for whenever geralt gets around to coming to get her (or if he never does, general entertainment)

that one is technically a WIP, since i have started it, part of it exists in a gdoc, but i also haven't touched it in a while, whoops 😅

#celus speaks #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #yes i do in fact have too fucking many wips don't look at me #celus a/b/o cw #celus sex slavery cw #celus wrecking ciri

[piceuscelus]

Prompt idea if you feel like it: Omega Jaskier is bought by Vesemir in the fall to be a welcome home winter gift for his pups. Jaskier thinks he is just being bought by one mild smelling beta, but is shocked when 3 alphas appear for the winter. Bonus points for free use elements and taking about what will happen in spring.

...oops it got long.

here have 5.5k of sex slave omega jaskier, snip below the cut :D dubcon because obvious reasons but honestly jaskier's into it, also intersex a/b/o

read on ao3!

Three Alphas.

Three. Alphas.

Jaskier thinks he might faint.

His cunt throbs, already beginning to leak, as the Alphas all move around him, sniffing indiscriminately – rudely, even, not that he’s about to mention it, three pairs of hands stroking over his body and grabbing, eventually shoving the shift aside to get at his skin.

“H-hello,” he greets finally, incredibly delayed. He hears Vesemir chuckle. “I’m – Jaskier. J-Julian, if I’ve misbehaved.”

“Eskel,” the biggest one offers. He smells like pine sap and bitter cold, and has horrible, twisting scars covering the right half of his face. Jaskier shudders when their eyes meet.

“Alpha,” Jaskier murmurs, tipping his head back to bare his throat, perfectly submissive. Eskel makes a low, pleased sound, and immediately ducks down to mouth over his scent glands, giving a soft, growling chuckle when Jaskier jerks and whimpers.

“Lambert,” the smallest of the three says, once Eskel has moved on from Jaskier’s throat. His hand threads into Jaskier’s hair and pulls him back, back, until he’s against a solid chest, enveloped in the smell of woodsmoke and leather and metal.

“A-Alpha,” Jaskier repeats, a little breathier as Eskel’s cold hands sweep up and down his sides.

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you?” the third one murmurs, shouldering Eskel slightly to the side so he can also grab at Jaskier’s sides and belly. “I’m Geralt.”

“Alpha.” Jaskier whimpers as Lambert’s fist in his hair tightens and twists, not enough to hurt but definitely enough to tingle, to get his attention. “P-pleased to meet you.”

“Just to meet us?” Geralt and Eskel ask it in tandem, and Lambert chuckles. Jaskier feels as if his whole body flushes, cunt clenching around nothing. He shivers but doesn’t fight it when Geralt pulls him away from Lambert and into his own chest, breathing in the scent of horse and herbs, and more leather.

“P-pleased to be of s-service, too, as well, if you’d like,” Jaskier amends. His voice shakes just like his hands do, as Eskel grabs one and puts it on his own chest, Lambert grabbing the other just to put it around Geralt’s neck so that Lambert can press close to his back and not make him lose his balance.

All three of the Alphas now surrounding him laugh, low and indulgent, and Jaskier thinks he’s never been more glad that he was sold off by his family.

read the rest on ao3!

#celus writes #prompt fill #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #celus sex slavery cw #celus a/b/o cw #celus overstimulation cw #celus free use CW

[piceuscelus]

Hello! Here is a prompt for you; geraskefer, yen and geralt with their slave jaskier. Hes a happy slave. Maybe the acquisition of jaskier, or how/if they treat him differently from each other, or their favorite things to do together. Are they always soft with him or does he like them being a bit mean sometimes? Do they bounce him back and forth like a ball? How does he feel about yens unicorn?

hello this prompt lives rent free, i love the concept of happy slave jaskier geraskefer thank you

i went with the acquisition of yennefer and geralt's new favorite toy :D featuring clearly domme yennefer, hints of secretly needy subby geralt, jaskier who is Definitely into this, inspection, and rimming!

“You two had...quite an interesting list of requirements.”

Yennefer hums. Geralt grunts. The slave trader, a portly man with bald patches on his head and beard alike, swallows nervously.

“But of course, we were able to find a handful of slaves that fit your specifications. Unfortunately, none of them are done with their training yet.”

“That’s fine,” Yennefer says. “May we see them?”

“O-of course!”

– – – – –

They’re led to an ostentatious little room, draped with silk and velvet anywhere that can be draped, everything centered around a little stage.

Geralt grits his teeth. Yennefer pets his arm and makes soothing noises, directing him to sit in the least piled-up chair. With a flick of her wrist, she slides a comfortable-looking chaise near to it and sprawls on it, herself.

That, at least, makes Geralt smile.

From a hidden door behind the stage, three handlers and their assigned slaves appear. All of the handlers look a lot like their boss, but the slaves are worlds away from the appearance of age, poor genetics, and excess. Instead, all of them are young and incredibly fit, teeth white and hair thick and shiny.

Yennefer notes the way Geralt takes interest in all three of them, and smiles.

Their handlers line the slaves up on the stage and then, with little nods to Geralt and Yennefer, disappear back through the door. She has no illusions that they’re actually alone – she’s not stupid – but the appearance of it is nice.

She takes a moment to study the three slaves on offer.

The teeth and hair indicate that they’re noble or at least aristocratic, which ticks one of the boxes she and Geralt agreed upon. Their postures show that, too, though all of them are keeping their eyes downcast – the training they have been given, she assumes. Appearance-wise, they also all match almost exactly, except for the far left one, who is clearly much younger and thus much shorter. She thinks he might not even be old enough to be legally sold as a pleasure slave, but it’s not as if she minds – they hadn’t specified a lower age, anyway.

That, and she knows very well that this particular trader deals legally and illegally.

“Geralt,” she says, and Geralt springs up from his chair as if all he was waiting for was permission. Likely, it was.

She grins as she watches him go up to the slaves, keeping a respectful distance but clearly inspecting them, eyes sharp and focused as they flit over each one of the men on stage.

“Not the middle,” he says, soft, as he circles back to the front. “He’s shaking.”

Yennefer squints at the middle one, and finds that Geralt’s correct. “Fair enough,” she says. “What about the other two?”

“...not the left,” Geralt continues, tilting his head.

“Any reason?”

“Can’t pin it.”

“Alright. So the right, then?”

“Maybe.”

Geralt steps back up to the stage, closer this time, and sets to inspecting the slave on the right. He doesn’t keep his distance, this time, either, instead reaching out and prodding at the slave’s body, lifting his arms, squeezing at his legs. He even tips the man’s head up and pries open his mouth to inspect his teeth.

Yennefer crosses her legs and sits up a little straighter.

“Yes,” Geralt finally says. “This one.”

Yennefer hums, acknowledgement and excitement in one, and she doesn’t miss the fact that when Geralt steps away, the slave he selected is smiling, just slightly.

– – – – –

“A wonderful selection,” the slave trader says, once they’ve informed him of their choice. “...though he is a bit of an odd duck, I will warn you.”

“Oh?” Yennefer asks, entirely neutral, only glancing up to see the trader scratching his balding head before she’s looking back down at the paperwork to be signed.

“He wasn’t sold, not really,” he says. “He was...given to us. And he’s…. Well, he’s obedient, almost to a fault, but only most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” Geralt asks, interest clearly piqued. The slave trader stammers a bit, clearly mistaking Geralt’s tone for negativity, and Yennefer smiles behind the curtain of her hair. He couldn’t be more wrong.

“On occasion, when he’s presented with, ah...a more morality focused choice, he won’t make the decision the handlers or trainers want him to.”

“Such as?”

“Notably, he offered to take a beating for another slave instead of beating her himself.”

Yennefer bites back a giggle, reaching out to pet over Geralt’s hand where it’s clenched on his thigh.

“Hm.”

The trader gives them both a wide-eyed, questioning look when the paperwork is all handed back signed, alongside the deposit on their new slave, but they don’t offer any elaboration and he clearly doesn’t dare ask.

– – – – –

“Master, Madame,” a servant greets them. “This way, please.”

Yennefer threads her arm through Geralt’s, chuckling at the tension she can feel in him, and they follow.

They’re brought to a room very similar to the one before, on the small side and lavishly decorated, with a little stage in the center. Once more, Yennefer pulls up the least ostentatious chair she can find for Geralt, and grabs the most comfortable-looking chair for herself. The servant bows on his way out, and then they’re alone, but only for a handful of moments.

From another hidden door, a handler appears, leading their new slave by a chain attached to a collar. Once he’s on the stage, the handler nods and disappears again.

This time, they are alone with him. Yennefer hums and nods to Geralt.

“What’s your name?” she asks, while Geralt circles the man like a wolf circling prey.

“Jaskier,” the slave answers. “What may I call you?”

His manners are impeccable, and he speaks very well. His voice is also very pleasant, Yennefer notes; she wonders if he can sing. Something to investigate later, at least.

“Yennefer,” she says. “Or Mistress, though I’d prefer to keep that for more...formalized settings. And your new shadow is Geralt. Just call him Geralt. He gets cranky when he’s called anything else.”

Geralt pulls a face at her, but doesn’t stop in his second visual inspection of Jaskier for longer than it takes for her to notice and roll her eyes at him.

“Of course, Yennefer,” Jaskier dips his head a little. “Geralt.”

Geralt grunts, and when Yennefer nods, steps closer to Jaskier.

Jaskier’s eyes are wide as Geralt circles closer, still not touching but only just, and Yennefer can tell it’s not in fear.

“You’re free to speak,” Yennefer says. “In fact, always assume you are. If we want you quiet, we’ll let you know.”

“Of course, thank you,” Jaskier says, but then pauses. Yennefer hums encouragingly, and grins when she watches Jaskier swallow as his eyes track Geralt looking at him. “May I ask a question?”

“Yes, but don’t always expect that you’ll receive an answer.”

“Of course.” Jaskier swallows again, lashes fluttering slightly when Geralt finally touches him, just a brief caress over his side. “What, exactly, is the...ah...arrangement, here?”

Yennefer laughs. Geralt chooses that moment to properly touch Jaskier, putting his hands around the slave’s waist and squeezing lightly. Jaskier squeaks lightly, but doesn’t flinch or try to get out of the grip; instead, he just straightens slightly, letting Geralt prod at his belly and ribs.

“We’re a couple,” Yennefer gestures to Geralt. “We wanted a...hm, companion, we’ll say. But not a third.”

Jaskier nods, gasping lightly when Geralt’s poking and kneading moves down, over his hips and to his legs. His cock is taking a clear interest in the proceedings.

“Okay,” Jaskier murmurs, belatedly, clearly distracted. Yennefer just chuckles again and settles in to watch Geralt.

He’s very thorough in this inspection. Once he’s prodded at every inch of Jaskier’s legs, he moves back up, this time grasping his cock, then rolling his balls in one large, rough palm. Jaskier, to his credit, doesn’t falter, though he does gasp and squeeze his eyes shut.

Yennefer grins, noticing how affected Geralt is, even if to anyone else he might look entirely impassive. After a moment of – well, fondling, he moves again, skipping over Jaskier’s belly to feel over his chest, his throat.

When his fingers settle on Jaskier’s jaw, the slave opens his mouth immediately, and Yennefer coos.

“Good,” she says. “You’re doing very well, Jaskier.”

Jaskier makes a small, appreciative sound, but can’t speak around where Geralt’s fingers are pressing into his mouth, now. He’s clearly inspecting Jaskier’s teeth again, but it’s significantly lewder this time, as he moves his fingers in and out, petting over Jaskier’s tongue in the process. It ends with Jaskier drooling a mess all over Geralt’s hand and his own chest, but Jaskier looks as if he might come on the spot from the treatment, and Geralt’s not much better.

Yennefer finds herself making a pleased noise and sitting up in her chair to watch a little closer.

After that, the inspection is mostly a pretense, and Yennefer knows it. “Go on,” she says, and Geralt makes a low, grateful little sound before he’s manhandling Jaskier off of the stage and over to her chair. He bends their slave over so his head lands in Yennefer’s lap, and goes to his knees behind.

“Hello,” Jaskier mumbles into her dress. “I don’t suppose – oh, fuck!”

Yennefer laughs, petting through Jaskier’s hair as he shudders through the sensation of Geralt’s tongue on his ass.

“What was that?” she asks, intentionally teasing, and Geralt huffs a laugh before the slick sounds of him opening Jaskier up with his mouth resume.

Jaskier whimpers. “I – fuck, can I be of service, Mistress?”

There’s a gleam in his eye, when he says it, even as his lashes flutter with pleasure from Geralt’s ministrations, and Yennefer laughs as she fists his hair and tugs him away before shifting her dress and then shoving him back between her legs, underneath her skirts this time.

She just hears him mumble, “Yes, thank you,” before his tongue is exactly where it belongs, and she laughs again, through a moan this time.

“Good boy,” she purrs, feeling the way he jerks and moans when Geralt shoves a finger inside him. “Yeah, you’ll be just perfect.”

#celus writes #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #celus sex slavery cw

[piceuscelus]

Jaskier the noble owns Geralt the omega witcher through magic reinforced submission to Jaskier's orders. He's done something to displease his master, and to teach him a lesson, Jaskier puts him on display in public, fucks him, and orders him to offer himself for free use. Lots of takers, every possible way--even if Geralt passes out for part of it. Jaskier encourages them to be rough and punishing, but allows no permanent damage.

h n g

i intended to just sort of bullet-point ramble about this one but oops it fic. enjoy! multisex a/b/o (geralt's got a vagina), noncon, free use, rough sex. basically just the prompt lmao

Jaskier’s touch to Geralt’s collar makes the metal heat, and Geralt hisses, unable to stop himself from trying to flinch away. The alpha sighs, then tuts, and Geralt shudders as his touch disappears and the metal goes suddenly, frigidly cold instead. Geralt grits his teeth and forces himself to sit up straight on his knees again where he’d listed to the side with his flinch.

“Behave yourself, pet. You’re in enough trouble as it is, isn’t that right? Answer me.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Geralt responds obediently. “I’m sorry, Alpha.”

“Of course you are,” Jaskier says, and there’s an edge to his voice that tells Geralt he will be sorry. “You’re a good omega, deep down, we both know it. Sometimes you just need a little...reminder, isn’t that right?”

No permission to speak, so Geralt keeps his mouth shut, carefully not making eye contact when Jaskier crouches down to his level.

The alpha laughs. “See!” he says. “Very good, Geralt. Now, it’s such a nice day out. Let’s go for a walk, hm?”

– – – – –

It wasn’t as if Geralt didn’t know the walk was a trap. As much as something can be a trap, when one is already pinned by chains, but that’s not the point.

He didn’t quite realize the kind of trap he was walking into. Jaskier rectifies that quickly, though not quickly enough Geralt can do a damn thing about it, of course.

“Come here, pet,” Jaskier orders, and Geralt wants to snap and snarl and shout no, but he knows better, so he carefully crawls to where Jaskier is pointing. Which happens to be a little stool, one that would look entirely innocuous except that Geralt is intensely familiar with the purpose it serves.

Jaskier coos at him. “Good, pet, so good. It’s a terrible shame I have to punish you, it is, but I can’t risk being too soft on you, you know.”

Geralt doesn’t speak, doesn’t react, just stays exactly where he is, on his hands and knees just to the right of the stool Jaskier is towering above.

“Ah, such is life,” Jaskier continues. “We all have to do things we don’t really want to. Now, you know the position, over the stool, pet.”

It takes a split second for Geralt to unclench his muscles and move, but if Jaskier notices the hesitation, the alpha doesn’t mention it. He moves as slowly as he knows he can get away with, until he’s in the expected position, his belly held up by the stool but the slant of the “seat” forcing his chest to the ground, which in turn makes him raise his hips.

He’s held the position without the stool, before, because Jaskier likes to amuse himself with the feats Geralt’s mutated body is capable of, but the stool is a blessing as much as it’s a curse, because it makes it easier to balance. The position he’s in, without the stool to prop up his stomach, is precarious – one of the reasons it’s a popular one to put omegas in. Precarious and vulnerable, exactly as omegas should be.

“Good,” Jaskier is still cooing, but there’s a different edge to his voice now, and Geralt curses his body for reacting to it without his permission. The scent of his slick floods the air, and Jaskier laughs at him, though it’s a fond laugh – almost affectionate, really.

Geralt very carefully does not squirm. Jaskier’s hands on his ass, and then his cunt, aren’t really a shock, but the pleasure that sears through his veins at that touch is.

He makes a noise, something low and animal, and Jaskier chuckles again.

“Isn’t that nice?” he asks. “Answer me.”

“Y-yes, Alpha,” Geralt manages, stammering when Jaskier sweeps his palms up from Geralt’s ass and over his spine. The worst part is that it’s not even a lie, either; the pleasure is less of a shock this time, but the intensity isn’t any less, and his thighs start to tremble.

“Good, pet,” Jaskier’s cooing has changed now, almost more of a purr, and Geralt bites back a curse as his cunt throbs. He doesn’t miss the sound of Jaskier’s breeches being unlaced. “So good….”

There’s not any further preamble, nor anything slow; as soon as Geralt registers the sensation of Jaskier’s cock against his hole, it’s being pressed in.

Somehow, even after several months as the Viscount’s pet, he’s still stunned by the size of him every time.

“Poor thing, you’re shaking,” Jaskier says, all false pity and poorly disguised glee. “Go on then, pet, I know you want to speak – you have permission.”

Geralt doesn’t want to, cheek bloody to prove it, but the blanket permission breaks the little resistance he had. “Alpha, Alpha,” he pants, ruining his blunt nails on tearing at the ground. “Please fuck me, oh.”

“As you wish, pet,” Jaskier chuckles, and then he’s moving, sharp, precise snaps of his hips that have Geralt wailing, entire body trembling as his cunt clenches around the alpha’s massive cock. “Look so good hanging off my cock, omega. Too bad I already have your punishment planned, or I’d just make you milk my knot all day.”

“Please, Alpha,” Geralt babbles, belly tightening with his impending orgasm. “Please, anything – ah, ah….”

“Good pet,” Jaskier hisses, fucking harder and deeper. “Even when you’ve misbehaved, you’re such a perfect little slut for me – on your belly in public just like I told you to, presenting this tight little cunt….”

It doesn’t take long after that. At the first punishing press of Jaskier’s knot, Geralt comes with a scream, and then Jaskier is shoving it into him with a snarl, locking him despite his body’s weak, clenching protestations. The alpha makes a low sound as he grinds his knot into Geralt’s cunt, pleasure-soaked and smug, and Geralt just whines as it makes the heat in his blood ratchet higher.

He doesn’t know if someone slipped him something with his breakfast for this, or if Jaskier had another enchantment added to the cursed fucking collar, but whatever it is, it’s wickedly effective. If he didn’t know better he’d say he’s in heat, but he does know better, and knows too that no matter what he does, Jaskier wouldn’t ever take him publicly for a heat.

The bastard is far too possessive for that.

“Come back to me, pet,” Jaskier is murmuring, and Geralt suddenly realizes he’s floated off into the usual haze that comes with being knotted. He jerks, making a rough, broken sound when his cunt clenches hard around Jaskier’s knot and sends pain and pleasure flaring up his spine. His only consolation is that Jaskier reacts, too, nails digging sharply into Geralt’s hips. “Are you with me, pet? Answer.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Geralt grates out, eyes rolling as he feels Jaskier’s cock flexing.

“Good. Look up, omega.”

It takes a few moments of reorienting himself, and then finding the strength in his arms, but Geralt manages to lever himself off the ground enough to pick up his head. He finds exactly what one should expect, being fucked in public, but somehow the crowd still shocks him; he grunts, hips jerking involuntarily, and then groans when the movement makes him aware of just how stuffed Jaskier has him right now.

Jaskier chuckles, even though the sound is rough and broken. “Quite the audience, isn’t it, pet?” he asks. Geralt grits his teeth and looks down again, not wanting to see the alphas all salivating over him, their omegas pointedly looking away so they don’t have to share in his shame. Jaskier rolling his hips, though, makes him shout and snap his head back up, eyes slitting open to see several of the alphas begin to palm themselves.

“Go on and offer yourself,” Jaskier says, and his tone is downright nasty. There’s the anger Geralt expected when he’d misbehaved, banked and then stoked at the perfect time. He shudders and bites his lip bloody. Jaskier hisses.

“I said,” he snarls, grabbing Geralt around the hips and pulling him back at the same time he thrusts forward, making pain flare deep in Geralt’s belly, the alpha’s cock entirely too deep for comfort. “Offer yourself, Geralt. Tell them that you’re free to use for the rest of the day, however they want, as long as you’re not permanently injured.”

“A-Alpha,” Geralt gasps, choking when Jaskier just grinds his hips further in, turning the ache into a pulse of pain in his womb. “I – ”

“Do as you’re told, omega.”

Geralt swallows the rest of his pleading, knowing just from the edge in Jaskier’s voice that it’s useless.

He hasn’t been given a script, not properly, so he has several false starts as Jaskier keeps grinding his cock too deep, until the pain turns sharp. “Please – uh, fuck, I’m...free to – shit, Alpha, Alpha, fuck – I’m free to u...use, fuckfuckfuck – for the. The rest of the hnck, day!”

“I’m free for your use for the rest of the day,” Jaskier offers, knot finally starting to go down, and Geralt sobs.

“I’m ff…. Free for your use,” he has to stop to suck in a pained breath, “for the rest of the day.”

“Good.”

Jaskier doesn’t bother with gentle, or even a warning; instead, he pulls his cock from Geralt’s cunt almost violently, leaving Geralt to collapse haphazardly onto the stool and then, when he can’t find his balance, the ground.

“Go on,” he says, to the crowd at large. “You heard him.”

– – – – –

The voyeurs-turned-participants don’t even bother with the stool. Instead, the first two alphas to reach him just hoist him between them, his knees only technically underneath him. The one behind wastes no time sinking into his cunt, even as the force of his thrust makes Geralt leak Jaskier’s cum down his thighs; the one at his front gives him a little warning in the form of a finger tapping at his mouth, but then there’s a cock there, too.

He knows better than to resist. He had just announced that he was free to use, after all.

Neither alpha cares about him or his comfort, clearly, both fucking into him with almost feverish abandon. Geralt hacks and chokes on the cock in his throat, but just tries to keep his balance and take it, pretending he’s not making high, involuntarily noises each time the one fucking his cunt slams into his womb.

“No permanent damage,” an unfamiliar voice says. “So as long as it’ll heal….”

“Or he’ll wake up,” another voice says with a cackle.

The alpha in his cunt growls and stills, knot flaring sudden and painful, but Geralt’s body isn’t interested in his disgust and just locks, clenching down to milk the knot. Like a good omega slut, he hears in Jaskier’s voice in his head, and then he’s not hearing or thinking anything, because the alpha fucking his throat grabs a hold of his head and yanks.

No matter how much his throat convulses to try and force the cock out, he’s got no chance, and when the alpha’s knot flares behind his teeth, he’s truly fucked. Most knots don’t last long enough to make him pass out – it’s one of the reasons omega Witchers are so prized, the ability to knot their mouths – but he’s already out of air and half-delirious from Jaskier’s fuck, and now this.

He loses time as he tries not to pass out, but eventually the cock shoved into his throat is pulling out. He carefully doesn’t think about what, if anything, follows it out, and just focuses on getting his hands beneath him to hold him up. The alpha in his cunt is softening and leaving soon after, too, but then there’s even more hands on him, forcing him out of his balance again and onto his back, so that someone – he can’t tell their designation, so distracted by everything else – can sit on his still-hard cock.

He screams, but they ignore that, and then there’s barely-slick fingers prodding at his asshole as another cock sinks into his cunt. Before he can make another loud, desperate noise about either of those things, there’s a cunt sinking down over his mouth.

Brain fried between the pain and pleasure remaking him, he just starts eating the stranger out, his body taking the path of least resistance into instinct that usually doesn’t flare unless he’s in heat.

Maybe that’s what this is, a pseudo-heat, so Jaskier can humiliate and use him better than usual.

He doesn’t have the chance to think about it, really, before his legs are being jerked and forced apart, and the cock in his cunt slams deeper at the same time another one pushes unrelentingly into his ass. He screams again, the sound muffled by the person sitting on his face, but once again he’s ignored.

The cunt on his tongue comes, and he’s able to get a single breath before a hand in his hair is yanking his head back so that another alpha can have his throat, just as unrelenting as the last. He can’t even focus on it, this time, just letting the alpha use his throat like a toy as he chokes and convulses, hyper aware of the knot being slowly forced into his ass as the alpha fucking his cunt moves faster, harder.

He just feels the flare of that knot, pain searing through his lower body at the forced stretch, before there’s another knot catching behind his teeth, and he’s got no chance, this time.

The hand one of them gets on his throat, squeezing viciously, doesn’t do him any favors either.

He doesn’t quite pass out, not properly. But he’s not conscious, either, barely aware as he’s moved some more, some knots disappearing just for others to appear, all of them fucking him viciously, until he’s certain he’s torn and bleeding. Some people ride him, too, forcing his cock back to hardness every time it flags, until each touch to it makes him shout, but they keep going, and going, and going, and going….

Eventually, though, biology and mercy win out, and he finally, blessedly goes black.

#celus writes #celus prompt fill #dead dove: do not eat #dead dove #celus noncon cw #celus a/b/o cw #celus free use cw #celus sex slavery cw

[piceuscelus]

A distraction you say? How about Geralt slowly using mind control (maybe using the sign Axii?) to get Jaskier to willingly become the sex slave of the wolf school who can take even the roughest witcher? Like Geralt just wanting to share the bard with his family (including Vesemir, the man deserves every good thing in the world!) and not worry anymore about Jaskiers safety while being on the path. -🐭

hnnnnnnnng yes

rambling, non con / dub con

it starts off slow. in fact, it starts off not even intended to make jaskier into a sex slave - at first, it's just to make him stop following geralt into danger, making him stay where he's put, making him stay quiet

but then it....changes.

they've been fucking for years, and geralt has always wanted to take him home to kaer morhen, to share him, but it's never really been in the cards - but then again....

he doesn't really consider it, not at first.

but he does love jaskier under axii, how pliant and sweet he is. he loves his spitfire bard, of course he does, but there's something so compelling about him all soft and blank and following geralt's every order

so he decides that there can't be any harm in trying it out in bed, right? and he does it.

and it's like a fucking drug, jaskier so pliant and obedient and doing whatever geralt asks of him, whatever geralt tells him. it's addicting. and so geralt starts to think.... at first, it's just could axii him so he doesn't take a court invitiation, take him to kaer morhen in the winter and then it starts to change, each time he fucks jaskier with axii the idea getting better and better, and also worse

geralt is a self-aware man, he knows that some of the things he likes are more than a little fucked up, but..... he'd never really hurt jaskier, not permanently, wouldn't ever let anyone else do so, either, so it can't be that bad, right?

that's how he convinces himself, at least. slowly the axii to keep jaskier safe morphs into axii every time they fuck, and then into training. little things to start, little triggers that geralt works deeper and deeper into him, until he doesn't even need axii - a specific phrase and jaskier is hard, a few specific touches to his thighs and he's loose and open, no prep needed, a hand around his throat and all he wants is geralt's cock in his mouth

and then more. entire days where geralt doesn't let jaskier up - in any sense, kept under axii and under geralt on a bed, or on the forest floor, or the back room of a tavern once -

and while he is doing this against jaskier's will, he never wipes the memories, not really. anything under axii is going to be fuzzy, but not gone, not unless geralt tells him to forget, so it's not exactly a secret, what he's doing. and jaskier...never mentions it. never questions it. never seems reluctant to climb into geralt's lap, or into bed with him, or random corners....

so geralt keeps going, until jaskier can take him being as rough as he always wants to be and has never felt safe to, until jaskier is so well trained that half the time geralt only gets halfway through the trigger words and touches before jaskier is going exactly what he wants

and then they go to kaer morhen, and jaskier doesn't even question when eskel shows up in their bed, nor lambert, and vesemir is the last but jaskier seems almost even more willing at that point

geralt conditioning and mind-controlling jaskier into the perfect little fucktoy for him and his family, and jaskier not exaaaactly knowing that's what's happened but also aware something has happened to that effect, and loving it anyway

#celus writes #celus prompt fill #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #celus mind control cw #celus sex slavery cw

[piceuscelus]

oops have some more fucktoy ciri verse, this time with branding! sooo the usual noncon, body mod via hot iron branding, mind control, sex slavery, underage, daddy kink, any of the usual warnings on the verse i’ve forgotten,

also on ao3!

It’s Lambert who suggests it, one day while Vesemir is fiddling with the old brands still sitting in the armory, from the days when Kaer Morhen had herds of cattle and other livestock. 

“We should mark her,” he says. “Permanently.”

“With what?” Eskel asks, before he looks over to Vesemir. “Those?”

Lambert nods, then shrugs. “Or others, we have what we need to make more, don’t we?”

Eskel hums. “What do you think, Geralt?”

He hums right back, thinking for a moment. Ciri is in the dining room currently, entertaining Coën; he can just hear the sounds of skin slapping skin and Ciri whimpering desperately, half-pained. He thinks about all that smooth, blemish-free skin they all love to bruise and mark, and the idea of something permanent….

“Yes,” he nods. “Yeah, we should.”

– – – – – 

They decide to use one of the old Kaer Morhen brands, specifically the one they used on the bitches marked for breeding, but also make some new ones, too. The process of making the new brands takes about two weeks, and meanwhile they get all of the use out of Ciri they possibly can.

Sure, her pain isn’t of much concern, but they don’t want to deal with any of the brands getting infected.

The night before they plan to brand her, they put her up on the bench after dinner. She’s eager for it, even without any of the usual potions, squirming against the bonds as she’s tied and begging prettily to be used.

“We’ll use you, little slut, be patient,” Lambert snaps when she asks for him specifically, and Coën follows the words up with a harsh slap to Ciri’s backside, leaving a livid red handprint. Tears spring to her eyes but she doesn’t beg any further, just makes a weak, wanting little noise, still squirming against her ties. 

“Be good, Ciri,” Geralt orders, and she makes another meek little noise.

“I will, Daddy, I’ll be good, sorry,” she says softly, and he reaches over to pet over her hair in approval.

Lambert finishes up with getting her strapped to the bench, and his hand joins Geralt’s in her hair, but he grips harshly and pulls, making the tears spill over. “Needy little brat,” he hisses. “Beg me to fuck your throat.”

“Please fuck my throat, sir,” Ciri gasps immediately, still with tears streaking down her face as Lambert doesn’t relent on the grip in her hair. Geralt – and the others – settle back into their seats to watch. “Please, want your cock so badly, please give it to me – I’ll be good, please fuck my throat, sir, please?”

Lambert huffs. “Not half bad,” he says, about as close to praising Ciri as he ever gets, and finally lets go of her hair. She doesn’t drop her head, though, just opens her mouth and sticks her tongue out, practically a welcome mat, and that makes Lambert laugh. 

“Nasty little whore, you really are desperate for it, already drooling.” He pulls his cock out of his breeches and rubs the head of it over her tongue, laughing again when she makes a needy noise and tries to surge forward to suck at him. It’s futile, with the straps keeping her immobile on the bench, but it’s fun to watch her struggle, and Lambert lets her try for several minutes, just teasing her with rubbing his cockhead over her tongue, her lips.

Eventually, though, he gets bored with that and steps forward, rolling his hips so his cock pops right into Ciri’s throat. She chokes and gags violently, the bench rattling with how hard she convulses; Lambert just groans.

“Gods, yeah, just like that, keep your throat nice and tight,” he mutters, rocking his hips.

It doesn’t take long for Ciri to turn red, and then near purple, and only when her head starts to wobble does Lambert pull back enough to let her breathe properly.

“Thank you, sir,” she chokes out around heaving gasps, “please, please want your cock again, thank you, please fuck my throat – ”

Lambert just grunts and fucks back into her mouth. At this point, Geralt has pulled his cock out of his breeches to stroke, and so has Eskel. After a bit longer of listening to her gag and convulse, though, apparently Coën is tired of waiting; he steps up, breeches already gone, and sets to fucking his cock into her ass. He never preps her, not after that first time, just uses a ton of lube – according to him, it’s the only way she’s tight enough to enjoy. Ciri sobs when he says it, but begs for him to fuck her sore every time.

Ciri screams, at least the best she can around Lambert’s cock in her throat; Coën and Lambert just laugh and keep moving. Geralt has to swallow back a flood of drool at the thought of how sore and used she’ll be tomorrow, how loud she’ll scream and cry when they brand her – how pretty she’ll sound when he makes her come with each brand.

They spend the rest of the night fucking her, until all of her holes are gaping and she’s cross-eyed, nearly unconscious from the amount of times she’s been fucked straight through several orgasms in a row. She’s still drooling and mumbling thanks and pleas when they plug her up to keep their cum inside and put her to bed.

– – – – –

The next morning, Vesemir is the one to get her out of bed and take her down to the dungeons. She goes obediently and without question, as usual, and Geralt tries to ignore the way his cock throbs at the wide-eyed, trusting look she gives all of them when they crowd into the room with her.

“Arms up,” he orders, and she puts her arms up immediately, looking up at him when he comes near. He can’t resist kissing her, petting a hand down her front to feel the way her belly is still bulging from their cum and the plugs. She hisses, tears welling up at the shifting, but just bites her lip and looks at him, arms still held in the air.

“Good girl,” he praises, and she beams. He steps aside to grab the chains that Vesemir already set up, and pulls her wrists up a little further to lock them into the manacles. It leaves her balanced on her tiptoes, wobbling a little, and he swats at her ass just to see her flail and hear her squeak.

Eskel gets her feet chained, leaving her entirely suspended with her legs spread. She looks a little afraid, at that point, but when Geralt pets over her hair and whispers, “Be a good girl,” in her ear, she nods.

“I will, Daddy,” she says, and then, when Lambert snorts, “I will, sir, I’ll be good.”

“Mhm,” Lambert nods, intentionally doubting. Geralt chuckles when Ciri huffs, but when she opens her mouth to protest he stops her with a mean pinch and twist to her nipples.

She cries out and thrashes for a split second before settling when he lets go. “Sorry,” she says. “I’ll be good, I’m sorry.”

Eskel steps up to her front, so she’s essentially pinned between he and Geralt, and puts a hand over her cunt, making her gasp. 

“You’ll get a reward if you are,” he promises, and from the way Ciri shudders and her head lolls, he presses at the pugs keeping her stuffed.

“Yes, sir, thank you sir, please, I’ll be good.”

The two of them step away, Geralt with one last nipping kiss to Ciri’s throat and Eskel with a mean flick to her already-swollen clit, and Vesemir lights the fire in the makeshift oven he built in the corner. He goes first, once the original breeding bitch iron is hot, stepping in front of Ciri and, ignoring her frightened squeaking, carefully pressing the metal just above her cunt, right over her womb.

She screeches, shrill and piercing, and Eskel is quick with Axii. 

“Come.”

She screams again, pleasure this time as she gushes all over the floor. “Th-thank you,” she stammers when she’s done and Vesemir has pulled the brand away, leaving an angry red burn that clearly marks her as one of Kaer Morhen’s breeding bitches.

Geralt spares a momentary thought to getting some hunting dogs again, just so they can let the mutts knot Ciri, but pushes it aside for later. 

Coën and Lambert go next, both at the same time, marking her inner thighs on each side. Her entire body jerks and convulses with the pain, but Eskel’s Axii is strong, and when he orders her to come again, she does with a reedy whine, panting like some kind of overtaxed animal. 

Since Eskel is maintaining the Axii, Geralt goes after Coën and Lambert. His brand is the biggest of them, though none of them are particularly large.

“Look at me, Ciri,” he orders, and she does, eyes hazy but on him, mouth open and spilling drool and a little blood where she must have bitten her cheek or tongue. “You’re mine, aren’t you? And ours.”

“Yes, yes,” she slurs, nodding. “Yours, Daddy.”

“Good girl.” 

He presses his brand right below her throat, on her collar and just slightly between her perky tits. Her voice gives out on the scream she gives at the pain of it, but she’s whispering a hoarse, “Thank you,” before Eskel even makes her come.

When the Axii drops, she sobs, thrashing in the chains, but Geralt puts her under again quickly, making soothing noises.

“You feel so good, don’t you, Ciri?” he asks. “Everything feels so good.”

He watches as his will overtakes her own, her face falling slack, and his cock throbs. He’ll have to take care of himself until all their brands are healed, but that’s fine. She sleeps in his room; he’ll be able to look at her, and see the brands when he changes her bandages, and hear her sweet, hurt little noises. It’ll be plenty of fodder for him to jerk off to – and besides, he can feed her his cum off of his fingers without risking her healing.

Eskel is last, and he circles around to her back, placing his brand just above her ass. Thanks to Geralt’s control, she comes without even being ordered, feeling even intense pain as pleasure now, and he’s not the only one who groans desperately about it.

“Good girl,” he praises, carefully holding her up as Lambert and Vesemir unshackle her. “Such a perfect little toy, Ciri, and all ours.”

“Y-yours,” she slurs, voice shattered, and passes out.

also in the work on ao3!

#dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #celus writes #celus noncon CW #celus sex slavery CW #celus body modification CW #fucktoy ciri verse

[piceuscelus]

[Wreck Ciri anon again] Or PERHAPS Ciri who meets and is intrigued by Triss. Triss seduces Ciri, gives her the night of her life, and then brings her to Aretuza...where she is promptly strapped down and tied up with magic, then treated as a toy for the sorceress's free use, but she eventually learns to love it :D

okay i don’t have the juice to like, write a real thing for this but i DO have the juice for a dot point headcanon list thing so here we go

so ciri and triss have a banging night, and it’s laughably easy for triss to invite ciri back to aretuza. all she has to do is offer to show her around, really, and once she’s there, it’s very easy to get her riled up and in the right mindset

but what if instead of getting tied to a table, ciri ends up like proper decorative furniture?

she’s tied up using magic, of course, but she’s on a little dais, on her knees with her arms tied behind her back. they give her very pretty piercings and body jewelry to go with, so she’s dazzling to look at - pretty, perky breasts pierced through with chains dangling. same with her belly, her nose, her ears. maybe the dais has dildos to keep her full and on display, and sometimes the mages make her ride them for entertainment.

but really the big thing she’s there for is to be used. sure, she’s a pretty little hallway decoration, but her mouth is at the perfect height. they can just lift their skirts or push down breeches and use her, and at first she was reluctant, but it doesn’t take very long before she’s practically begging for it. any time someone stops long enough to look at her, she’s pleading with them to use her mouth - men and women and anyone in between. 

of course she can be taken off of the dais and used in other ways - what’s the point if she can’t really? - but that’s her primary job, to be a nice little oral slave to anyone who wants to use her, and to be pretty to look at

#celus writes #celus prompt fill #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #celus dehumanization CW #celus sex slavery CW #celus non-con CW #Anonymous #wreck ciri anon #celus wrecking ciri

[piceuscelus]

Top 5 ways to wreck Ciri? 🤔

I Am Known, also hhhhhhhh this is hard because there’s just so many good ways y’know?

1. gangbang. i have been On the concept of ciri just getting railed six ways from sunday by at least three people at once for,,, weeks.

2. monsterfucking. i have not forgotten my ciri wrecking roots.

3. inflation / belly bulge / wombfucking / anything associated with filling ciri up until she’s sobbing

4. deprivation of like any kind - sensory, orgasm control, etc. make her desperate

5. heavy body mod specifically related to sex slavery. i just,,, i want her to be made into a perfect little fuck toy 

#celus speaks #celus wrecking ciri #ask game answer #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #celus monsterfucking CW #celus belly bulge CW #celus body mod CW #celus sex slavery CW #deaddovedonotyeet