Chapter 14: School of the Viper
As Geralt leaned against the cage, worry etched on his face, he scanned his surroundings for any potential means of escape. His keen senses picked up on the subtle sounds of approaching footsteps. Just as he resigned himself to the limitations of the cage, a familiar voice echoed from the shadows.
“Geralt of Rivia, School of the Wolf,” the voice said, drawing Geralt’s attention. As the figure emerged from the darkness, it revealed itself to be Serrit, a fellow Witcher from the School of the Viper. A tense exchange unfolded between them, with Serrit accusing Geralt of aligning with the wrong side.
“This is the second time you’ve aligned yourself with the wrong side, Serrit,” Geralt spat, anger evident as his fists gripped the bars of his cell, knuckles white.
“How the tide has changed, Geralt. First, you killed my brother in your fight against Emhyr, and now you play his lapdog, serving in his secret service,” Serrit replied, a cold edge to his voice.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Serrit!” Geralt retorted. He was only working with Emhyr for Ciri’s sake, he believed.
“The spy you are working with, she is deceiving you, Geralt. She is trying to stop a rebellion against Emhyr,” Serrit declared.
“What do you mean, spy?” Geralt asked.
“Exactly that! Dear Gods, Geralt, did you really have no idea?” Serrit said in disgust.
“No!” Geralt shouted, confused by the realization that he had been blinded by his desires.
“Cantarella is the head of the Nilfgaardian Secret Service, you idiot. Why else would you both be here?” Serrit questioned.
“Because of the stolen money from the tournament I won. We made a pact to split the money and she…she needed protection,” Geralt stated, the realization of the trap she set dawning on him.
“Then you are a bigger fool than I thought,” Serrit remarked with a hint of disdain.
Geralt’s mind raced trying to understand the web of lies that led him to his moment. “Serrit, I thought you were dead,” Geralt said.
“I fled after our last altercation and faked my death to escape. It was the only way. All of the members of the school of vipers have been hunted down,” he said, a sad look crossing his face, “This was to be my last stand. A fight against Emhyr, the king who paid me to kill the northern Kings then lied and betrayed,” Serrit explained, thoughts of his lost brother and the dashed hopes of rebuilding the school of the viper.
“I…I am sorry about your brother. My fight is not with you. I need to save Ciri. The Wild Hunt is back,” said Geralt, his regret for needing to kill the witcher to save the king he swore to protect from Emhyr weighing on him.
“I am done fighting other people’s wars. The Wild Hunt is not my concern anymore,” said Serrit. “Just don’t get in my way Geralt, you owe me that much!” Serrit walked away, disappearing in the shadows.
As the minutes ticked away, Geralt’s thoughts wandered to Sasha. If she was working for Nilfgaard as a spy he had to understand what she knew and what Emhyr’s true intentions were in finding Ciri. If Emhyr had sent others to find Ciri he must be up to something.
Fueled by the desire to protect Ciri, Geralt shook the cage doors, testing their strength. In frustration, he remembered the hidden compartment in his boot. There, he retrieved a concealed vial containing a substance that granted him enhanced strength. As he ingested the golem-infused vial, a transformation overcame him—his muscles grew taut, his veins pulsated with dark energy, and his entire demeanor exuded newfound strength.
Empowered by the mutagenic effects, Geralt’s hands gripped the iron bars of his gap, his rippling arms pulled, bending the metal as it creaked before the lock snapped with a loud clang. His blackened eyes reflected a determination to confront Serrit. With the vial coursing through his veins, he located his sword, which had been stored nearby. The silver blade met his hand with familiarity, and Geralt, now armed and empowered, prepared to hunt down Serrit and find Sasha.
“You should have stayed in your cage, Geralt!” Serrit said as Geralt finished putting on his gear. As Geralt turned around he saw Serrit, his dual silver blades glimmered in the dim light. Like Geralt, his face was etched with the poisons of monsters, his eyes were now solid black, and his mind appeared more focused. “I have been preparing for this day!”
In the dimly lit room, the clash of swords echoed through the air as Geralt, wielding his mighty two-handed sword, faced off against Serrit. Although Geralt was notably stronger, Serrit’s speed and dexterity were complimented by how he expertly wielded his two swords with deadly precision. The dance of blades created a symphony of steel, each strike and parry a testament to their skill.
Geralt’s broad strokes with the heavy sword were met with Serrit’s swift and agile movements. Sparks flew as their blades collided, filling the cavern with the scent of metal and the energy of their fierce battle.
Quick as a howling wind, Serrit dives in, his two poison-tipped swords on either side of him. As he darts forward, Geralt’s large sword slices at Serrit. With cat-like reflexes, Serrit kicks off the ground changing his trajectory, his body sliding under Geralt’s blade, barely dodging Geralt’s attack. As Serrit rolls out of the way, his blade slices Geralt’s leg.
The slicing of the cut accompanied by a burning poison was radiated on his thigh. Geralt grits his teeth and focuses on his target.
Serrit turns, and pounces on Geralt again, this time Geralt is ready, his two-handed sword swinging with such ferocity that it repels Serrit, throwing him backward. Like a cat, he lands on his feet and presses forward again, this time charging Geralt’s other leg.
Geralt’s foot position changes. He jumps out of the way of the attack while attempting to land his sword from above but he is too late as his sword slices through the air.
With his hurt leg, Geralt knew he couldn’t keep this up. Eventually, Serrit would land one too many cuts. The two warriors circled each other, eyes locked in a deadly stare.
Serrit crouched down ready to pounce, but then almost as if reading each other’s minds they both cast Aard into each other. The gust of wind blasted both of them backward. Geralt crashes into the cage that once contained him, his sword clattering several feet away from him. Serrit crashed into a barrel of oil, the liquid seeping into his leather armor.
Serrit immediately sensed his disadvantage. He assessed the situation, his options limited, realizing that continuing the fight could lead to his or both of their demises. His studded leather armor was saturated in the flammable animal fat oil. As he stood, his feet slid on the sheen of oil that surrounded him. He not only lost traction and any dexterity advantage he may have had but he realized if Geralt used the Igni sign, blasting him with a stream of fire, he would light him up like a fireball.
In that moment he knew revenge would have to wait. In a strategic move, Serrit disengaged. He walked along the wall of barrels a safe distance from Geralt, knowing if he was struck by the Igni the entire building would explode. He slowly edged to the exit aiming to retreat.
“Geralt, this battle will not end well for either of us,” Serrit said, his weapons sheathed, his hands up. “Do not stop me from taking Bernard’s ship and having my revenge against Emyhr and I will not stop you from finding your precious spy, Cantarella, and getting the coin you lost. She is with Bernard now giving him the secret locations of Emyhr’s armies. Everything you need is in his private chateau at the edge of Novigrad. Are we agreed?” With a nod of acknowledgment, Serrit made a swift retreat, abandoning the battle to fight another day.
Geralt assessed his surroundings. Taking advantage of the moment, Geralt sheathed his sword and took a mix of elixirs to heal the poison and prepare him for the battle ahead. Determined to save Ciri, he let Serrit and the ship go. His attention turned to Sasha, he had figured out what she knew.
Chapter 15: Finding Sasha
The walled chateau stood imposingly in the moonlit night, its large walls rising tall and sturdy, a formidable barrier protecting the secrets within. The entrance was secured by a large reinforced wooden gate that was locked, a sentinel denied entry to all but the chosen few. Geralt, however, was determined to breach this fortress and uncover the mysteries concealed behind the guarded walls.
Peering over the formidable barrier, Geralt observed a multitude of guards patrolling the grounds. The throngs of vigilant sentinels created a living tapestry of movement, their armor glinting in the moonlight as they protected a singular structure that rose majestically from the center of the courtyard.
This central building, distinct from the others, reached heights that eclipsed its surroundings. Its architecture spoke of grandeur and importance, a beacon drawing Geralt’s attention. The courtyard, surrounded by these formidable structures, held an air of secrecy and hidden agendas. Shadows danced on the cobblestone paths as the guards maintained their watch, unaware of the impending intrusion.
Geralt’s keen eyes scanned the surroundings, noting the strategic placement of guards, the patterns of their patrols, and the vulnerabilities he could exploit. The night, with its cloak of darkness, became his ally, offering concealment for his inevitable entrance into the heart of the chateau. With each passing moment, the anticipation built, and Geralt prepared to navigate the labyrinth of walls and guards to reach his elusive destination.
Under the cloak of darkness, Geralt moved like a shadow through the Chateau’s surroundings. The night seemed to embrace him, and he felt the hum of potions coursing through his veins, enhancing his ability to heal and boosting his strength. Scaling walls and navigating rooftops with the grace of a cat, he approached the imposing structure, determined to unravel the truth.
As he stealthily advanced, he observed the guards stationed around the perimeter, their presence indicating heightened security. Geralt moved with the expertise of a seasoned hunter, slipping past them like a whisper in the night. The pale moonlight painted the scene with an eerie glow, casting long shadows that played tricks on the eye.
Reaching the third story, Geralt noticed a dim light emanating from a specific room. A gut feeling told him this was where Sasha—or perhaps Cantarella, as Serrit had suggested—was being held. The stakes were high, and he couldn’t afford to be detected. Enough bloodshed has been spilled tonight due to Sasha’s machinations.
As he attempted to traverse the precarious ledge, Geralt slipped momentarily, his heart skipping a beat. In a graceful recovery, he regained his footing, narrowly avoiding a disastrous fall. The urgency of the situation heightened, and he pressed on with caution.
Silently Geralt entered Bernard’s vacant living quarters through a window. The room was well-lit, a warm team sat on the table. Geralt could hear sounds from a woman in the adjoining room, sounds of muffled cries and whimpering. He could feel the tension in the air, a mix of anticipation and danger. Each step was a calculated risk, and the room seemed to hold its breath as he moved towards the source of the mysterious sounds, striving to remain unseen and unveil the secrets concealed within the Chateau’s walls.
Chapter 16: Learning the Truth
Geralt enters the room, his sword drawn. As he swung open the door, the dimly lit room revealed itself, adorned with luxurious furnishings and a large, four-poster bed. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, enhancing the clandestine atmosphere of the chamber. The room resonated with the rhythmic creaking of the bed, its movements a testament to the fervor within.
On the ornate bed, Geralt could see Sasha, her legs pushed to her chest, Bernard’s commanding presence thrusting into her. The air was charged with a heady mix of desire. The scent of burning candles and lingering pheromones hung thick, creating an intoxicating ambiance that heightened the intensity of the scene.
The sounds of muffled moans and whispered commands filled the room, creating a dissonant symphony that echoed the complex emotions playing out in Geralt’s mind. He grappled with anger at the perceived betrayal and an undeniable arousal stirred by the intimate scene unfolding before him.
As he approached, he watched Sasha grip the edge of the bed, her whimpers of pleasure evidence of her rapture. Bernard focused on Sasha, between her thighs, his hips moved rapidly into her as she begged for more.
Although his words were not crisp Geralt could hear Bernard asking her questions, commanding her to divulge secrets about Emhyr’s army. With his hands on her knees pressing her legs to her chest the halfling leans into her, driving his length into her with each question.
“Knock it off! I have some questions of my own!” Geralt says, starling them both.
Bernard looks up, the blade of the silver sword catching the candlelight in the room.
“Impressive Geralt, I would have thought there would be more of a ruckus out there,” Bernard quipped, appearing more annoyed than afraid, as he waved his hand toward the window.
He steps back from the bed, as he removes his manhood from Sasha she whimpers, “No, no, no! I…I was so close!”
“Geralt, it’s not what it seems.”
“It looks like your fucking my girl, Sasha”
“Okay, well it is what it seems I guess… but her name isn’t Sasha. This is the head of Nilfgaurd secret service, Cantarella. She staged this event to ruin me and spy on you,” he said, trying to reason with Geralt, his anger visible with every word that fell from Bernard’s mouth.
“Ah, it all makes sense now! She is a spy and she staged the two of you fucking to anger me?”
“No, that’s not it! She…Emhyr…they set you up. Used you to stop the resistance… to stop me. I need to get answers from her and the only way to make her talk…Is well…”
“Are you saying that you’re fucking her so you can learn her secrets!” Geralts could feel his blood boil. His face would have turned flush if it weren’t for the Witcher potion coursing through his veins. His pale face, hollow black eyes, and rigid muscles made him look otherworldly as he approached. “I am going to kill you,” Geralt said. His monstrous form made him look bigger than ever before. As he approached Bernard, Bernard backed up and his eyes panicked.
“I am telling the truth. Just…just ask her to tell you anything! Don’t…don’t you want to know why they want Ciri so badly that the head of the Nilfgaard personally attended to you”
Geralt, with a stern expression, evaluated his words. The air was thick with tension as they exchanged piercing glares. Geralt’s gravelly voice cut through the silence. “If Sasha, or Cantarella as you say, knows something crucial I need to know it… and I won’t let her pleasures cloud her mind.”
Bernard, a smirk playing on his lips, responded, “You’re not the only one with an interest in her secrets. I have my own plans, Witcher.”
Geralt led the halfling to the corner of the room. “Don’t move halfling. I don’t need a sword to rip your body in half.”
Bernard nodded, his naked body pressed against the wall, his hands up. “Go, talk to her. You will see that I am telling you the truth.”
Geralt, with a furrowed brow, listened intently as Bernard explained Sasha’s insatiable desires triggered by the truth serum. Disbelief etched across his face, he decided to investigate further.
Geralt approached Sasha, lying on a bed, her eyes filled with excitement as she spotted him.
As her gaze met Geralt’s transformed form, a sight otherworldly and imposing, the effects of the potion still coursing through his veins, Sasha couldn’t help but feel a surge of both awe and trepidation. His blood-soaked clothes hid his massive body, he was large, a beast of a man, more formidable than the Geralt she knew. Rippling muscles, pale skin, and pulsating black veins created a visual spectacle that sent a chill of excitement down her spine.
As Geralt approached, she looked at him with a sultry gaze, crawling towards him, submitting to his presence. “Oh, Geralt,” she purred, her voice laced with desire.”Are you pale everywhere?”
Geralt, maintaining his composure, demanded answers. “Who are you, Sasha? The truth, no games.”
The atmosphere seemed charged with energy. Under the influence of the enhanced love potion and truth serum, exuded an aura of heightened arousal. She purred in anticipation, her eyes fixated on Geralt as if he were the embodiment of her deepest desires.
She chuckled sensually, her fingers tracing lightly along his arm. “My name is Cantarella, Geralt. I…I have wanted to tell you that for so long, hoping you would call out my true name when you cum in me!”
Geralt, resisting the magnetic pull of her allure, insisted, “I’m not here for pleasure. Tell me what you know about Ciri.”
Cantarella, undeterred, whispered seductively, “Pleasure can be a powerful motivator, Geralt.” She approached him with a seductive sway in her hips, her hands tracing the contours of his clothes, attempting to undress him.
Amid the tension between desire and determination, Geralt stood firm, determined to extract the information he sought from Cantarella’s tangled web of truths and desires. “Just give me the information I need, Cantarella. I’m not here to play games.”
“Don’t tease me, Geralt! You turned me into this cock-hungry whore. Give me what I desire, and I’ll give you everything you want,” she pleaded, her eyes filled with a desperate yearning. She confessed, her words laced with desire, “The potion you unleashed awakened something inside me. I…I crave sexual release, and I know you can give it to me.”
Confused and concerned, Geralt questioned, “What happened to you? There’s no way the succubus potion would have had this effect.”
Bernard chimed in, a sly grin on his face, “Well, I also gave her a truth serum during our interrogation. A rather large dose, might I add.”
Geralt’s realization hit him like a sudden storm on a calm sea. The magical blend of the succubus potion, intensifying Cantarella’s desires, and the truth serum, stripping away her inhibitions, had created an unpredictable and potent elixir.
The consequences of this alchemical fusion unfolded before him as he grappled with the unforeseen power that now held Cantarella in its grasp.
Her hands nimbly worked the fastenings from his armor, and slowly layers of his clothes fell away. As her hands fished out his manhood from his pants, he had a decision to make. Free her and let her become a risk or play her game and learn what secrets lie dormant.
Bernard chimed in, “All of her secrets are within your grasp, Geralt. All you need to do is fuck her while you ask her questions.”
As her soft lips kissed his tool, her hand stroking him awake, he knew what he must do. “You will tell me everything I need, Cantarella, one way or the other!” His manhood grew larger and larger in her small hands, the black lines of his veins pulsated for release, as he hardened.
Cantarella’s soft lips wrapped around his manhood, her hand coaxing him into full arousal. Bernard’s words lingered in the air, tempting him with the promise of unraveling Cantarella’s secrets through this peculiar combination of pleasure and interrogation. The pulsating veins on his hardened length reflected the intensity of the moment. Succumbing to the current of necessity, he thrusted his throbbing member in and out of her mouth. As he pulled away, she gasped for air, their eyes locking in a silent acknowledgment of her submission.
Geralt’s command echoed in the room, cutting through the charged air. “Get on your knees, Cantarella!” The mattress yielded beneath Cantarella’s weight as she complied, positioning herself as instructed. Her limbs sank into the softness, a tempting tableau of submission.
As Geralt circled the bed, his gaze raked over her exposed form. The flickering candlelight accentuated the contours of her body—the ample curves of her large breasts, the enticing swell of her hips, and the fullness of her rump. Cantarella’s skin seemed to glow, a canvas inviting the touch of an artist.
In the dim light, Cantarella’s eyes followed Geralt’s every move, anticipation dancing in her gaze. The room buzzed with an electrifying energy as he approached, his every step a deliberate proclamation of authority. The air was thick with desire, and both of them felt the pulse of a shared anticipation.
When Geralt climbed onto the bed, the mattress yielded beneath his weight. His hand wrapped around her neck tracing the contours of her fragile neck as he pulled her body into him with a possessive grip. The connection between them ignited, and in that moment, the boundaries between command and surrender blurred, creating a space where desire reigned supreme.
His hardened cock, pushed into her, thicker and harder than she had experienced ever before. Her wetness consumed him as he descended into her. Cantarella’s body responded with a low, passionate moan that reverberated through the air. “Oh, gods, Geralt…your…your so fucking huge!” she exclaimed, surrendering to the intense pleasure that coursed through her.
As Geralt towered over Cantarella, his commanding presence filled the room, the weight of his body pressing into hers with each long, deep stroke. She could feel the heat radiating from his skin, mingling with hers, as his firm hand gripped her neck lightly, a subtle reminder of his control. Their bodies moved in perfect sync, the rhythmic motion of their lovemaking causing the bedsheet to rustle beneath them.
Caught in the ecstasy of their passion, Cantarella’s mind raced with conflicting thoughts. With every thrust, a sense of vulnerability surged through her, amplified by the intensity of Geralt’s gaze and the power of his touch. Her breath quickened and her senses heightened.
Their breaths intertwined, mingling with gasps and moans as their bodies moved as one. Cantarella’s voice quivered as she attempted to answer, “I… I am…” Her words faltered, her mind torn between the fear of revealing her true self and the intoxicating rush of being consumed by Geralt’s ardor.
“Tell me,” Geralt’s voice was low, commanding, each word laced with the intensity of their entwined bodies. His hips still surging into hers, urging her to surrender not just her body but her deepest truths.
Struggling to form coherent thoughts amidst the whirlwind of sensations, Cantarella finally whispered, “I’m… I’m a spy, Geralt.” Her confession was punctuated by a sharp intake of breath and the release of a primal moan that escaped her lips as Geralt’s thrusts intensified, driving her to the edge of reason.
Geralt’s grip on her neck relaxed, his thumb gently caressing her jawline as he absorbed her revelation. “A spy,” he repeated, his voice tinged with curiosity realizing Bernard’s tall tale was true.
“Ciri,” Geralt growled, the name reverberating through the room like a thunderclap, a mixture of protectiveness and concern lacing his voice. With each revelation, he pulled her closer, her body arching to meet his every thrust, driving her closer and closer to a release.
His breath was hot against her ear, his body moving with an urgency fueled by the need to unravel her secrets. “What have you reported back? What does Nilfgaard want with Ciri?” The questions poured out of him as he continued to drive into her, their bodies melding into one another, their shared heat and desire igniting an unstoppable passion that threatened to consume them both.
Cantarella’s mind reeled, the truth pouring forth like a dam finally breached. “They… they want her power,” she gasped, the admission leaving her lips as her body quivered beneath him. “They believe she can be the key to their dominance,” she confessed, her voice a mixture of fear and longing as she surrendered to the overwhelming force of Geralt’s desire and her surrender.
Geralt’s eyes locked onto hers, dark with a hunger that sent shivers down her spine. “What other secrets are you keeping from me, Cantarella? It’s time to unleash them,” he murmured, his voice low and seductive, dripping with dominance.
Cantarella’s body was fully upright, her face next to his as Geralt’s powerful thrust filled her, her breasts bounced freely to the tempo of his hips. “I was sent here to gather information on the tournament…and you….to ensure that certain interests were protected,” she confessed, her truths spilling from her without reservation.
As he delved deeper, she gasped, her muscles clenching around him, welcoming him in a carnal embrace. Between moans and gasps, he posed questions that prodded deeper into her motivations, unraveling the layers of her carefully constructed facade.
Geralt pushed her down into the bed, her face pressed against a pillow. Her hand found the space between her thighs, rubbing her clitoris rapidly as she felt his net sack slap into her fingers. “Oh my, oh god Geralt, you feel so good” she screamed.
His hands gripped her hips like reins, his fingers curling around the bones as he pulled her into him. “Oh fuck, yes! Others are hunting for Ciri too! We wanted to beat you to her” she admitted. He slapped her ass hard, leaving a sting, before plunging into her again and again.
“I can’t hold back anymore, Geralt!” Cantarella cried, her body writhing in ecstasy and desperation. “Oh Geralt, you feel so good!” she couldn’t help but cry out in pleasure, her voice rising in ecstasy. The tension within her spiraled into an all-consuming climax, her muscles coiling with the promise of release. A symphony of ecstasy unfurled, her back arching in response to the waves of pleasure that cascaded through her.
As Geralt continued to pound into her, Cantarella’s muscles tensed and her body shuddered in a climax that seemed to reverberate throughout her entire being. Every nerve was alight with the euphoria of the moment, her moans escalating until she was breathless and spent.
Chapter 17: Cantarella’s fate
Bernard lingered in the corner of the room, an observer of the carnal symphony unfolding before him. His eyes, like hungry vultures, devoured the scene—the monstrous Witcher, Geralt, dominating Cantarella with an intensity that echoed through the room. The air pulsed with their shared pleasure, and each collision of their bodies created a mesmerizing rhythm.
As Geralt’s large hands slapped Cantarella’s enticing ass, the sound resonated in the room. Bernard couldn’t deny the arousal that twisted within him, a wicked concoction of envy, desire, and a hint of fear. His mind raced with thoughts of survival, of how he could leverage this moment to his advantage, finding a way to keep Cantarella under his control.
His arousal heightened as he envisioned himself in Geralt’s place, his small hands mimicking the motions on his manhood. The halfling’s fantasies danced on the edge of danger, a delicate balance between lust and a strategic mind at work. In that dimly lit corner, Bernard’s desires and ambitions merged, creating a cunning plan that would satisfy his ambitions.
The halfling understood Geralt’s quest to save Ciri and the risk Cantarella may pose to Geralt’s goals. To ensure Geralt’s cooperation, Bernard concocted a narrative that would make releasing her not just a risk but a perilous decision.
With visions of a willing sex slave dancing in his mind, Bernard saw the potential for boundless pleasures and control. He recognized the leverage he could gain by keeping Cantarella in a perpetual state of desire and arousal. It was a plan born out of cunning manipulation, playing into both Geralt’s protective instincts and his desires.
Approaching Geralt, Bernard’s entrance disrupted the charged atmosphere. “Geralt, you know we can’t set her free. If Emhyr learns what we know, he will stop you from finding Ciri,” Bernard proclaimed, his eyes darting between Geralt and the moaning Cantarella.
As Geralt continued his unsettling dance, torn between desire and the weight of impending decisions, Cantarella’s moans became a haunting melody underscoring the gravity of their situation. The room pulsed with tension as they grappled with the consequences of their knowledge and the perilous path ahead.
Amid the charged encounter, Geralt acknowledged the pragmatic truth.
“We must keep her…tamed,” Bernard asserted with a sly grin. Seizing a familiar position, he stood in front of Cantarella, his hand tenderly brushing her cheek. Her eyes fluttered with desire as his manhood presented itself. “You like it here, don’t you, honey? As long as we keep you happy, you wouldn’t want it any other way,” Bernard stated, his voice carrying a mix of control and satisfaction.
Cantarella, lost in the throes of desire, moaned in agreement, “Yes! Oh yes! I love this! More, give me more!”
The bed creaked under the weight of their discussion, the fate of Cantarella hanging in the balance. However, Cantarella was lost in the throes of the blended potion, her mind consumed by fevered lust and desires that had only existed in her dreams. Each orgasm propelled her further into an abyss of pleasure, the overwhelming rapture of her soul controlling her.
Indifferent to the conversation around her, she longed to be claimed, to be possessed both now and for all eternity. The potion had led her to depths she never knew existed, and recovery seemed an impossibility.
Lifting her gaze to Bernard, she licked her lips, inviting his fat shaft into her warm mouth with an eagerness born from the potent elixir coursing through her veins.
At that moment a sinister pact was sealed between Geralt and Bernard. The plan was set – Geralt would craft more of the enhanced love potion in exchange for the crucial support he needed to journey to Skillage. The agreement hung in the air as the men locked eyes, understanding the power they held over Cantarella.
“Let’s get the most out of her, together, shall we, Geralt?” Bernard’s words were laced with anticipation as his hands entwined in Cantarella’s hair, pulling her into him. Geralt, acknowledging the weight of the moment, agreed, determined to claim her and ensure she never forgot the mark of the Witcher.
Their movements became relentless, a synchronized dance of desire that quickened with each passing moment. Cantarella’s body, their vessel of pleasure, succumbed to the intoxicating sensations they bestowed upon her. Geralt’s firm grip on her hair, possessive and commanding, pulled her back into him as Bernard released her. Cantarella’s breasts swaying in the dim light, sweaty and under their command, she became the canvas upon which their desires painted an unforgettable masterpiece.
In the room’s intimate confines, a confrontation unfolded between Cantarella, the embodiment of desire, and the commanding presence of the man before her. “I trusted you, Cantarella! You’ve been a bad girl, baby!” Geralt’s voice resonated, low and raspy, as he thrust deeply into her, eliciting a yelp that reverberated through the charged atmosphere.
“I’m a bad girl! Oh yes, give it to me! Give it all to me!” Cantarella’s plea carried a desperate edge, her anticipation palpable. The room pulsed with bated breaths as her body became the focal point of desire, sandwiched between the man standing before her and Geralt at her rear. The heartbeat of the scene quickened each breath a whisper of anticipation, building toward a climax that lingered in the air.
Bernard seized Cantarella’s breast with a possessive grip, twirling her nipples with a mixture of tongue and teeth. Simultaneously, his strong hands urged her legs open wider, and he plunged into her opening. The synchronization of the two men stretched her, their bodies converging to fulfill her deepest desires.
The air crackled with a blend of pain and pleasure as Cantarella’s screams echoed through the room. Two well-endowed men claimed her, their motions pushing her relentlessly toward the precipice of ecstasy. The scene unfolded in a symphony of desire, an intricate dance of bodies entwined in the pursuit of ultimate pleasure.
The trio on the bed formed a captivating tableau of desire. Cantarella, with her tousled hair cascading down her shoulders, was caught in the throes of pleasure. Her flushed skin bore the marks of their shared passion, and her eyes gleamed with a mixture of ecstasy and submission.
Geralt, muscular and imposing, hovered over her with a primal intensity. His gaze fixed on Cantarella, claiming her in both body and spirit. Bernard, the Halfling with a sly grin, added a unique dynamic to the scene, his small stature contrasting with the powerful presence he exuded.
As they moved in unison, the air became charged with the symphony of their moans and gasps. Cantarella’s sublime surrender was evident in every quiver of her body. She felt completely owned, embracing her role as their willing and eager sexual slave.
As Cantarella’s arms tightened behind her, fingers interlacing around Geralt’s neck, his teeth grazed against her neck before delivering a gentle bite. Ecstatic cries escaped her lips, “Yes! Oh god yes! I’m gonna cum again! I’m gonna cum so hard! Take me! Take all of me!” Bernard’s skilled hand twisted one of her breasts while his mouth expertly sucked on the other. Simultaneously, his hips thrust into her.
Geralt, folding her legs, and spreading her open, united their efforts in a synchronized dance of pleasure. The men pounded into her until Sasha’s orgasm erupted in a symphony of ecstasy. Her voice crescendoed, words tumbling out in a torrent of desire, “I’m cumming! Oh, yes! More! Please, more!”
In the crescendo of passion, each person vocalized their impending climax. Cantarella, caught in the whirlwind of desire, uttered breathless pleas, expressing her yearning for more. Geralt, his voice low and commanding, asserted his dominance. Bernard, with a mischievous tone, reveled in the pleasure they all shared.
Her body released a torrent of liquids, and she shook with the intensity of her climax. Each word, each moan, painted the room with the colors of her pleasure, a vivid masterpiece drawn from the depths of her fervent desires.
Together, their bodies entwined, they reached the pinnacle of ecstasy, leaving Cantarella awash in the aftermath of her surrender to their collective desires.
Bernard approached the peak of pleasure with an unrestrained intensity. As his thrusts grew more erratic, he couldn’t contain his impending climax. “I’m going to cum!” he exclaimed, his voice echoing through the charged air.
Cantarella, caught in the whirlwind of ecstasy, responded with fervent encouragement. “Yes, yes, give it to me!” she screamed, her desire matching his fervor.
Bernard, overcome by the sensations, directed Cantarella to “Suck my cock!” In a swift and willing motion, she did as she was told, her face descending, her mouth opened as he released onto her face, ropes of his cream-painted streaks across her flushed skin.
Her face, now adorned with the aftermath of his pleasure, as her lips closed in around him. Cream glistened on her cheeks, as she sucked his remaining release down her throat. She consumed his releases, fully immersed in the hedonistic moment.
Bent over, her hands planted firmly on the bed, Cantarella’s cream-covered face spoke of the uninhibited surrender to desire. With Bernard’s release marking her, Geralt, with newfound access, seized the opportunity to go deeper, his hands gripping her hips as he thrust himself fully into her.
“Fuck, Sasha, you are so hot!” Geralt exclaimed.
“Please call me Cantarella, Geralt! I want you to claim me as your lover! To scream my name as you cum in me! I…I want to always have something to remember you by,” she begged, still shaking from the intensity of her orgasm.
“I’ll give you something to remember me by,” he said. Geralt removed himself from her. His cock shifted, rubbing against the puckered flesh of her asshole, which spread to accommodate his thick flesh.
“I am claiming all of you, Cantarella! I want you to remember that this Witcher will always own your body!”
She purred in response, her body quivering with anticipation as his hips pressed against her rear, the head of his cock teasing her puckered entrance with a promise of unbridled pleasure and unyielding rapture.
As Geralt’s strong hands pulled her into the heat of his body.
As he pushed into her, she let out a small squeal of pleasure mixed with a hint of surprise. “Oh, god, you’re too big!” she gasped, her body quivering with the delicious onslaught of sensations that seemed to wash over her in an unending wave of pleasure and unyielding need.
With a determined thrust, his hardened flesh pressed into her, and this time, she found herself unable to resist, her taut puckered hole opening up for him in a testament to the unspoken desire that seemed to consume her whole. She could feel her ass expanding around him, her body yielding to his every touch and his every movement with an unyielding fervor that seemed to eclipse everything else in a rush of unbridled bliss and unspoken longing
Cantarella released a howl at his intrusion. Her back arched, creating a tantalizing curve, while her buttocks pressed against Geralt’s hips, sensually sandwiching his hard flesh in the rhythm of their passion.
He took a moment to savor the tightness enveloping him, his body reacting to the exhilarating sensation of claiming her in such an intimate way. With a controlled thrust, he began to move within her, each motion deliberate and precise, eliciting a symphony of pleasure and need that seemed to fill the room with an unending wave of unbridled passion and unyielding desire. She moaned, the sound a delightful mixture of pleasure and surprise as her body adjusted to his size, her senses ablaze with the intoxicating dance of unbridled ecstasy and unspoken longing.
As he relentlessly plowed into her, she felt a whirlwind of emotions course through her—exhilaration, vulnerability, and a sense of freedom she had never experienced. Her moans rose in pitch and intensity, each one a testament to the surrender she was experiencing, both physically and emotionally.
“Yes, yes, yes!” she screamed, her body trembling with anticipation, her skin flushed with the fire of their entwined desire. Each thrust of his hips sent shockwaves through her, her moans growing in volume and urgency as she teetered on the edge of ecstasy. Her hands grasped at the sheets, her fingers digging into the fabric as if trying to anchor herself amidst the storm of sensation.
With every powerful surge, she felt herself unraveling, the clash of her desires becoming more pronounced. Her lips parted, releasing a series of breathy gasps and impassioned pleas as her body yielded to his mastery. She could feel his presence consuming her, his dominance intertwining with her ferocious longing, drawing her ever closer to the precipice of surrender.
Geralt’s motions became more urgent, each powerful thrust radiating through Sasha’s body, igniting every nerve ending in a cacophony of sensation. “Oh, Geralt, I’m yours,” she gasped her voice a breathless plea as she surrendered herself completely to his dominating rhythm.
With each movement, she felt him driving deeper, his cock a relentless force filling her, pushing her to the brink of ecstasy. “Yes, Sasha, that’s it, let go,” he urged his voice a seductive rumble that resonated deep within her core, coaxing her to surrender to the rapture enveloping her.
Cantarella’s fingers clenched the bed sheets as the waves of euphoria crashed over her. She screamed in ecstasy, her eyes rolling into her head as Geralt’s hips continued their relentless plunge into her. The sensations rolled through her body, a tidal wave of pleasure that seemed to have no end.
Geralt, edging closer and closer to the precipice of release, found himself unable to hold back any longer. He unleashed his passion into her, and Cantarella, overwhelmed by the intensity, screamed, “Yes, yes! I feel you cumming in my ass, Geralt!” The room echoed with the symphony of their shared climax, a testament to the unrestrained desires that bound them at that moment.
In the final crescendo of pleasure, Cantarella found herself unable to contain the explosive release that surged through her. Cantarella shook, her ass burning in delightful pleasure, a reminder of the promises Geralt had made. With each shiver, she felt a sense of liberation, embracing the role she had willingly surrendered to.
As Geralt removed himself, the folds of his seed dribbled down her inner thigh, a tangible testament to the intensity of their encounter.
Bernard and Geralt stood over Cantarella, victorious in their conquest. “She’ll be here ready to service your needs whenever you need, Geralt,” Bernard remarked with a sly grin.
With that, the men dressed and left Cantarella’s spent, satiated body lying on the bed in a pool of her own wet release, a testament to the depths of desire they had explored.