#celus oviposition CW

[piceuscelus]

hmmmm having my own mermay thots, courtesy that anon that has opened my eyes to ciri being the mermaid

concept: merperson mating is a chase-and-catch affair, and geralt chasing ciri til she’s exhausted so he can fill her up

he’s massive and she’s tiny, of course, and it’s her first proper mating season so she’s half-delirious with the new need coursing through her - she almost doesn’t want to go through the chase, just wants geralt to give her what she needs, but he insists, so she does her best past the heat making her dizzy

and geralt is practically feral with it, getting rough when he catches her, rougher than he’d planned to be but ciri’s just begging for it

(i know fuck all about fish anatomy/breeding and also don’t care weeeee) female mers serving basically just as incubators and nutrient supplies, males laying the eggs inside them and fertilizing them. so geralt catches her and pins her down, then absolutely ravages her, stuffing her so full she’s round and crying, squirming weakly as he keeps going, and it hurts and its unfamiliar but it feels so good, too, and geralt keeps telling her how good she is, how pretty and perfect

by the time he finishes with her she can’t even swim by herself, so full and fucked out, so he has to carry her back to their little cave, cooing about how perfect she is and how she’ll be the perfect little incubator

and of course eventually he’ll help her lay the eggs, holding her and massaging and prodding at her as she sobs and thrashes through the process

[piceuscelus]

loved your ovi fic!! I'd love to see another. Maybe Geralt is sick of Jaskier trying to follow him on hunts so he tries to scare him off by using him as bait for a monster with an ovipositor who pumps him full of eggs. The eggs have to stay inside a host for 24 hrs, so Geralt plugs Jas up and watches gleefully as the grotesquely swollen, sobbing bard has to painfully waddle around after him for a whole day, too big to fit into his fancy clothes. He might just let Jas come on more hunts after all

hi i want to do So Many Things with this and not the least of which is write like 10k of jaskier being stuffed and then paraded around, but i’m supposed to be keeping this short(ish) SO

bless you and your cow, have your dub-con oviposition and geralt being questionable and horny

Geralt expects that the threat will make Jaskier back off, maybe finally make him feel afraid.

Apparently, it’s as fruitless as expecting Jaskier to stop following him.

“If I let you come on this hunt, I’ll be using you as bait.”

Jaskier blinks. “...well,” he says. “I suppose. What do you mean, exactly, by bait?”

Geralt sighs and rubs at his temples. “Exactly what I said, bard, I don’t speak in metaphors and half-truths like you. You’ll be bait. Tied up in the forest to lure the creature in.”

Among other things, he thinks, but doesn’t say.

Jaskier hums. “Well, that seems easy enough. Is this a particularly violent monster?”

“...no.” Geralt shakes his head. “It’s not malevolent at all.”

“So you’re not killing it?”

“No. I’m helping it. Sort of. More helping myself and a mage willing to pay a whole lot of gold for something that’s rather hard to obtain.”

“...alright,” Jaskier says. “I trust you.”

Geralt frowns. You shouldn’t. “Leave your lute and the doublet. It’s not likely to be kind to your clothes or anything else in its way.”

Jaskier nods. Of course, now is when he decides to be obedient.

– – – – –

“So what kind of monster is it? I’ve seen those bestiaries of yours.”

“Elementa,” Geralt answers. “Came with the Convergence. It’s made mostly of slime and tentacles.”

“Disgusting!” Jaskier says brightly. “Should make for a good drinking song.”

Geralt bites back on a snort. “Yeah, sure,” he murmurs.

– – – – – 

Geralt isn’t quite sure which is the worst part of this: the fact that when he tells him to, Jaskier strips naked as if he has no qualms about being entirely bare in a monster-infested forest with Geralt staring at him, or that when he ties Jaskier up, the bard’s cock starts to fill.

His does, too, but he knew that would happen. After a century of life, shame is kind of hard to come by. 

Jaskier is humming quietly to himself while Geralt finishes with the ropes. The bard is standing a few feet in front of a large oak, legs spread shoulder-width apart and arms stretched above his head. There’s rope around his ankles that’s anchored to stakes on either side of him, pulled taut so he can’t close his legs, and the rope around his wrists is secured to a thick branch above his head. 

He’s vulnerable. He’s looking around the clearing as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Geralt wants to fucking ruin him, but he knows that the monster will do that for him, so he holds back.

“Is there anything particular I should do to lure the creature out?” Jaskier asks as Geralt begins to pack up. He’ll be close enough to watch, but the monster isn’t likely to come around if it can sense too much silver. 

“No,” he shakes his head. “The smell of you will be enough.”

“The smell of me?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt gives a pointed nod to his half-hard cock.

The bard at least has the decency to flush. “You have very nice hands,” he says, as if that’s any kind of explanation or excuse. “So the monster is, uh...interested, I suppose.”

“Yes.” More than, Geralt thinks. It’ll think you’re the perfect host to lay its eggs. “I’ll be watching.”

He makes no more promises. After all, he’s not withholding the true intent of the monster – or this hunt – for shits and giggles. He’s trying to teach Jaskier a lesson.

“Alright,” Jaskier agrees. “I’ll be here.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, and makes off for the tree he’d scouted before beginning to tie Jaskier up.

– – – – –

It takes barely ten minutes after Geralt’s scent has faded away for the monster to show up. It’s a brilliant blue, looking like the water of a lake at high noon in the summer, and moves a lot like a river might, if water were thicker than it is. At first, it looks like a mobile puddle, really, but then, as it gets to the center of the clearing – finally catching Jaskier’s attention – the tentacles appear. They’re darker in color, more solid, but no less slick and viscous, Geralt knows from experience.

He’s far enough away to not alert the monster, but he’s close enough to see the microexpressions cross Jaskier’s face, to hear his sharp intake of breath. To smell him, just faintly, on the wind. He’s more turned on than before. Go figure.

The monster investigates for a moment, tentacles leaving sticky trails over the ropes first, and then Jaskier’s feet and calves, his wrists and forearms. Jaskier makes an odd, choked sound, then giggles and squirms – ticklish.

Interesting.

Slowly but surely, the monster’s explorations move toward Jaskier’s center, until there’s one sliding curiously over his cock, and – judging by the short, sharp noise Jaskier makes as he rocks onto his tiptoes – his ass.

“Fr...friendly, aren’t you,” Jaskier pants. “That’s – oh.”

Geralt almost wishes he’d tied Jaskier differently, so he could watch the process of the monster slowly working a tentacle into his ass, but he’d only had so much rope and limited options for how to get Jaskier tied properly. It’s an unfortunate loss, but he does get the next best thing, getting to watch Jaskier’s face as the reality of what’s happening starts to dawn on him.

He squirms, feet wriggling in the damp soil, hips twisting. “Geralt, Geralt,” he calls. “This is – are you – ”

Geralt doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to, not really. He’d said he'd be watching; he didn’t tell Jaskier he would be listening, or that he’d come to the rescue. 

Again, he’s teaching the bard a lesson.

He can see the moment the tentacle breaches Jaskier’s body from the way the bard’s eyes go wide as his mouth drops open. Seemingly against his own will, his hips rock back and then forward again, and he moans, loud and clear.

Well. That’s interesting.

He’d expected Jaskier might, but….

The tentacle sinks deeper, then pulls back and thrusts again; once more, Geralt wishes he could see it properly, watch Jaskier’s hole stretch around the slimy girth of it, but he can’t move now. It will have to suffice to see the movement of the tentacle and Jaskier’s face.

It doesn’t take long to work up to the right point, the tentacle brutally efficient in its job of stretching Jaskier’s ass wide and slicking him up. Jaskier is moaning throughout the process, eyes crossed when they’re not closed, body shaking where the ropes are suspending his weight. His cock is much more than half-hard by now, and as Geralt watches, it throbs and drips a string of precum to the forest floor.

“Geralt,” Jaskier mumbles weakly. “Geralt, you….”

He doesn’t finish. Geralt doesn’t wonder what he was going to say, watching with anticipation as the preparing tentacle slips away and a new one replaces it. Jaskier whines when the first leaves, and then whines again, louder, when the second appears.

“Oh, what,” he mutters, wriggling his hips again. Two tentacles appear at his sides, wrapping tight around him like the rope, functionally immobilizing him. He gasps sharply, eyes flying open wide, and then he’s doing it again as they slam shut again when the new tentacle behind him starts to push inside. 

“Big,” Jaskier whimpers, lashes fluttering. Geralt allows himself a small, nearly-silent chuckle. Big, indeed, he thinks. It’ll get worse.

This tentacle sinks inside with a slow, steady pace, no thrusts at all. Jaskier is panting and whining at the stretch of it, at the fullness, his cock bobbing and drooling as he shifts as much as he can with how captive he’s become. Geralt can tell the moment that the second tentacle reaches the right depth, because he can just barely see the way Jaskier’s belly bulges around it. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier whines again. “What is it – what’s – ”

His eyes go wide again and he properly tries to struggle this time, no more wriggling but instead trying to thrash. He doesn’t get anywhere, held tight with Geralt’s rope and the tentacles still around his waist. Geralt’s eyes flick to the part of the tentacle still resting on the ground, behind Jaskier’s calf, where he can still see it. There’s a slightly darker shape moving through it, up toward Jaskier’s body.

He bites his lip and watches intently, wanting to capture the exact moment that Jaskier feels the new stretch, as well as when the egg is deposited in his guts. 

He catches both. Jaskier’s eyes widen even further somehow, and he chokes out an alarmed noise; once the egg is past his rim, he just squirms fruitlessly some more, and then he’s choking around a deep, startled grunt when the egg slips into his belly. Geralt can see the bulge of it, and his cock throbs in his breeches.

Jaskier is panting. “Geralt, this is – what is happening, this isn’t…. Fuck.”

Another egg makes the journey, and Geralt watches everything repeat, sees the way Jaskier’s cock jerks and pulses as it settles into his belly, too. Another, and then another – half a dozen, a dozen, two dozen. 

Finally, Geralt watches the twenty-fifth egg pump into Jaskier, where his belly is already swollen, lumpy with the eggs and probably aching. Jaskier’s cock is, impossibly, still hard, purpling at the tip and shiny with the wealth of precum smeared over the head. 

There’s a moment where the tentacle pulls out slightly, then pulses one last time before it drops to the ground, and the monster begins its slow crawl away. Geralt watches it go out of the corner of his eye, most of his focus on Jaskier where he dangles from the ropes, exhausted and clearly in pain and still wanting, somehow.

Jaskier whines when Geralt re-enters the clearing. “Hurts,” he rasps. “I – Geralt. They won’t...come out.”

“It’s plugged you,” Geralt explains. “The eggs have to stay in a host for 24 hours. The plug it made will dissolve in about half an hour, but I’ve got another to make sure they stay.

Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “Tw – twenty four hours?” he asks breathlessly. “Geralt, I can’t – this is – ”

“You wanted to come on a hunt,” Geralt shrugs. “I needed bait and an incubator.”

Jaskier whines. “What – what if I hadn’t come along.”

“I’d have done it.”

“...you say that like you’ve done this before.”

“I have. Not very often, but it’s lucrative. I’m going to untie you. Lean on my if you need to, but don’t press your stomach against anything too hard.”

“...fine.”

Slowly, Geralt unties Jaskier – feet first, and then arms, letting the bard lean on him and then lowering him slowly to the ground while he gathers the rope and stores it away. Once everything is packed, he grabs the plug he’d brought and walks back over to Jaskier.

“Legs open,” he orders, and Jaskier squeaks, but does it. His cock has softened, but only just, and Geralt feels his own throb again. He gets the plug into Jaskier’s ass with as much professionalism as he can, then stands and offers a hand out.

Jaskier gapes. “You’re – we’re not going, are we?”

Geralt raises a brow. “Yes,” he says. “We need to get to the next town before sundown. Find an inn.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, voice rising in panic. “I’m – my clothes won’t fit like this. I can’t just – we have to camp.”

“No,” Geralt shakes his head. “If I had done this, we’d be moving on – so we’ll move on. Come on, up.”

He reaches out and grabs Jaskier’s wrist to pull him up. Jaskier shouts and stumbles to his feet, groaning loudly as the eggs shift. Geralt watches in fascination as his cock starts to harden again.

He’s clearly in pain, and upset, and a myriad of things that Geralt would think would squash his arousal.

And yet.

“Maybe if you’re good and walk along until we get to the next town, I’ll let you come,” Geralt offers.

Jaskier sucks in a breath, then whimpers when that clearly hurts him. “Geralt,” he pleads, but Geralt just shakes his head, and the bard sighs. He settles a hand over his bulging belly and grunts.

“...okay,” he says. “Help me get my boots back on, and okay.”

Geralt does just that, carefully not letting himself grin.

– – – – –

Jaskier is whimpering three minutes in. Ten minutes in, he’s crying. Fifteen, and he’s sobbing, shoulders shaking as he holds his belly. 

All the while, his cock never flags all the way.

Geralt watches him, pleased, as he sobs and gasps and stumbles, naked as the day he was born aside from the boots. His belly is starting to bruise, mottled from the inside because of the pressure, and his knees are shaking with each step he takes. 

By the time they can see the town on the horizon, the sun casting a gold-orange glow as it sets, Jaskier is gasping, heart rate almost dangerously elevated, and his eyes are hazy. Obviously, they can’t enter the town like this – no matter how much Geralt wants to, wants to see the looks they’d get, a Witcher on his horse with a swollen, bruised bard stumbling along behind him looking well-fucked and ruined, a plug settled in his ass.

So just outside, in a dark patch of trees, he stops, and pulls Jaskier into the shelter.

“Geralt,” Jaskier gasps. “Geralt, please, this is – too much, too much.”

“Nearly a whole day to go, bard,” Geralt says, not unsympathetically. “But I did say I would give you a reward, no? And we need to get you somewhat decent to go into town, anyway. Come here.”

Jaskier lists into Geralt’s arms immediately, whimpering, and Geralt carefully situates him so there’s no weight on his lumpy belly, but he doesn’t have to hold himself up at all. 

It only takes two strokes and a soft murmur of, “Very good, Jaskier,” to make the bard come with a cracked scream.

When he’s done convulsing through the pleasure – likely jostling the eggs around his insides, which either hurts or feels incredible, Geralt knows from personal experience – he goes back to sobbing.

“Geralt, Geralt,” he whimpers. “I, I can’t.”

“Yes you can, bard,” Geralt says. “Just a little more.”

Jaskier sucks in a sharp, ragged breath, and Geralt feels the way the cramp rocks through his body. His own cock throbs heavily in his breeches, but he continues to ignore it. He can deal with it later – maybe even have Jaskier deal with it….

But later, all the same.

“Come on, Jaskier.”

“...o-okay.”

[piceuscelus]

Ciri is supposed to sail to Skellige, to meet the Jarl. En route, the ship gets into a storm and she gets thrown overboard.

When she wakes up, she's along on a tiny, rocky outcropping. Except she's not alone... There are eyes watching her from the water, eyes that reflect the lightning oddly, and when she wakes, there are damp, sandy handprints all over her.

ooooh this one is all mysterious i love it

maybe she’s hurt, can’t really get off the outcropping right away - she can swim to a little island she can see in the distance, but she’s got to heal some first. problem, though: she doesn’t have any way to get food, or water she can drink.

she frets about it, and wonders about those handprints, but eventually falls asleep again. when she wakes up this time, there’s a waterskin and cooked fish and more sandy handprints, this time on her hips and breasts.

she figures it’s fair trade, really, whatever the thing is giving her food and water to keep her alive and getting...whatever it’s getting from her while she sleeps.

that goes on for a couple of days, and ciri is feeling good enough she might be able to head to the island. she falls asleep again after a rather nice dinner - she thinks the fish was even seasoned this time! - except when she wakes up, there’s not just sandy handprints anymore.

there’s bruises, and while that’s mildly alarming it’s not a big deal. the pouch of her stomach and the fact that she feels stuffed full, cunt throbbing sore, though, that’s....interesting.

[piceuscelus]

[Wreck Ciri Anon] YOU RANG? Howwwwwwww do we feel about monsterfucker Ciri and Eskel going back to Kaer Morhen for the winter, trying to hide what she's been up to from Geralt? But she gets so pent-up, she goes out for a hunt and meets Lambert before she smells quite...right again. And he threatens to tell Geralt unless she lets him watch, too, and the idea makes her so wet... and then Vesemir catches her, wants to "study this," until it's just Geralt who doesn't know...

hhhh babe i love you so much

this one is short but rest assured i have IDEAS and idk if they’ll go anywhere but they’re all filthy and i bow down before you in thanks

Ciri tries to tamp down on her urges during the winter. She does.

It’s just...hard. And she can’t very well get fucked by anyone else, either. She knows Eskel would be willing, but nothing is a secret in a keep of Witchers, and the last thing she wants to do is try to explain to Geralt. Any of it, really – her and Eskel, or the monsterfucking. 

Sure, she knows that Geralt has done his own fair share of getting around with the non-human and monstrous, but this is a bit different.

Eventually, though, she can’t contain it anymore. She lets Eskel know what she’s doing – he can’t follow her, not without more forethought about planning to hunt together or something, but it’s better than just disappearing.

Luckily, the forests around Kaer Morhen are infested with all kinds of things.

– – – – –

There’s a nest of male drowners making a home downriver of the keep. She pulls the right vial from her pouch before undressing and putting all of her things high up in a tree, and then covers herself in the pheromones.

Just for the sake of safety – and because she really is so fucking desperate for it – she also uses the pheromone solution to finger her ass open. It’s not quick slick enough, but it’s good all the same, and she hopes that using the pheromones will make the drowners want her ass, too.

After all, if she can get properly fucked out here, maybe then she can hold out for a bit longer.

The drowners smell her before she even gets to the nest proper, and she finds herself being grabbed by slimy, webbed hands and forced down into the dirt. She goes easily, doesn’t struggle, and the drowner propped over her back makes a low, excited noise before rutting forward against her ass. 

Some are smarter than others, though, and a second one shoves it out of the way to mount her proper, slamming its cock into her cunt without any problems. She buries her face in the mud to scream, entire body lighting up as she’s filled, fast and rough and perfect. 

When the drowner is done, one of its friend shoves it back out of the way to set upon her. She thinks its the first one, but she can’t tell for sure and it doesn’t actually matter. There’s more fruitless, aimless rutting at her for a moment before this one’s cock catches – on her asshole.

She screams again, the pain almost too much, but before she can even adjust, there’s a drowner on the ground next to her, shoving under her body to rut up against her belly, frantic from the pheromones she’s soaked in. Between the one at her back rutting quick and hard, and her own gentle encouragement, it only takes a minute or two to get the bottom drowner’s cock to slip into her cunt.

“Oh, oh, fuck, please,” she babbles, and loses herself to the vicious pleasure for a while.

– – – – –

She’s...better, she finds, as she trudges back to her things, but the itch under her skin is still there. She needs more.

She doesn’t bother putting her clothes back on, just gathers her things and sets off into the wilds to look for more monsters. 

It’s not long before she stumbles upon werewolf tracks. But before she can properly tune in to find the werewolf – likely a born one, but feral, considering the phase of the moon and the location – she finds evidence of something else.

Someone.

“Hey, Ciri.”

Shit.

“Lambert,” she says, and her voice is mostly steady. 

“What are you up to?”

“None of your business,” she says, and he cocks his head with a smirk. 

“Oh really?” he says, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes trail over her body. She shivers. “So you think I should just go back to the castle,” he continues, “maybe see if Geralt is still awake…? I think he’d like to know if you got accosted by drowners.”

“Lambert, don’t,” she says, heart in her throat.

“I can tell what you did,” he says. “Gotta say, I never thought you’d do that kind of thing, but…. Well. You’re looking for the werewolf, aren’t you?”

“...yes.”

“Let me watch, and I won’t tell Geralt,” Lambert offers, and he gives her another once over.

Ciri sucks in a breath, feeling the heat already pooling in her belly, her cunt. 

“Fine,” she agrees.

– – – – –

With Lambert to help, finding the werewolf is easy.

With the pheromones already on her, even though they’re for the wrong monster, it’s even easier to get it to fuck her. 

She was right, it’s a born werewolf, but a feral one. It growls at Lambert, but can’t seem to take its attention entirely off of her, especially when she goes to the ground, face in the dirt and hips raised high. All it takes, once she’s in position, is an enticing howl – something Eskel taught her how to do – and a wiggle of her ass, and the werewolf is on her.

She sobs when its cock slides into her cunt, bigger than the drowners, more satisfying. “Oh, yes,” she mumbles, fists digging into the dirt. “Fuck, yeah, oh.”

“Shit, Ciri,” Lambert mutters, and Ciri whines as she gushes wet over the werewolf’s cock as it pistons into her, each thrust jarring and making her eyes go crossed. 

“F...feels good,” she gasps out. “Want it to knot me.”

Lambert sucks in a breath. “Can make it,” he says. “If you want.”

Ciri moans, because she knows that, has had Eskel do it. “Please,” she begs. “Please, I need it so bad – ”

The werewolf roars, and she just barely sees the flare of magic before it’s shoving into her, knot and all. It locks easily and she wails as she comes, entire body jolting and shuddering.

“Fuck,” she pants. “Fuck, feels so fucking good.” She grinds back against the werewolf, making it growl at her and jerk its hips. The way the knot tugs at her insides makes her whine.

She turns her head to see Lambert with one hand down his pants, wide-eyed as he jerks his cock to the sight of her caught on a werewolf’s knot. She licks her lips as she watches, and that’s what sets Lambert off, knocking a startled grunt out of him as he spills into his pants.

– – – – –

The night with the drowners and the werewolf manage to tide her over to another few weeks. 

But then she’s back to being restless and itchy. Horny.

She wants to be filled. Properly. 

Problem is, when she goes to the far-out cave that houses several arachas, she finds Vesemir already there.

And just like when she ran into Lambert, there’s fuck all she can do to explain this away; she reeks like arousal and arachas pheromones. 

Vesemir gives her a curious look. “Not a common choice,” he says. She flushes scarlet.

“Don’t tell Geralt,” she murmurs, and Vesemir hums.

“Let me see,” he says. “I think I’ll study it, if you’re going to give me the option – let me see, and I won’t tell Geralt.”

Ciri hates the fact that she immediately soaks her breeches. 

“Y-yeah.”

So Vesemir watches as she strips, as she carefully opens herself up with a special oil, plugging her cunt up with a toy so the arachas can’t push its eggs into her womb. She’s done it before, but she doesn’t think she can handle it right now.

They move deeper into the cave, and it doesn’t take long before one of the arachas catches her scent. Vesemir stays back, close enough to see – and hear, and smell – but far enough to not spook the monster. Ciri takes a shuddering breath and gets into position, just in time for the insectoid to come sniffing, as it were.

Much like any other monster, it gives a cursory examination and then just goes for it. Its ovipositor is large and cold, only a little softer than the toy stretching her cunt, and she can’t help the way she sobs for it, working her hips into the pressure of it. 

The arachas clicks, excitedly, and then moves. As it thrusts, she feels the creep of the eggs along the shaft, until finally they’re pushed into her, deeper and deeper with each new one that the arachas forces into her body. They’re smallish eggs, but they’re hard and heavy, and the arachas is guaranteed to lay at least two dozen. 

She can tell Vesemir is shocked when she comes, even as she sobs at the sensation of being so filled. He’s probably even more shocked that she comes again, and again, and then a fourth time when the arachas is finally done breeding her, leaving her stuffed full of its eggs and in a heap on the floor.

It takes a little bit of maneuvering, but she manages to twist until she can grab the dildo in her cunt and fuck herself with it, quick and hard, and comes a fifth time with a wail.

– – – – –

After that, she notices how Lambert, Vesemir, and Eskel all look at her.

Geralt still doesn’t know.

And she’s still itchy, barely holding on without the ability to get fucked near constantly – by monsters or by Eskel.

But with the three of them knowing, it is much easier to get out to get a fix.

[piceuscelus]

On the topic of Ciri being stuffed full: They need eggs to sell, they're a rare ingredient worth an incredible amount, but need to be kept warm and moist or else they'll deteriorate and be unusable. Cue Jaskier and Geralt helping Ciri get pumped full of eggs, helping hold her still and helping spread her cunt open, telling her what a good girl she is, how she's going to be so full and she's just a squirming, overstimulated mess from how the tentacles/vines/whatever are pulsing and bulging inside

hhhhh hi i’m drooling a little

this turned into monsterfucking and oviposition (obvs), but belongs to the world’s weirdest triad series lmao, also womb fucking,,,?

“You don’t have to accept this one, if you don’t want to.”

Ciri fixes Geralt with a deeply unimpressed look. Jaskier, lounging on the bed behind the Witcher, devolves into muffled giggles. Geralt has the decency to look sheepish.

“You need new armor, Roach needs new shoes, Jaskier needs to take his lute to a luthier, and if I don’t get at least a new pair of breeches, I’m going to go back to panhandling because people will assume I’m a destitute orphan on the street on sight. This will pay for all of that twice over.”

Geralt frowns. “Yes, but – ”

“But nothing, Geralt.” Ciri rolls her eyes. “Don’t think I can’t see the state of your pants.”

“Cirilla.”

She smirks, crossing the room to press up against Geralt’s front, hand landing on his thigh just shy of where she can see the outline of his burgeoning erection. “It’s not a secret anymore, Geralt. It’s been years, and you know I enjoy it just as much as you two do.”

“Hey,” Jaskier says, faintly, but when Ciri peeks around Geralt’s side to look at him he’s smirking. She sticks her tongue out at him and then turns her attention back to Geralt.

“I’ll be fine,” she insists. She moves her hand, brushing over the bulge, and grins when his eyes narrow as he shivers. “Besides, you and Jaskier will take care of me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Jaskier says, soft but immediate. Geralt sighs softly and ducks down slightly to kiss Ciri’s temple. 

She turns her face to catch the corner of his mouth, and he smiles slightly before he turns to kiss her properly.

– – – – – 

“Gotta make sure you’re secure,” Jaskier murmurs, petting over Ciri’s wrist where he’s carefully tying it to a deep-set stake. “Feel okay?”

Ciri hums agreeably. “Yeah,” she says softly, nuzzling against his thigh. He chuckles and pets her hair before shifting over to tie her other wrist. 

“Already a little loopy?” he asks.

“Mhm,” Ciri nods with a sigh. “That shit is strong.”

“It’s a larger dose,” Geralt says. He’s knelt by her feet, fiddling about with a mortar and pestle as he grinds herbs and some oil into a poultice. Ciri watches his muscles shift as he works, already feeling a little shivery, a little hot. Judging from the way Jaskier chuckles when his hand brushes her throat, he notices her elevated heart rate. She lazily sticks her tongue out at him before letting her head drop back, closing her eyes.

Jaskier ties her legs open just like her wrists, and she tries wriggling a little; she can lift her hips and her head, and tip her knees in or out, but otherwise she’s entirely immobile. She groans at the restraint, shifting her hips a little just to feel the pull at her ankles. 

Jaskier chuckles again. “Already desperate for it?” he teases, and she feels the heat of him at her side, hums happily when he pets through her hair.

“Mhm. Geralt?”

“Almost done,” he assures, and she hears the familiar, rough sound of him scraping the poultice out of the mortar with a knife. She shudders at it, and Jaskier pets through her hair again. 

Geralt touches her hip with his free hand in warning, and then he’s shifting that touch down to her cunt, spreading her open. She whines at the feeling of it, clenching around nothing, and Geralt grunts softly when he sees it.

“Already wet,” he murmurs, tracing the edge of her entrance with a fingertip. “You’ll be insatiable once you’re full.”

Ciri giggles. “Aren’t I always?”

Jaskier snorts. “Even when you’re not full,” he says, and leans down to press a kiss to her cheek. She turns her head, blind, and he catches the hint quickly, kissing her sweet and slow. While they’re distracted with one another, Geralt sets to fingering her open, first with his clean hand and then, once she’s a little more stretched, with the fingers covered in the poultice. She jolts when she first feels it, the odd cool-gritty quality of the poultice always strange at first. Jaskier pets over her naked belly to soothe her, and she nips at his lip.

She has to pull back from the kiss to whine when Geralt’s fingers press up against her cervix, a dull ache spreading through her hips that only intensifies as he carefully coats the spongy muscle with the poultice. The ache itself just makes her shudder and moan, and the feeling of her cervix relaxing, the herbal poultice doing it’s job, just makes it better.

“Ah, ah,” she pants, and Jaskier kisses lightly over her throat, hand still resting on her belly. He shifts it down, just slightly, and rubs a little harder, somehow soothing and intensifying the ache all at once. She moans again, arching into his touch and Geralt’s.

“Good,” Geralt murmurs, still prodding gently at her cervix, feeling the way she’s relaxing. “Good, Ciri, just like that. How do you feel?”

“Good – ah, fu – please.” 

Geralt huffs, but a third finger sinks into her next to the other two, and his other hand moves up so he can circle his thumb around her clit. She cries out, hips jerking into it before Jaskier can press her back down. 

“Like this, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Come on, let go.”

Geralt presses a little harder where he’s thumbing at her clit, and she cries out as the orgasm washes over her, everything going hazy for a moment before she’s coming back gasping, clenching hard around Geralt’s knuckles.

“Oh, oh,” she pants, and Geralt hums as he crooks his fingers, rocking them inside her in a way that makes her stomach drop out. “Ah!”

“Yeah, just like that, look at you,” Jaskier coos, always the more talkative one, “give us another, sweetheart.”

She opens her mouth to say something – she doesn’t really know what – but before she can find her voice past the little whimpers tumbling out of her, Geralt leans down and sucks gently at her clit and she’s doing exactly as Jaskier says. “Ah, Jas – Ger – fuck!”

Time loses meaning for a bit as she rides the wave of what cannot possibly just be one climax, and all she’s really aware of is the feeling of the ache and stretch in her cunt and Jaskier and Geralt’s sounds, soft words and little grunts that set fire to her nerves.

When she finally comes down, Geralt is wiping the remains of the poultice off of his hands and Jaskier is just petting her, lithe hands tracing a pattern from her hips to her throat and then down again. 

“There you are.” He chuckles when her eyes flutter open. “Feel good?”

Ciri swallows and wriggles a little, still tied up and feeling loose and restrained all at once, and in more than the typical ways. “Yeah,” she says. “What next?”

“Geralt will lure the thing here and Axii it so it sees you as a viable mate, and then it’ll lay its eggs.”

She hums. “Okay.”

Geralt kneels down to her side and leans over to press a slow, sweet kiss to her mouth. She sighs softly into it, straining a little closer. Geralt smiles against her mouth. 

– – – – – 

Ciri zones out while they wait for Geralt to return, though it’s easy to hear when he and the creature are nearby. Jaskier hums and leaves her with a stroke to her hair before settling closer to her legs, hand resting on her pubic mound and making her shiver.

The creature itself is grotesque, looking like some kind of disgusting crossbreed between a grave hag and a nekker, but with the basic silhouette of a squid and the many limbs to match, though only a handful look like tentacles. 

“Gross,” Ciri murmurs, but she doesn’t fight the restraints, and just closes her eyes. 

“It’ll feel better than it looks, I’m certain,” Jaskier says, clearly amused. “And if it doesn’t, well – we’ll make up for that. Right, Geralt?”

“Mhm.”

“You’d better,” Ciri mumbles, but there’s no heat to it, and she squeaks when Jaskier reaches down and grasps at her labia to pull her open. The sensations of being spread so forcefully wide and her cervix relaxing open make her stomach flip, and she clenches down on nothing with a little whine. 

She can hear the creature lumbering closer, and then suddenly it’s between her legs, and she jumps a little. Its skin is surprisingly smooth and soft for how rough and worn it looked, and when something slides over her thigh and hip to prod at her cunt, it’s startlingly warm and slick.

“Oh,” she gasps softly, unable to stop herself from jerking up into the pressure at her hole. Whatever appendage it’s prodding at her with is thick, no taper to it like a tentacle, and the idea of it forcing that inside her – possibly clear inside of her womb – makes her whine and gush her own slick to add to the creature’s mess.

It makes some kind of guttural sound – something very clearly excited – and that appendage is pushing at her entrance, thick and blunt. She whimpers, trying to relax, to let it inside, but eventually – when the thing makes another noise, frustrated this time – Jaskier slides his fingers in and hooks them, so he can properly pry her cunt open.

She wails, the stretch of it right on the border of too much, pain that’s sharper than the ache in her center racing through her. “Ja – Jask,” she sobs. “Jask, it – oh, fuck fuck fuck – ”

Her words are cut off in a sharp, high breath as the blunt pressure finally turns into being filled, the creature’s tentacle – or whatever it is – sinking inside her body at last. Jaskier lets go of the edges of her entrance and she whines, clenching down on the creature hard, jolting and moaning at the feeling of fullness as the thing pushes deeper and deeper, until that blunt head is pressed against her cervix.

“Look at that,” Jaskier mumbles, sounding awed, and as much as Ciri doesn’t really want to look at the thing between her legs, she can’t help but open her eyes to see what he’s looking at. And when she sees it, too, she keens, spasming and bearing down on the thing until it pops through the barrier of her cervix with a jolt.

“Ah!” The little bulge in her belly moves, synced with the tentacle-thing wriggling a bit, and then the creature trills, a pleased, excited noise that makes Ciri shiver. She closes her eyes again, focusing on the way her body is pulsing, trying to force the thing out unsuccessfully. Jaskier is petting her side, but Geralt is worryingly silent, and her stomach swoops. “Ger – Geralt?”

“Right here,” he answers, immediate and assuring, and then she feels him settle to her other side, one hand resting in her hair. 

There’s a pause for a moment, and then the creature is moving, its tentacle pulling back just far enough to escape the grip of her womb and then pushing back in, making pain sear through Ciri’s lower body as she sobs. 

Despite that, though, she’s still soaked, and she feels like if the creature would move just a little faster, she could come from this. The thing doesn’t move faster, though, just keeps its slow pace, its tentacle popping in and out of her womb like a metronome. 

“Fuck,” she cries, and tries to thrash, to twist, but finds that she can’t – the ropes. That was the point, after all. “Fuck, fuck.”

Finally, the creature stills, pushed the deepest into her womb it’s gotten so far, and makes a low, dangerous sound. Ciri can feel the way the thing inside her expands at the base, and then that bulge moves, stretching her cunt and her womb wide before it spills out of the tip of the thing. 

Hundreds of tiny, delicate, ludicrously expensive eggs. Ones that she’ll have to push back out, in about a week’s time.

But before that, this thing is going to absolutely stuff her with them

Another moving bulge, and tears spill over as she tries to twist, caught somewhere between animal fright and pain and searing, mind-bending pleasure. She can feel the ache deep inside as her womb fills, as the eggs force her to swell – already visible, and only getting bigger. 

It feels like there’s hundreds of tiny rocks inside her, but...softer. Another pulse of them fills her, and she loses her breath at the way the stretch makes her cunt pulse.

“Ja – Jas,” she pleads, mostly a whine. “W-want – ple – oh fuck.”

Jaskier doesn’t seem to need the instruction or the begging, though. As soon as she’s managed to utter his name – or at least an approximation of it – he’s reaching down to press at her clit, fingertips light at first and then harder as she keens.

Another pulse of eggs, the creature roaring softly, and Ciri tumbles into an orgasm that’s almost more pain than anything else but whites out her senses all the same, the only thing left being the fullness. 

After that she loses track of how many loads of eggs the thing has pumped into her, just whimpering and sobbing with each new one, with each new orgasm Jaskier gives her as she’s stuffed. Eventually, even through tear-blurry eyes, she can see she’s become large – larger than she’s ever been stuffed, large enough that she can barely see the creature fucking her anymore because her distended belly is in the way.

“Good girl,” Geralt murmurs. “So good, look how full you are.”

“Don’t you feel like you’ll burst, sweetheart?” Jaskier adds. “Imagine what it’ll feel like to walk. Once the thing is done, we’ll have to spread you open and make sure none of those eggs escape.”

Ciri wails, another orgasm overtaking her for a breath-stealing moment as another pulse fills her, everything sore and sensitive and startlingly good, the stretch of the eggs bulging through the tentacle and then the heavy drop as they settle into her womb.

“Very, very good, sweetheart,” Geralt whispers, right into her ear, and she whines, turning her head for a kiss just before she finally blacks out.

– – – – –

She wakes to the feeling of Geralt and Jaskier’s fingers both sunk inside her, gently pushing escaped eggs back into her womb, and comes so hard all over again that she’s gone again.

[piceuscelus]

congratulations on finishing your project! mer ciri knows that good girls don't get all horny and needy, but nobody could blame her if she "accidentally" goes near some kind of sea monster and gets herself so stuffed full of eggs she can hardly swim, right? but it's a little more difficult than she was anticipating to get herself unstuffed again, and eskel agrees to help (she's so embarrassed, begging him not to tell geralt) but between the discomfort and his disapproving tone her whole body tightens up and won't let go of them, even as he presses on her tender belly and massages her slit until it's puffy and oversensitive. he has a suspicion letting her cum would help, but he doesn't have much of an incentive to do so

hrk oh my god

okay imagine tiny ciri, barely 12 or 13 but already with geralt and the others. she’s been told a dozen times or more not to go into the waters at the coast, because there are all kinds of things waiting to eat her out there, “or worse” she keeps getting told

but of course she’s horny curious, especially about “worse”, because she’s heard rumors, so she slips away one night to go investigate and gets caught by something very big with many tentacles and too many eyes, but it can talk to her (she doesn’t know how, she can’t see a mouth?) and it thinks she smells good and looks better and she’s excited by this thing that seems to want her

so it fucks her so full she’s heavy as a rock, barely able to swim back to shore, all round and aching. she lays on the shore for a while just trying to breathe, mindfucked from the experience, from how much she likes being so full

except then she realizes she...doesn’t know how to get them out.

and she panics at first, because how can she go to geralt? but then she remembers eskel, and he’s cool, and she knows he’s done things like this - so she sneaks around to get past geralt and goes to eskel.

and he’s very disappointed in her, all disapproving, scolding her for how dangerous that was, how she could have gotten hurt, but he says he’ll help her get the eggs out, and he promises not to tell geralt as long as she promises not to do something like this again.

and he knows making her come would help get the eggs out easier, but.... well. she’s so pretty all full and crying like this, and he’s considering how hard it would be to convince her that he’s got to fuck her to help, instead of just making her come with his fingers.

he might as well get something out of this, right?

[piceuscelus]

OK but Geralt & Ciri teaming up to help repopulate an endangered species of mermaid. They're so rare because they need to use another creatures body to incubate their eggs before laying them so Ciri convinces Geralt to let her help them. She's embarrassed at first because no you can't watch!! I can do this by myself!! But he wants to make sure she's safe so in the end he sits on a rock and watches her get filled full of eggs. All of them trying to get their cocks into her at once (1/2)

okay this is already so fucking delicious but how about this: the first time, geralt just watches.

the second time, he helps hold her down.

:D

and eventually ciri’s going to have to get those eggs back out, so please imagine geralt knelt behind her as she tries to lay them, helping her along by massaging her stomach, getting his fingers in her cunt to hold her open, getting her off to distract from the ache of it

[piceuscelus]

Ciri mermay, you say? Ciri goes on a quest to a haunted island off Skellige to find a lost, sunken bauble and discovers its home to a ceceaelian desperate to lay its clutch, but it needs to make a good, fertile space for them to incubate first. Initially unwilling Ciri is injected, pleasured, and fed until the creature can tell she's going to be a good incubator, then stuffed full and kept in a hidden cave as the eggs swell within her. Maybe once she pushes them out, she realizes how desperate she is to be stuffed again, and exactly how far she's fallen. -wca <3 (also congrats)

hhhhhnnngg yes please

just. it grabbing her and keeping her still with its tentacles while it forces her, til she’s mindless and begging for it. maybe she’s not even really aware after a while, but comes back to all stuffed achingly full and somehow still desperate for it

the ceceaelian is thrilled that such a nice incubator stumbled into its lair. it takes very good care of her, feeding her and keeping her warm and especially making sure she’s always as stuffed full as she can get - if not with eggs, with tentacles or other things, anything it can find to stuff into her without hurting her to keep her satisfied :3

[piceuscelus]

Monsterfucker Ciri's arachas egg prevention failing and leaving her to have to find a way to get them out without geralt noticing? Maybe Eskel and lambert help, or maybe they like seeing her like this too much and just help her hide it, reaping the rewards in private

didn’t really do the hiding it from geralt part,,, but eskel fucking ciri while she’s full of arachas eggs happened :D

It happens by accident. 

She’s in the cave again, because she wants to be properly full for a while, and the arachas are in their breeding season now. But somewhere in the haze, something slips.

She doesn’t notice until the arachas’ ovipositor is slamming into her cunt, a fierce pressure on her cervix that turns quickly into forcing her open around it, that something’s wrong. She cries out, unable to stop herself from riding back against the pain, the pleasure, belly tightening as she feels the egg start to push through. 

It drops, heavy and filling, into her womb. The next ones come fast, so fast she’s dizzy with it, groaning as she’s suddenly so full it hurts, belly aching as her womb stretches to accommodate the eggs being laid inside her.

“Fuck, fuck,” she sobs, shaking with pleasure and pain and a myriad of other things as she’s filled. “Ah, ah.”

She loses count, but she thinks the insect pumps nearly thirty eggs into her womb, and then one that ends up lodged in her cervix, holding her open, and one that sits heavy in her cunt, like some kind of plug, too big to just push out by herself. The monster clicks, pleased, and leaves her there, sobbing and stuffed, womb filled past her capacity and no way to fix it.

Fuck.

– – – – –

She’s just lucky that Geralt is away, hunting and getting some space from his family. 

“I can’t – oh, can’t get them out by myself,” she sobs to Vesemir as he carries her back to the castle. “It’s – they’re so fucking deep, fuck.”

Vesemir hums, but he’s smirking when he hands her over to Eskel, and Ciri thinks she won’t be expelling these eggs for a while.

– – – – –

Of course she’s right.

“Been so long,” Eskel murmurs. “Gods, look at you. All bred full. Does it hurt, sweetheart, all those eggs stuffed into your womb?”

“Yeah,” Ciri gasps. “Yeah, hurts, fuck, Eskel, please.”

“Want me to fuck you?” he asks. “Want me to stuff your cunt even more full, see if I can’t get a couple of loads of cum into your womb, too?”

Ciri shudders, clit throbbing as the eggs shift inside her. She’s so full and stretched, heavy with it, body wracked with arousal and pain all at once. “Yes, yes, please,” she begs, because he’s right, she wants it.

She hasn’t had his cock in so long and she’s desperate, wants to hear the nasty things he says to her, about her, while he fucks her stupid. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Eskel purrs. “When was the last time you got stuffed like this, hm? Two years ago?”

Ciri whimpers. “Yeah,” she nods. “Fuck, please.”

“I know, you need more,” Eskel says, and there’s a rustle as he frees his cock. She can’t see past the swell of her belly, can barely even move, but she moans for it all the same, and he chuckles. “Always need more, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ciri agrees, spreading her legs. She knows she looks slutty, looks like a whore, but Eskel just groans and rests one hand on her thigh.

His cockhead slides over her cunt for a moment, a tease as he coats himself in the wetness she’s soaked in. She whines and squirms – the best she can, at least – and he just laughs before slowly, slowly pushing his cock in.

They ��� Eskel and Lambert, that is – helped her get the egg out of her cunt, but there’s still one lodged in her cervix. She whimpers when he grinds up against it, managing to push it nearly all the way inside with the force.

“Shit, Ciri, always forget just how nice your cunt is,” Eskel mutters, his other hand going to her other thigh and shifting her so he can sink a little deeper. 

She just moans, clenching, and lets herself be moved, be used. She’s already on edge, all full up and aching, mind racing with the possibilities as Eskel murmurs filth to her.

“Could just leave you like this,” he says, “all swollen full of monster eggs. They won’t hatch, you know they won’t – you’ll just be stuck with them getting heavier and heavier. Let Geralt see how pretty you are all stuffed and desperate for more, desperate for cock. Think he’d be angry? Or maybe he’d be interested.”

Ciri can’t help the way she shouts at that, somewhere between blinding pleasure and spine-chilling terror, humiliation settling in her belly to make her throb. “Eskel, Eskel,” she groans, trying to thrust her hips to match his pace. She can’t really manage it, and Eskel purrs as he realizes it, one hand sliding along her inner thigh to pet over her slit, toying at where she’s already stretched open around his cock.

“Know Lambert is interested, could bring him in here if you’d like,” Eskel continues. “Vesemir, too. Make a day of it, just using you like a little doll while you whimper.”

Ciri jolts with a high, broken sound, and Eskel grunts. 

“Fuck, yeah – you like that idea? Want all three of us to use you while you’re helpless like this?” 

“Eskel.”

His hand moves again, up this time, his palm resting on her swollen belly, thumb teasing around her clit. She whines, clenching, and he growls, thrusting harder.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Gonna come on my cock?”

She doesn’t have words left, doesn’t know if he can even see her head, but she nods vigorously, bearing down harder around him, and he gives a punched-out moan before he’s stroking over her clit, gentle at first and then harder until she tips over the edge with a scream.

[piceuscelus]

a menace gave me some delicious ideas and uuhhhh, this happened

mind the tags and also there’s like,,, pseudo labor in this - of eggs, not babies. this is a follow up to the last monsterfucker ciri fill, with the arachas eggs

“Suppose it’s about time we get those eggs out of you,” Lambert says, casual. “Think Geralt’s supposed to be back tonight.”

Ciri whimpers. “Y-yeah,” she gasps. She’s so full at this point, the eggs slowly expanding and hardening within her over the last week that she can’t even move; Eskel and Lambert have had to lift her the last few days. “Can’t – fuck, he can’t see me like this.”

Eskel, leaning against the headboard next to her, chuckles. “No, he can’t,” he agrees. “Even if it is such a pretty sight.” He pets over her swollen belly, pushing lightly against the eggs he can feel through her. She groans, swatting feebly at his arm.

“Eskel,” she mutters, turning her head to glare at him. He just grins at her and slides his hand down, until he can pet over her cunt, where she’s been nearly constantly soaked for the whole week.

“What?” he asks, and she just makes a weak, frustrated little sound at him. He chuckles. “You’ll just want more, getting them out, anyway.”

“Shut up,” she mutters, closing her eyes and tipping her head back as if that would detract from the way she clenches and starts to drip. Eskel just chuckles again. 

“Alright,” he says. “Be right back, sweetheart.”

“Mm. Yeah.”

– – – – –

She doesn’t know what it is about arachas eggs, but somehow getting them out is even better than being fucked full of them. 

She’s excited, when Eskel finally returns with Lambert, a little potion bottle in his hand. He sits her up and holds it to her mouth, smirking all the while, and she sticks her tongue out at him but drinks all of it, all the same. 

“We’ve got, what, ten or fifteen minutes before that really kicks in?” Eskel clarifies with Lambert. 

Lambert pulls up a chair, clearly planning to watch – heat flashes through Ciri’s whole body – and nods. “About that, yeah.”

“Good.”

Eskel moves her around as he pulls her out of the minimal clothes she’s been in for the past week; it’s basically just a too-large tunic and pants that are so big on her they barely count. “Gods, I can smell how excited you are,” Eskel mutters. “You ever gonna stop being so slutty for it?”

“No,” Ciri gasps, half-laugh and half-groan as he lays her back down and spreads her legs open with his hands on her inner thighs. 

He laughs, too. “Good,” he says, and then she can feel the heat of his breath over her cunt. It’s the only warning she gets before he’s licking a broad stripe over her cunt, from her asshole to her clit, and she jerks, whimpering at the feeling of it and the eggs shifting as she wriggles. Eskel doesn’t seem concerned, though, just continuing until she’s soaked with his spit and her own slick, thighs trembling as she nears the edge.

“Eskel, Eskel, fuck,” she pants, almost entirely breathless. She can feel the way her cervix is relaxing because of the potion and it’s just so much sensation at once – the eggs, the potion, Eskel’s tongue. “Ah, fuck, please….”

The please does it, as Eskel moves back up and sucks at her clit, not gently; the mix of intense pleasure and the sharp pain sends her straight over the edge, and she wails as she gushes slick all over his face. 

He’s just leaning up, wiping his face and smirking wickedly, when she drifts back down. She can feel more than just her cervix relaxing now, knows that she’ll have to start pushing soon, and her belly swoops, a little aftershock making her whimper. 

“Don’t forget Vesemir’s present,” Lambert says, and Eskel grunts an acknowledgement.

“What?” Ciri asks, and Eskel reaches into his pocket to pull out – something. Ciri can’t really see what it is, but she can hear it – whatever it is, it’s got bells attached. Eskel shifts off of the bed just to circle around and climb back on, kneeling to her side.

This time when he holds the thing up, she can see it better, and finds that it’s actually things. There’s a delicate little chain dangling from both of them, attached to a little bell, and what they are themselves, well…. They look like...clamps.

Eskel palms pointedly at her breast and she sucks in a sharp breath.

Oh. “Fuck, please.”

He grins. Lambert groans. 

She whines as he works at her nipples, with his fingers first and then his mouth, getting them nice and hard and swollen. She can’t move the way she wants, is just stuck squirming and taking whatever he’ll give her, and it’s so much, all at once. Eventually, though, he pulls back and sets to putting the clamps on her, tightening them until the pressure stings.

“Ah, ah,” she gasps, eyes rolling. Just as he gets the second one tightened perfectly, the first wave of contraction hits her, and she keens, automatically pushing along with it and feeling the way the eggs shift, moving down. “Ah, fuck, fuck!”

She loses her words for a moment, caught up in the pain and intensity as she pushes one of the eggs out. It’s just big enough to make her strain, but the sensation of it sliding out of her womb and into her cunt sends a shock of pleasure through her, and when she pushes again, the sensation of it sliding out – pushed by the one behind it – sends her reeling into something so close to an orgasm that categorizing the differences isn’t worth the effort. 

“Holy fuck,” Lambert says, clearly awed, and Eskel chuckles.

“Look at you,” he says. “You’re gonna feel so empty when you’re done, sweetheart, we’ll just have to fill you up all over again.”

“Eskel,” she gasps, already losing the thread of his conversation, of reality. “Fuck, fuck!”

There are hands on her belly, and the next push is a little easier, but the rapid push of eggs still feels so good she’s sobbing, caught somewhere between delirious pleasure and searing pain. The eggs feel so fucking good inside her, even better as she pushes them out, something about the stretch and the texture and the push making her want more and more and more – but at the same time it hurts, trying to push them out of her aching womb, too big now to just go and harder than when they went in. 

Distantly, she can hear the bells jingling wildly as her chest heaves. She wails as another egg finally pushing out of her sends her back to that not-quite-orgasmic place.

Somehow, despite her general disconnect from the world around her, she can hear the way Lambert swears. 

Not in awe, this time.

“I think Geralt’s back,” he says.

Ciri’s blood runs cold, but an involuntary push shoves another egg out of her cunt, and she screams. It’s cut off when Eskel’s palm slides over her mouth, but she twists and the bells jingle; his other hand lands on her sternum and presses, holding her down into the bed.

“Quiet, Ciri,” he says, barely even a whisper. “Don’t want Geralt to know what you’re up to, do you?”

She tries to whine, to beg and plead, humiliation and pain and pleasure and terror warring in her gut. Eskel just shushes her, hand tightening over her mouth.

“Hush, now,” he breaths, head cocked. 

“Need to keep her quiet,” Lambert says. “And still.”

Ciri jolts, a pulse of arousal so strong she quivers running through her. Eskel tuts, but he’s grinning when he turns back to her.

“I think we can do that,” he says. “Don’t you, sweetheart?”

He slowly takes his hand off of her sternum and starts pulling at the laces on his trousers. She barely even lets herself breathe, but she knows she’s got to be wide-eyed and red. She tries to nod, wanting to squirm, to push toward him, but knowing she can’t.

Her eyes roll, lashes fluttering, as the reality of this hits her. She’s helpless, incapacitated by what is essentially labor, so turned on she’s nearly cross-eyed from it, and Geralt is in the castle.

Even the slightest noise could alert him.

Somehow, that makes the pleasure when the next egg finally slides out of her better.

“Good girl,” Eskel whispers, and lifts the hand over her mouth. Before she can even suck in a deep breath, his cock is there to replace it, effectively gagging her silent as he presses just deep enough that she feels the urge to gag but can fight it. 

Tears flood her eyes and streak down her face, but Eskel just pets over her hair and hushes her softly. “Keep pushing, sweetheart,” he says. “Careful to be still.”

She wants to whine but can’t, so instead she just works her mouth around his cock, trying to focus on that instead of how much she wants to thrash. He makes a low, nearly silent sound, something like a growl but lower still, and she can’t help the way she shudders.

One of the bells makes the faintest little ting. She freezes, holding her breath, and Eskel’s eyes are burning as he looks at her and slowly, carefully sinks his cock just a little deeper.

She can’t gag. She can’t move.

Another egg slips out of her, and she feels like she has to be vibrating, caught right in the middle between wanting this to be over and never wanting it to end. She can barely breathe past the panic, past Eskel’s fucking cock, past the pleasure soaking her.

There’s still at least a dozen eggs left.

With each that she pushes out, the vibrating gets worse and worse, until she really is shaking, and she can’t help it, can’t do anything about it. 

She wants to choke on Eskel’s cock. She wants to thrash and move and wail, wants him to reach down and really make her come properly, but she can’t have any of it, and she’s aching, desperate and wanting and overwhelmed. The tears keep coming, faster and faster as the torture goes on and on.

And then she feel the bed shift, and there are unfamiliar hands on her. In her, as Lambert catches what should be the second-to-last egg and shoves it back inside, forcing her to hold on to the last.

Her cunt clenches so tight around his fingers and the eggs that he hisses. 

“Make him come,” he breathes. “Make him come, just like this.”

If she weren’t effectively gagged, she’d keen, but as it is all she can do is shift her head in the barest nod before focusing more on the cock in her mouth. Eskel makes another mostly-silent sound, hips hitching so he presses a little deeper, and she can’t fight the gag this time but his hand clamps tight around her throat, preventing the movement as he pulls back just enough to stop it. 

She can’t fucking breathe, can barely see, and she’s so fucking full still, one egg and nearly Lambert’s whole fucking hand still in her cunt, the last egg still lodged just inside her womb. 

If anyone even so much as looks at her cunt right now, she’s going to come so hard she blacks out. She sucks harder at Eskel’s cock, ignoring the ache in her jaw and her tongue, and Eskel lets go of her throat, lets her breathe at least a little before he slides a palm under her head to adjust the angle and pushes, his cock sliding straight down her throat with a little wet sound. 

Lambert’s hand on her belly stops her from thrashing but only just, and all she can do is try desperately to swallow, vision blacking out with all of the sensations and lack of air. Eskel groans this time, still barely even a sound, but when he pulls back it’s only long enough to let her suck in a shallow little breath. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck.”

Her eyes roll and her body tries to convulse, still held fast by Lambert’s hand on her, and Eskel grunts, grip at the back of her head tightening as his cock throbs. It only takes a few more little thrusts before he’s finally coming, and he lets her get a tiny breath before he shoves down her throat to fill her.

“Good girl,” Lambert whispers. He pulls his fingers out of her and the eggs follow quickly, a quick one-two that would make her jerk if she wasn’t so well caught, and then there’s a mouth on her clit, and she doesn’t even manage a proper gag around Eskel’s cock before pleasure and darkness overcome her all at once.