#devilkin cw breathplay

[dandelion-vines]

Anon asked for sex slave jask used in public? Don’t remember much else but hope ya like it!

Warnings: dubcon, breathplay, implied noncon, stockholm syndrome, painful sex, cock&ball slapping

——

Jaskier kneels by Geralt, much too close to Master, but it's loud and scary, and he just wants to go back to the inn and sleep. His listens, comforted by Master's voice above him, talking to the townsfolk about some monster or another, an anchor in the bustle of the tavern.

He wonders why he'd hated this so much, when Geralt had first held him down post-hunt and fucked him senseless, wonders why he's resisted calling him Master and resented him for being forbidden to play his music, do much else but be a good whore for Geralt.

Geralt is fair, takes care of him, keeps him fed and safe, and if being cared for means letting the witcher own his mind and body? Well, it's a small price to pay.

He hears Master growl, already tired with a day of being cheated out of pay for too-many monsters, when a barmaid sloshes some beer, spilling it over Jaskier.

Fantastic, he thinks as she mutters apologies, eyes wide with fear, he's drenched, and Master is angry. He wants to slap her, make her see just how disrespectful she's been to his Master, but it's not his place. Jaskier is Geralt's slave, not his wife.

Geralt waves her off, and Jaskier snuggles into Master's leg, beer soaking into his shirt, making him shiver. 

"Strip, Jaskier." He turns his attention back to his conversation. Jaskier's already overwhelmed, the sounds and scents of the tavern make him dizzy, and he only presses closer, a soft whine escaping his lips.

He doesn't hear the warning in Geralt's voice when he says his name again, doesn't realize he's even spoken to till fingers drive into his jaw, forcing his mouth open as Master brings him to stand.

"I told you to strip, Slut.” They've never done this, not in front of people, and Jaskier is scared, exposed as his master's voice booms through the dingy tavern. 

Before Jaskier can do much else, he's being shoved onto the table and gods, how has this gone so wrong— Geralt rips his clothes off ("Have to do everything myself, don't I, whore? Fucking useless.), the only sound in the shocked silence of the room, eyes trained on him, filled with pity.

"Master, ple—" His head snaps to the side with a slap, his face stinging and likely red. "Ge—" 

 Another slap, only it's to his cock, balls drawing up in pain as a low whine escapes him.

"You're here for me; you listen to fucking me when I say—" Jaskier yelps, thrashing as Geralt punctuates each of his words with a slap to his balls, "Take. your. clothes. off." 

Shame makes Jaskier's face red, tears welling in his eyes as Geralt spreads his cheeks, gaping from when he'd been fucked amongst kikimore guts only hours ago. He feels so exposed, barmaids and drunkards looking on in either pity or lust as Geralt spits onto his hole, biting his lip as he feels it slide into him. 

Jaskier's eyes widen as he feels the tip of master's cock rub against him, "Geralt, please you'll—" He screams, loud and pained as Geralt shoves his cock inside him, feels his body fucking part for the his dick, his hole too loose to even grip an average man's cock but a witcher's dick feels like it's tearing him in two. 

It's rough and fast and Jaskier sobs, unabashed as Geralt fucks into him, the frustrations and furies of the day taken out on him in front of strangers. He feels Geralt's fingers in his hair, twisting into it and turning his face to the side, ass up as his face presses into the table

"Didn't want you getting sick, little lark," Geralt snarls, his chest pressed against Jaskier's back. "Wanted to be good to you— and look, I have to punish you know, in front of all these people, stupid little thing," Jask flinches as the witcher slaps at his face again, wet sobs escaping his throat.

It's not even the people watching him, feeling so exposed that's the worst part. Geralt sounds so disappointed in him and he wants to fucking snivel, beg for another chance to prove himself a worthy whore. Geralt straightens, fucking into him as be brings down a smattering of spanks, and Jaskier tries to hold still like a good bitch, tense as he clenches round Master.

His head spins as Geralt pulls out— he's pumped full of cum, enough for it to lazily run down his thigh. What a sight he must make, skin red, hole gaping to the roomful of people who stare at him, the aftermath of a spectacle.

Geralt helps him off the table, brushes of the grime from the table, fingers running over Jaskier's cheek to ease the creases of wood before throwing him over his shoulder. Jaskier's half awake, feeling wrought out as Geralt grips his asscheek, putting his twitching hole's desperate attempt at closing again on display as he walks through the room, people parting to make way as Geralt lays him on the stage, sitting down at the table closest to it.

Jaskier's limp, naked against the wood, head spinning. He thinks he hears Master say something, but he doesn't quite hear it, only feels the vibration of footsteps and what feels like a million hands against his skin. His eyes glaze over as someone prods at his hole—

Mhh, go ahead. Slut needs to be taught that he has to obey.

Jaskier feels a cock push into him, another joining alongside it as someone squats over his face, cunt against his lips.

Come morning, he's covered with slick and cum, limp and pliant as Geralt watches on in contentment.