“It’s so much nicer when he doesn’t speak, wouldn’t you agree?” Yennefer says.
Geralt lets out an appreciative “Hmm.” Jaskier, the focus of their attention, lets out something akin to a muffled whine. He isn’t gagged, but it pretty much feels like it. Also, he’s naked, which doesn’t add to his self-confidence, and his pose, ass up on a large four-poster bed, is far from dignified.
“Now, now,” Yennefer continues soothingly as her nimble fingers, slicked with oil, work on his hole, dilating it with relentless thoroughness. “Don’t complain, boy. This spell is an act of mercy on my part. If I let you speak now, you’d only disgrace yourself, begging and sobbing. Unsure whether you want me to stop or continue.”
Geralt frowns. “You won’t hurt him?”
Yennefer cackles, not very pleasantly. “You don’t think Jaskier’s a virgin, do you? As he would have said himself, if he could speak: that ship has sailed, wrecked, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Noblemen at the royal courts he frequents are so depraved nowadays. I bet he’s had enough cocks in that tight little ass to get accustomed to them. But yours is a big one, I’m preparing him to take all of it, so you won’t hurt him. It might take some time.”
Jaskier very much doubts her intentions are entirely noble; she must be enjoying it, torturing him oh so slowly, watching him sweating and quivering with need. His cock went from soft to full mast quite a while ago, and now it’s drooling copious precome on the crisp sheets, to his utter mortification.
He doesn’t doubt Geralt’s genuine concern—and that’s what got him into such a perilous situation in the first place, his trust in Geralt’s morals, if one could speak of morals when it came to debauchery. But it seems like the witcher is enjoying the sight, too, entirely lulled by Yennefer’s reassurance. Oh shit.
They are both fully clothed, unlike Jaskier, and it’s all the more humiliating… and arousing at the same time. Both are wearing black—lace for Yennefer, leather for Geralt. Whenever Jaskier feels the hem of Yennifer’s sleeve scrape against the tender inside of his thighs, it’s like a jolt of lightning, and it goes straight to his cock, enlivening it. Yennefer is good with lightning.
“It must be hard to express your deepest desires without speaking,” she muses. “Especially for a bard. And yet, Jaskier dear, that’s what you’re going to do. Show Geralt how much you want his cock inside you.”
When he hesitates, she gives his buttock a slap. “Oh come on, it’s not so difficult. Just scoot to the edge of the bed, closer to him, and open your mouth. Preferably with an inviting expression on your face.”
He does as he is told, but too slowly for her liking, and it earns him a few slaps more, which sting terribly. Although he can’t speak, he’s able to open his mouth and lick around Geralt’s fingers as he pushes them inside experimentally.
“Fuck,” Geralt says, in a hoarse voice. “May I?..”
He looks at Yennefer, then at Jaskier again.
“Of course you may,” Yennefer retorts somewhat irritably. “Don’t be so delicate with him.”
Jaskier watches Geralt unbuttoning his trousers, his mouth hanging open because he hasn’t been told to close it. When Geralt taps at his lower lip with his cock and Yennefer crooks her fingers inside him, kneading just the right spot, Jaskier can’t help but moan. It comes out needy enough to encourage Geralt, and Jaskier ends up with his mouth gagged by something other than a spell.
Yennefer chuckles softly. “See, your wanton bard likes it. No need to hold back.” She keeps rubbing Jaskier’s sweet spot, making him whimper around Geralt’s massive girth. “On second thought—do hold back, just a little. Fuck his mouth all you want, but don’t come just yet. Jaskier craves your cock filling him from the other side, too. We don’t want to leave the poor thing disappointed, do we? He’s almost prepared. Just a few final touches…”
By the time Yennefer proclaims him ready, Jaskier is a mess of lust and discomfort, slobbering and groaning around Geralt’s cock, his jaw aching. When Geralt pulls out, it should be a relief, and yet it’s a disappointment, too. Jaskier involuntarily leans forward, chasing him, but Yennefer has none of that—she pulls him back by the balls, none too gently, her hand between his spread legs.
“Greedy, greedy. Don’t worry, Jaskier, soon you’ll get all of Geralt’s cock. Come here, Geralt, take a look. Quite a pretty ass he has, wouldn’t you say?”
Geralt hums with approval. Why is he taking so long? Jaskier wonders impatiently.
Yennefer’s voice is silken when she says, “Jaskier, why don’t you show Geralt your ass needs immediate attention? Wriggle it a bit. Yes, like that. Your sniveling is entirely uncalled for, and futile as well. I’m not going to lift the spell that doesn’t let you come until we both are entirely satisfied, just because you lack patience. You must learn self-control. Geralt, please show him how restrained you are, no matter how much you crave ramming that tight ass.”
Jaskier feels Geralt placing the head of his cock to Jaskier’s hole, letting it just rest there, on the verge of entry. Jaskier’s breath hitches as he waits for the inevitable stretch and burn to follow, but nothing happens; Geralt doesn’t move.
Seconds pass. Jaskier huffs and tries pushing his ass back against the pressure at his hole, and Geralt allows it, thank the gods. Yennefer doesn’t forbid it either, just sighs, obviously addressing her comment to Geralt: “See how wayward he is? He should have waited as long as you saw fit, unless you told him otherwise. I think regular spankings might help with that issue. For now… Oh well, since he’s almost half-way already, it would be unmerciful to stop him.”
Does she think that impaling himself on Geralt’s cock is easy? Jaskier pulls forward a fraction, then shoves back harder. Rocking back and forth like that, he makes slow progress. He wishes Geralt would help him more and thrust all the way in at once, even if it hurts. As if sensing his silent wish, Geralt grabs him by the hips and gives him the rest. It makes Jaskier cry out, more in surprise than actual pain, and Geralt holds still for a few moments, letting him accommodate. It obviously takes some restraint—his fingers are digging into Jaskier’s hips hard enough to leave marks.
Jaskier won’t say it, even after his freedom of speech is returned to him, but he likes when Geralt leaves marks. It’s nice, poking at them and remembering how those bruises and hickeys got there.
“Does it feels nice, being full of the witcher’s cock?” Yennefer asks, idly trailing her index finder up Jaskier’s spine; it’s a rhetorical question of course. “Go on, fuck yourself on it. Very slowly. We’re in no hurry after all. And meanwhile…” She climbs onto the bed in front of him, lifts her skirts just enough for Jaskier to bury his head underneath them. “Meanwhile… yes, good boy, you’re going to demonstrate your oral talents to me.”
With some part of his mind that is still coherent, more or less, Jaskier dimly wonders if the slow pace is as torturous for Geralt as it is for him.
He’d have been better at pleasing Yennefer if he didn’t have to stay ass up, awkwardly rocking on Geralt’s cock, but he suspects she won’t take it as an excuse, so he tries to satisfy her as best he can in such an uncomfortable position.
It’s not until her first orgasm that she tells Geralt he can fuck Jaskier harder. Which he does, with great enthusiasm. Jaskier knows better than to pull out from underneath Yennefer’s skirts—he’s to continue his ministrations until she allows him to stop.
This very moment, he’s not one of the most renowned minstrels in the Northern Kingdoms. He’s a warm hole for Geralt to fuck, a warm mouth to worship Yennefer, nothing more. And no matter how degrading it should have been… it’s somehow as gratifying as fame.
Finally, Geralt comes with a loud grunt, and Yennefer cries out in synch, joining him. Jaskier's legs are shaking, he's barely able to hold himself up. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to. Yennefer pushes his head away, sits up, and straightens her clothes. When Geralt pulls out, Jaskier collapses onto the bed with a groan, his cock trapped beneath him, aching for release. He could have rutted against the sheets, he could have tugged at it, but as much as he wants to, he knows it’s useless. Until the spell is broken, he won’t be able to come. But soon he’ll be allowed to, right?
The mattress shifts beneath Geralt’s weight. Geralt ruffles Jaskier’s hair and kisses his sweaty nape before stretching out with a satisfied sigh.
“You were right, Yen, this was good,” he murmurs sleepily. “You think Jaskier is okay?”
“Oh, absolutely. He’s fine.”
Jaskier isn’t entirely sure about that. His hole is still spasming, and a dribble of come is oozing ticklishly along his ass crack. He feels like he’s been filled with a whole gallon of hot spunk, and before that, his rectum was distended wide enough to contain it. Which isn’t humanly possible, but still. It’s not like he’s been chafed raw, but he’ll have trouble sitting for a while. Yennefer is going to enjoy this. Jaskier only hopes she’ll postpone the promised spankings, and if she doesn’t, at least won’t spank him directly on his inflamed hole. She did it once. The only good thing about it was that Geralt held him afterwards, through all the shameful sobbing, and made meaningless soothing sounds. Maybe it was worth it. But it doesn’t mean Jaskier wants a repetition any time soon!
What he wants, and right now, is for Yennefer to deliver him of her wicked spells. At least one of them, the most urgent. He needs, needs, needs to come. Or he’ll burst, surely.
Jaskier looks up at Yennefer with silent longing. He would have begged if he could utter a word.
“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” she asks him with fake innocence.
The only thing Jaskier can do is turn onto his back and show her what exactly is wrong.
She flicks a finger at his straining cock and when Jaskier squeals, seals his lips—with the same finger.
“Shh, don’t make noise. Geralt will sleep now. But while he does, we might still have some fun. I said I’d lift the spells when we were satisfied, but I didn’t specify whether it would happen immediately afterwards. I think I want to watch you play with yourself some more. And I expect you to do it silently, not to disturb Geralt. It might take a while… But there will be a reward for that, don’t worry,” she adds. “I might be cruel, but not entirely unjust. What kind of reward? Oh, let me think.” She leans in close to his ear and whispers, “Maybe, just maybe I’ll let you do something really naughty to Geralt next time. I suspect our mighty witcher has never had anything untoward up his ass before, which is a pity. Such a fine ass, firm and shapely. So many unspeakable things can be done to it. Would you like such an opportunity?”
The image of Geralt, so big and strong, bending over and holding his buttocks apart on Yennefer’s command is almost too much to bear. Jaskier chokes on a groan, jerking himself feverishly.
Yennefer’s quiet laughter is ominous. “I’ll take that as a yes.”