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Gwent Winnings

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“Care to make a wager on this next game to make it more interesting?” the cat witcher sitting in front of Geralt said, an ugly sneer on his lips.

Geralt couldn’t possibly imagine what the other man could have that he would want so he furrowed his brow and said nothing. He’d won the first match already, but he wasn’t about to take chances with his hard earned coin.

“How about your horse for our whore.”

And that got Geralt looking up with interest. “Which one?” He’d seen a girl or two flitting around on the arms of a cat from time to time, and he glanced around the room seeing none of them now. He met eyes with Lambert and Eskel, Lambert playing his own game with another cat while Eskel looked on, both looking at ease and loose with ale.

“He’s probably on his knees upstairs. Cedric will bring him down.” He motioned to another, relaying this in a clipped message, and soon the other man was leading down a boy with a pouting mouth and clear blue eyes, totally naked save for the plain leather collar adorning his neck.

Geralt hmmed, suddenly much more interested in this wager, looking at his hand and deciding he liked his odds. Plus if he lost, they could beat the tar out of these jerks and walk away with Roach anyhow.

The man tugged on the slave’s leash, wrapping it tightly around his hand and pulling him forward until they were next to their table. The cat across from him stood and caught the slave by the wrists, pulling them behind his back to display him to Geralt. This pushed his pert chest out and the man gave one of his tits a squeeze, making him grunt softly. “He’s slutty for it, can’t stop moaning every time he’s stuffed full.”

As if to prove his point, the slave’s cock began to plump up, the boy looking down to the floor with a pink face as he shifted in the man’s grip.

“What, is he too much for you?” Geralt couldn’t help but jibe.

“No, I’m just confident,” the man spat back, and he released the slave’s arms and gave him a quick slap to his little cock that made him cry out and grow completely erect, Geralt beginning to throb between his legs as he watched. The cat smiled serenely, sitting back down at the table and picking up his cards again.

“Fine,” Geralt said. He’d never had a toy before, and wouldn’t mind someone to warm him on the road and all winter in Kaer Morhen. He tried not to look at the boy but he was being pulled down into someone’s lap, eyes half-lidded and biting his lip. Geralt wondered if there was a plug filling him up that was being jostled, or if that was his reaction to his cock being squeezed and played with idly.

The first hand of the game was quick, the second longer, Geralt’s fingers clenching on his thighs as he thought about picking the boy up, fucking straight into him as he was surely used to by now. He ground down on his teeth, forcing himself to concentrate and nearly laughing when he threw down his final, winning card.

The cat frowned deeply as he stared at the table, clearly surprised at his loss.

“Surely you wouldn’t welch on a deal,” Geralt purred, mentally checking the weight of his swords strapped to his shoulder.

There was a long, tense moment, silent as all the witchers in the room had their eyes fixed on the table at the center. And then, “Of course not.” The pleasantness of his voice was forced, but he nodded, the boy brought over to them. “A deal’s a deal.”

Geralt stood, certain he’d take him either way, but said, “Let me see him, first, before I claim my prize.”

He accepted the leash from the other man, breathing in the fresh wave of fear from the slave as he was drawn closer, his little cock still obediently hard and jutting outward. He was tall, long-limbed, face still round with boyishness, the ripeness of youth evident as Geralt made him turn in a circle. When he was again facing Geralt, he brought a hand up to the boy’s cheek, pulling his jaw down and pushing two fingers inside to touch his teeth and press down on his tongue.

When that was to his liking Geralt released the boy’s jaw and turned him around again, pushing between his shoulder blades until his chest was on the table, cards and coin cold underneath him.

“Spread your legs,” Geralt ordered, and he did as was told immediately, whimpering when Geralt used both hands to pull his ass cheeks apart and exposed him to the entire room. He was pink and slicked with oil, his tight little furl clenching under Geralt’s gaze as he danced on his feet. He was making a mess of the cards as he fidgeted against the table, and Geralt tutted and drew both of his hands together, pinning his wrists at the small of his back and then returning to feel his tightened hole with his other hand.

“His cunt’s still tight for being so well-used,” Geralt remarked with a grunt, really having to force his way in with two fingers. The boy moaned beneath him as he took in a third finger with effort, Geralt rotating them and then spreading them wide.

“See?” the cat said, put-out but hardly in a position to protest.

Geralt hmmed again, pulling his fingers out and wiping them off on the boy’s thigh, watching his hole clench down on nothing. He briefly debated fucking him right then, but the cats were in a sour enough mood for having lost their wager, so he pulled the boy up to standing, yanking on his leash so he stumbled into him.

“Fun game,” Geralt said, nodding to the cats and smiling with a wicked flash of fangs as he swept up his deck. “We’ll have to do it again soon.” Lambert and Eskel joined him quickly, flanking him as they walked out, the slave on shaky feet between them.

It was evening outside, the air cool, the three fanning out to their horses quickly and Geralt throwing his slave over his shoulder before mounting up. It put his ass right next to Geralt’s face and he gave him a little squeeze before kicking Roach into a canter. After a mile or so of this they slowed, sure they weren’t being followed by sore losers, and Geralt manhandled the slave down so he was seated facing him, legs spread wide over Geralt’s thighs and ass pressed uncomfortably against the horn of Roach’s saddle.

The boy looked down, biting his lip, his whole body flushing as Geralt looked him over and then flicked lightly at his cock, watching it twitch. He was so pretty, so responsive, but Geralt had suddenly had enough of these games. He’d have all night to string his new slave along, see what it took to make him sob and beg, but right now Geralt had his own needs.

He lifted him and set him on the ground, dropping down on heavy feet next to him, handing Roach’s reins to Eskel and walking three feet away before pointing to the ground and saying gruffly, “Down.”

The slave dropped to his knees, looking at Geralt with his wide, panicked eyes as he didn’t know what Geralt wanted him to do.

“Face down. Ass up,” Geralt said, unbuttoning his trousers and sighing as he gave his neglected cock one long, languid stroke. He knelt behind the slave, taking only a moment to admire his pert, round cheeks before pressing the fat head of his cock up against him. The slave groaned but stayed obediently still, whimpering as Geralt pushed and pushed until the head pressed past the boy’s tight rim and sunk inward. It was tight, too tight, Geralt’s meaty cock being squeezed with every inch that he worked in, sighing when he was finally pressed in all of the way, his balls flush with the boy’s trembling body.

The horses stamped nearby, the air cool on his back as Geralt began a brutal pace, already too-near his climax. The boy clenched and cried, so sensitive when Geralt barely touched him, spurting out his seed onto the ground and squeezing Geralt like a vice. Geralt grunted, his skin singing with heat as his orgasm rushed over him, holding the boy’s hips still as he pumped him full.

He held him tight for a moment, gasping and willing his heartbeat to slow, already sure that he’d need to go one more time before offering his prize to his brothers.

“You’re wound so tight,” Geralt teased, squeezing the boy’s cock and making him sob again. “We’ll need to train you to last.” He gave him one more hard thrust before pulling out, watching his mess of come slide out of the boy’s wrecked hole obscenely.

“Do you have a name, boy?” Geralt said as he played with him, feeding the come back inside with two fingers and squeezing his balls while the boy tried to move away.

“Jaskier,” he said finally with some effort, yelping as Geralt pulled back on him roughly, not letting him get far. He fingered him until he was hard enough to go again, filling him up before offering the leash to Eskel for his turn next.