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Geralt stalked through the forest, his Witcher senses spreading out for any sign of the creature he had been hired to kill.  A local village had put out a contract on an unknown forest spirit that had been preying on its youths for centuries. Every ten years the village sent its strongest, most virile youth as a tribute to the creature. After several days the youth would return. Alive, but drained of their vitality, and unable to perform sexually ever again. In return, the spirit supposedly ensured the fertility of the village's crops and the surrounding forest.  No one knew exactly what kind of creature the spirit was. The Tributes were the only ones to ever see it, and they steadfastly refused to talk about what happened to them in the forest. Geralt's best guess was a succubus. It didn't fit perfectly. He'd never known a succubus who could influence the health of local crops. But the sexual aspect certainly lined up. 

It was not a succubus. 

After several hours of fruitless searching, Geralt stumbled upon a clearing. His medallion hummed steadily against his chest as he took a cautious step forward. Light streamed down between the branches of the tree canopy above, creating a hazy, dreamlike atmosphere. His boots sunk into the soft, springy moss beneath his feet, and every step disturbed the wildflowers that grew in abundance.  He was about half way into the clearing when he saw it. A pile of rocks with a bundle of sticks and bones tied together, leaning against it. A totem.  "Fuck." 

He scrambles for the Relict Oil in his pack, but before he can grab it, the ground beneath him bursts to life as he's quickly subdued by living bonds of root and vine. His sword drops to the ground as the vines wrap around his wrists and tug, pulling his hands up above his head. Geralt is lifted into the air several feet, before the roots surge up to support his head, back, and ass so that he is effectively lying on his back four feet above the ground. The vines wrap around his legs, spreading his thighs and pulling his knees back towards his chest. 

Geralt struggles, and a thick vine snakes its way up his body to wrap around his neck. It squeezes slightly, not enough to cut off his breathing, but enough to send a very clear message. "Hold still."  Geralt takes several deep breaths and forces his body to relax into his bonds and is rewarded by a loosening of the vine's grip around his neck.  

He hears rustling and creaking to his right, like the branches of an old oak in a stiff breeze, and turns his head towards the sound. His entire body tenses as he meets the empty gaze of a deer skull atop a body formed of wood and root and vine. Leshen.  His gaze moves to the razor sharp claws at the end of the monster's hands and he closes his eyes, waiting to feel them tear into his body.  A long moment passes and nothing happens. Geralt opens his eyes to find the Leshen looming over him. Its hands hover over his body, long, claw tipped fingers twitching slightly. 

Small, supple vines swarm over his body undoing the clasps of his armor and carefully working his clothes off of him. Geralt grunts in confusion, and then one of the vines very deliberately strokes at his cock through his pants before sliding up to undo his laces and suddenly everything clicks into place. He thinks about the Tributes, returned drained and spent, but alive. He thinks about the vine around his neck and the wickedly sharp claws of the Leshen. He thinks of the undeniable thrill of arousal that spikes through him and the growing hardness of his cock as the vines slide across his body. And knows he really only has one choice.  

Geralt closes his eyes and chuckles hoarsely. "Jaskier is going to be so disappointed he missed this hunt." He breathes deep, calming himself before opening his eyes and meeting the Leshen's gaze once more. "Go on then. Take what you need."  


The Leshen lets out a deep, rumbling sound that Geralt can only interpret as a purr and the vines redouble their efforts to remove his clothing. Once the vines have him bare, they start caressing across his body. Some tweak his nipples, while others wind their way into his hair, tightening and pulling in the most delicious way. One slender, smooth vine slides between his lips, pressing against his tongue and thrusting into his mouth a handful of times before withdrawing to slither down his torso and between his spread thighs, where it rubs and prods at his hole while another vine wraps around his hard cock, squeezing and stroking.

Above him, the Leshen is still staring, and purring. It reaches out with its claws and rakes them down his torso, not enough to break skin, just enough to leave raised scratch marks. Then, with shocking gentleness, cards those same claws through his hair, tugs and scratches at his scalp for a moment before going back to run its claws across any inch of skin the vines aren't covering.

A small bundle of delicate vines surge to replace the Leshen's claws in Geralt's hair, twisting and pulling as the vines at his hole and on his cock leak slick sap across his skin. Everywhere the sap touches tingles and burns in the best possible way. And as the vines in his hair tighten and the Leshen's purr becomes an all encompassing rumble, the vine at his hole slides in, pushing deep and rubbing right up against his prostate, smearing his insides with the tingling, slick sap.  Geralt cries out and arches against the hold of the vines, but before he can come, the vine around his cock tightens, just barely on the good side of pain. Geralt curses and jerks, having been robbed of his orgasm. A deep, raspy sound comes from the Leshen. A sound that can only be a chuckle. "Fucker" Geralt mutters.

A new vine joines the one around his cock. This vine is thicker, with an opening at the tip that is dripping more of the slick sap. Before Geralt can wonder what its purpose is, he has his answer as the tip of the vine slides over the head of his cock, pushing down to the root and enveloping him. The vine in his ass presses deeper and harder and is joined by several smaller vines that slip onto him, stretching him and rubbing incessantly against his prostate. The vine around his cock pulsates rhythmically, creating a deep, constant suction that flows in waves from the base of his cock, to the tip and back again. The inside of the vine is wet and warm, with small tendrils that caress his cock along his entire length, paying special attention to the sensitive head, teasing at his slit. Geralt thrashes in the grip of the vines, torn between wanting to fuck up into the sucking heat around his cock and pressing back against the vines invading his body and forcing them deeper.  Eventually the vines wrapped around his body make the choice for him, tightening their grip and holding him steady, until he can't move at all and can only lie in the monster's embrace and take what it chooses to give him. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the vine gripping the base of his cock loosens and Geralt is coming harder than he has in his entire life. It never seems to end as the vine around his cock pulses with a sucking motion and the vines in his ass milk his prostate. And even as the ropes of come that fill the vine, which is bulging slightly with the Witcher's spend, slow to a trickle and the vines in his ass slowly retreat, leaving him horribly empty, his cock stays hard.  And then, the Leshen is moving from its place beside him to stand between his spread legs.

Geralt looks up at the creature above him. The skull and antlers gleam in the sun. Ropey muscle covers thin arms that end in vicious claws. The vines in his hair tighten, pulling his head back farther, exposing his neck. The Leshen reaches out one clawed hand and delicately strokes down his neck and torso before wrapping around his hips. The claws dig into his skin, but don't break it. Geralt utters a single word. "Please"

A deep, satisfied sigh comes from the Leshen as its groin shifts and writhes. Smooth vines and wood weave together from the creature's core and push out. The Leshen's cock is huge and ridged, pulsating vines spiraling along its length and more of the slick sap pours out of the tip, leaving it glistening in the sun.

A small vine brushes across Geralt's lips, leaving a slight stickiness that he instinctively licks away. Suddenly, the form of the Leshen shimmers and changes . Shrinking. Becoming more... human? Geralt frowns as the magnificent form of the Leshen is replaced with the image of Jaskier. He rasps, "What the fuck are you doing?" Jaskier tilts his head. When he speaks, there is a deep, reverberating rumble below his friend's familiar baritone. "We thought this form would please you. Ease the way."  Geralt snorts and shakes his head. "If I want to fuck Jaskier, I can do that any time. I don't want to hide in a fantasy. I want to see exactly what I'm fucking. Now drop the glamour and fuck me already."  Jaskier grins, his face and body warping, growing and twisting until the Leshen stands, huge and hard and fucking magnificent between Geralt's legs. The small vine brushes across Geralt's lips once more and he hears Jaskier's voice whisper, "Oh, you are the best Tribute the humans have ever sent."  Geralt chuckles and arches in the vines." Glad I can be of service. Now get the fuck inside me. "

The Leshen purrs even deeper and tightens its grip on Geralt's hips. It tries to keep its claws gentle, but just barely breaks the skin, tiny droplets of blood dripping down Geralt's sides to mix with his sweat and the slick from the Leshen. Tiny vines swarm the areas where the blood leaks , eagerly lapping it up. Geralt's cock, amazingly, grows even harder inside the sheath of the vine that is still vibrating and milking his cock.  The forest suddenly grows silent around them. The only sounds are Geralt's panting and the soft rustling of the vines. Geralt's consciousness narrows to a knife's edge, focused solely on where the Leshen's monstrous cock presses against, but not yet into, his hole. And then the quiet is shattered by Geralt's shout of ecstasy as the Leshen slowly pushes inside him. The stretch is almost unbearable, the Leshen's cock filling him completely. He can feel each ridge and spiral of vine, each knob of wood as the monster pushes in. And in. And in. Each time he thinks the Leshen is done, that it surely can't be any bigger, it just keeps going. Until Geralt is sure that if he could look down his body he'd see the obscene bulge of the Leshen's cock through his stomach. Until he can't shout or cry out any more, but only whimper and gurgle and twitch in its embrace. It was torture. It was bliss. He wanted it to be over. He never wanted it to end.  Finally, finally, after a never ending slide, the monster stopped moving. Geralt gasped and shuddered, thanking all the gods he didn't believe in that it was finally over.

And then the Leshen began to pull out.

Geralt screamed and thrashed in the vines. The ridges and knobs along the monster's cock unerrinngly rubbed across his prostate as the Leshen pulled out and then pushed back in, moving faster and harder with each thrust, until the stimulation on his prostate was nearly constant as the creature fucked him. Geralt lost track of time, indeed of the entire world, after that. All that existed was the soul searing pleasure of the Leshen's cock filling him over and over again.  He had no idea how long the Leshen fucked him. It could have been hours or days as his body was wracked with orgasm after orgasm, the vine enveloping his cock greedily slurping down every drop of come the Leshen could force out of him.  Eventually, he felt the vines around his body tighten and the Leshen's grip on his hips became painful as its claws once more scored his flesh, sending new droplets of blood scattering across the roots that supported Geralt's body.  Geralt came to himself enough to feel a moment of dizzy terror. The Leshen was about to come. The Leshen was about to come inside him. How would there even be room for the monster's come inside when its cock already filled him to the brim?

Geralt began to pull frantically at the vines that held his hands above his head. He knew what was coming and he wanted it, oh how he wanted it. But to take it, he needed more. More stability. More contact. He needed to feel his monstrous lover beneath his hands.  The Leshen, seemingly reading his mind, loosened the vines around Geralt's wrists and body. Before he could fall to the ground the vines lifted him and pressed him against the Leshen's body, cradling him gently, even as it fucked into him even harder, its thrusts coming faster and deeper as the creature neared its peak.  Geralt reached out, hands wrapping around the Leshen's antlers, clinging as he pressed his forehead against the smooth expanse of bone. "Do it. Fill me up. Take your Tribute."

The Leshen's purr deepened and grew louder, until it was a roar. It fucked into Geralt's body once, twice and then pressed in a third time, deeper than any time before as it came. Geralt felt the rush of heat and wetness inside as the Leshen filled him. And then filled him more. And then over filled him. He swore he could actually feel his abdomen expand as more of the creature's seed pulsed into his body. The vine around his cock slipped off as he somehow found the strength to scream as he came one last time, this time painting his pleasure across the front of his lover.  

Just as the stretch of the come that filled him began to become painful, the Leshen began to pull out. Not all the way, but enough that its come could begin leaking out of Geralt's stretched and abused hole to run down the spirals of its cock.  Drops of come spattered the forest floor, mixing with the droplets of Geralt's blood, and then sinking into the loam.  After an amount of time Geralt couldn't even begin to guess, the Leshen gently pulled out until only its tip remained inside Geralt's body. The vine that had previously been around Geralt's cock nudged its way to his hole.  The opening in the tip of the vine widened once more as the Leshen slipped the rest of the way out of Geralt. Geralt shuddered and clung to the Leshen's antlers, burying his face in the crease where antler met skull, as he felt the monster's come pouring out of him into the open mouth of the vine, where it mixed with his own. The Leshen gently drew its claws along its human lover's back and sides, purring into Geralt's ear.  When the flow of come finally ceased, the vine, now distended with the combined spend of Geralt and the Leshen, quietly retreated into the forest.

The Leshen gently lowered Geralt to the forest floor, where a bed of thick, soft moss had sprung. Geralt, barely conscious, muttered and reached towards the Leshen, brows furrowed. A low rumbling chuckle filled the forest as the Leshen delicately traced an invisible sigil across Geralt's brow.  Supple vines, covered in soft, velvety moss rose up around Geralt's form and wrapped around him in an embrace as a voice whispered in the wind "Ressssssst. Ressssssst my Tribute."  The furrow in Geralt's brow eased as he slipped into a deep, restful sleep.

When Geralt awoke, he was alone in the forest. He smothered a moment of disappointment and sat up, stretching luxuriously. He was supsrised to discover that, not only was there no pain, but that he felt better than he had in years. He looked around and found his clothes carefully piled to one side of the clearing. He slowly dressed and took one last look around the clearing. Simply making sure he wasn't missing anything. Certainly not hoping for one last glimpse of his monstrous lover.  Finding nothing, he once more stamped out the twinge of disappointment and turned to leave the forest. Before he reached the edge of the clearing, however, he heard a rustling behind him as a distinctive purring filled the air.  He forced his suddenly quickened heartbeat to stillness and schooled his features into a casual smirk as he turned to face the Leshen.

"There you are. Thought you were the love 'em and leave' em type."  Geralt swore that he saw a glint of amusement in the depths of the Leshen's empty eye sockets.  "Just as well. I do actually have a contract to fulfill if I want to get paid." The Leshen's posture changed to one of uncertainty. "I have a proposal for you.' Geralt hurried to continue. Only because he didn't want to bother with actually fighting the monster. Not at all because the sight tugged painfully at something deep inside him.

The Leshen tilted its head, waiting to hear Geralt's offer. "The villagers are getting tired of sending their best and brightest every ten years.  If I don't come back with a garuantee that you won't prey on them any longer, they'll just keep sending more hunters or Witchers until someone finally kills you" Geralt's hands tightened into fists at his sides at the rush of pain that thought caused. "So I'm offering you a deal. Stop taking tribute from the villagers. Only harm those that seek to harm you. Continue to ensure the health of their crops." The Leshen tilted its head curiously and crows swooped through the clearing, their caws jumbling together into what almost sounded like the word" Why"

Geralt grinned and took a step closer to the Leshen, putting himself in arms length of the creature. "And in return."  He reached out and touched one clawed hand. "I'll meet you, here, every ten years and offer myself as Tribute."  The silence that followed his offer was deafening. The Leshen's gaze bore into Geralt for a long, tense, moment, before the clearing erupted in the sound of deep, rumbling laughter.  Vines burst from the ground and hoisted Geralt up until his face was even with the Leshen's. The creature leaned in, pressing its bone forehead against Geralt’s.  The creature brushed the exposed teeth of its skull across Geralt's cheek and lips as a voice echoed in his head "Deeeeal. Myyyyy Tibuuute."

Geralt laughed and reached out to shake the Leshen's antlers gently. "Deal. Now put me down. I've got a contract to collect on.  And it's probably gonna be another ten years til I can get up again anyway."  The Leshen's low chuckle echoed through the clearing as it lowered Geralt back to the ground. It reached out its clawed hand and gently caressed Geralt's cheek before disappearing into the forest.  Geralt grinned to himself as he headed back towards the village. From the corner of his eye he saw a small pack of wolves keeping pace with him and knew the Leshen was keeping its eye on him even now.  He had a feeling the village was going to experience an unprecedented increase in their crops for the foreseeable future. And he was going to happily lose every game of Never Have I Ever at Kaer Morhen from now on.