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Chapter Text

I merely know when I can indulge my pride, and when I must swallow it. It wasn’t so long ago that Yennefer of Vengerberg spoke those words to Geralt of Rivia, a sharp yet plain answer to his question after seeing her deference to the Emperor of Nilfgaard, Emhyr var Emreis: where did your biting wit go ? It had felt sour in her mouth then, and once again she tasted that sourness on her tongue.

She had grown comfortable in Nilfgaard, she knew. Perhaps a little too comfortable in her position as Emhyr var Emrais’ court sorceress. Yennefer had come to empathize with her patron to some small extent– he was a hard man, but then, he was born in a hard and brutal place, where the weak were callously discarded by the powerful, if not trampled outright. The curse that once plagued him did not make him a bedfellow with kindness and warmth. As ruler of the world’s greatest power, he needed to be stern. Unrelenting. Uncompromising. 

While he was a villain to many of the Continent’s northern kingdoms, Yennefer knew for a certainty that he believed he was doing what he must: creating and maintaining stability across the land. Such a man could not afford to show a hint of softness, of weakness. Nor could he afford to tolerate insolence, disobedience, or impudence. She had grown privy to his intentions, his machinations, and she’d seen sides of him that no other living person in Nilfgaard’s court had. No man or woman was without weakness, after all.

Really, she could relate. Yennefer’s barbed wit wasn’t the product of disdain or because she looked down her nose at others– something she could rarely do, given her decidedly petite stature. It was a product of the path that led her to the present, so deeply ingrained in her being that not even her amnesia could rid her of it. That did not mean she could relate to the average Nilfgaardian or Nilfgaard’s practices, the latter surely so deeply intertwined with the empire’s culture that only its utter destruction would rip them apart.

In her comfortable position, advising Emhyr and performing services for him, Yenn didn’t see much of either. Looking back, she felt a steep certainty that Emhyr had engineered that. That, for all his talk of ‘not pitying’ those saddled with difficult tasks, he tried to shield her violet-colored eyes from the Empire’s ugliness instead of forcing her to confront them and her inherent complicity with it. Her painted lips twisted with a faint sneer of distaste. To protect my conscience, she wondered to herself, or to keep me complacent? She wanted to believe it was one over the other, but– she also felt a steep certainty that it was the other.

And in doing that, the bastard Emperor had all but left her convinced he was the best hope for the Continent. Even now, staring that ugliness in the face, Yennefer was having a hard time thinking past that. Feeling foolish over it did not make the sour taste in her mouth alleviate whatsoever.

“Something the matter?” her escort asked in a low breath. Yennefer glanced at him. Middle-aged. Once a soldier, a lieutenant. Still carried himself like one, even though he was dressed for relative discretion. He came from money. Sharp, perceptive. Clever. Forged connections across Nilfgaard’s provinces on the campaign trail. Strong connections. For that reason, the Emperor’s spy corps had recruited him. Yennefer worked with him often enough to like him. He could see past her cool exterior and wasn’t afraid to push her when he saw a need for it. Yennefer liked that in a person. In that way, he reminded her of Geralt.

Yes. But she wasn’t about to say the reason out loud. Like didn’t equate to trust, and bringing up the reason for the sour taste in her mouth here ? If even one person overheard her, it would have drawn as much attention to them as ripping off her clothes and hopping up on a table. “No,” Yennefer answered dishonestly, knowing she wouldn’t fool him. She forced her painted lips into a more neutral cast and gave him another reason– knowing that one wouldn’t fool him, either. “I’ve simply grown tired of this waiting. Would it not have been more expedient to conduct an official inspection?”

Yennefer’s escort shook his head slightly. “Too much attention. The Emperor’s enemies would take quick notice and act quicker, if only to deny him a possible prize,” he murmured, both their voices kept low against the relative loud din of the room. They were both seated in the belly of the proverbial beast, appearing to be little more than a Nilfgaardian couple of mild means. Neither nobles nor some merchant prince and his wife. The very middle of the middle class, names that wouldn’t be worth knowing unless they were to stumble into greater power. They were the kind of couple that wouldn’t look too out of place at…

“Ten florens! Do I hear fifteen florens?” the auctioneer cried. Someone flicked their hand up and the auctioneer waved at them. “Fifteen florens! Twenty! Twenty florens, anyone, twenty florens?” He splayed his hand in a gesture at his merchandise. The sentient sort. “There must be someone who wants this fine woman for twenty florens! That’s almost a floren for each year of her life!” he declared, slamming his hand on his podium, practically a pulpit in Nilfgaard.

A slave auction.

“I suppose,” Yennefer replied softly. Had she not cast a spell to shift her appearance for outside eyes, made red-haired, left a little less fine-featured and not quite as shapely with her curves? The Emperor’s court sorceress would have drawn far more attention here than an official inspection. Only her escort saw her as she truly was, courtesy of a simple spell on his eyes. Complicated business, but Yennefer explained it to him as a magical cipher for her spell, likening it to cryptography and spycraft. He caught on.

A very illegal slave auction in one of Nilfgaard’s worst cities.

Not because slavery itself was illegal in Nilfgaard, though. Its culture, economy and even its military might all relied heavily on the taking and keeping of slaves. The men and women up for slave that night were all unlicensed. They were not legally obtained through any slaver’s guild, and would not come with any papers– though of course the blackmarket auction house was more than willing to provide forgeries for a small upcharge. 

As Yennefer’s escort explained it to her, that was how they really made their money, given the comparatively cheap prices of their ‘wares’. It also gave the blackmarket auction house lasting leverage over its clientele– here, ‘renewing papers’ was a barely-veiled euphemism for ‘pay your extortion fees or get reported to the local guard and see how that goes for you’.  She smiled dryly at the thought of merchants and their hidden fees. Whether it was in Nilfgaard or the Northern Kingdoms, shady or honest, they all seemed to be coins from the same purse.

“This all rubbing you the wrong way?” her escort wondered, smiling humorlessly. Yennefer gave him a sharp look of reproach that he simply shrugged off, leaning closer to her, voice turning to a whisper that almost got buried in the room’s chatter. 

“Ah, I know what you’re thinking– but there’s no reason to worry. Not a single soul in this room is willing to give you a hint of attention right now, my dear,” he claimed, putting an arm around the rounded shoulders of his ‘wife’ to maintain their ruse. His other hand came to rest on her knee. It slid up along her thigh, curving inward, intimate and familiar for the sake of their disguises. He squeezed at the muscle through her skirt, finding it lean but firm and shapely. “Except me,” he added. She could smell the wine on his breath.

His blithe claim did not soften her expression, but Yennefer didn’t want to argue about it. Every reminder of Nilfgaard’s penchant for slavery left a sour taste in her mouth, and she had heard every argument for it over and over again. He was baiting her– in a way that Geralt sometimes baited her, even, and in a way that she had often baited him. It was senseless to engage with. Everything would turn circular. “As you say,” Yennefer murmured cooly after a pause, keeping her features schooled, her purple eyes pulling away from him to gaze at the woman up for sale.

For the sake of their disguises, Yennefer shifted her leg. Not inward and definitely not to keep things professional. Rather to splay her knee towards him, spreading her thighs just the slightest bit. She could see the wry smile on her escort’s features as it worked its fondling way closer to the apex of her thighs. In Nilfgaard, trying to deny her husband’s touch would have drawn attention, just the same as spouting any sort of anti-slavery spiel in the midst of an auction. Though…

“Ah! Twenty five florens! Do I hear thirty?” the auctioneer cried, and he soon got a taker. “Thirty– thirty five, forty–” His hand flew this way and that as the auction goers warmed up, a sense of heated competition between a few prospective buyers. 

Perhaps he’s right . Perhaps I could push his hand away without anyone noticing. The young woman looked closer to twenty-five than the ‘nearly twenty’ that the auctioneer tossed out, but that didn’t lessen her youthful appeal. They didn’t bother restraining her. Didn’t bother dressing her, either. She clearly didn’t come from the Empire proper, not with her pale skin and long, wheat-colored hair. From one of the conquered Northern Kingdoms, perhaps, or kidnapped from one that stood strong in the face of southern aggression. 

There were many reasons one could be legally enslaved in Nilfgaard, most of them punitive.

Watching her, Yennefer doubted the ‘merchandise’ in question here had done anything to earn the loss of her freedom– except, perhaps, be born beautiful and buxom, wide-hipped and plush of ass. Not quite slender with her ample curves, yet with her height– not much bigger than Yennefer herself –enough for any prospective owner to manhandle her with ease. 

The poor thing did her best to make herself seem like an enticing purchase, squatting low on her heels, hands interlaced behind her head. Combined with the arch of her back, her heavy tits were practically offered up to her prospective owners. They were constantly jostling, jiggling and swaying as she moved her hips and worked her thighs, rising and lowering herself upon the intimidatingly large, well-polished dildo affixed to the floor for the sake of showing off how well she could ride. Her cunt hugged it tightly, even though she only rode the first half of it. She made no effort to hide her pleasure from it, her moans the chief source of noise in the room.

With nearly a century of experience, Yennefer could tell the young woman wasn’t phoning it in– she was genuinely doing her damnedest in the hopes of attracting an owner who would treasure her. One who would pay a handsome fee for her, and keep on paying for her for years to come. Yet the slight slackness to her expression and something about the cast of her eyes suggested to Yen that it wasn’t entirely willful. Aphrodisiacs, perhaps.

The fingers of Yennefer’s awfully-forward escort reached their destination as she looked away from the blonde slave. He wasn’t wrong. Almost every pair of eyes in the room was glued upon the unfortunate woman– even the guards who should have been watching the entrances and the crowd kept stealing glances at her. Very few of them seemed to see her as anything more than property, a toy purchased only as a way for them to deal with their own lusts.

From Yennefer’s count, over a dozen people, some alone and some couples (whether or not they were married) were inspired enough by the slave’s display that they were dealing with their lust without her. One man near Yennefer was rubbing his cock through his trousers, but another one, just a row below them, had his out in the open as he jerked it. At least one woman had her skirts hauled up, one ankle propped on the back of the empty seat ahead of her as she rubbed at herself. 

More than one head was conspicuously bobbing over a lap, to say nothing of those bouncing their hips on them. Some women were inarguably on top of their men in a more figurative sense, about as rare in the room as members of the same sex controlling the other. Yennefer briefly dragged her tongue over her lips and drew in a shallow breath. Her ‘husband’ began to run his fingers in a circle just shy of where her clit was. 

Even through two layers of fabric, Yennefer’s body was sensitive to his touch and receptive. Surrounded by sex, watching a woman who may as well have been shaped by sorcery– she was wet even before he touched her thighs. She could have pushed him away, but of course she didn’t. It wasn’t the first time he had touched her like this and… she didn’t want it to be the last. He reminded her of Geralt in more ways than one, and that was part of why she enjoyed working with him.

… I truly have gotten too comfortable here, Yennefer thought to herself, letting her eyelids slide shut. Years prior, she wouldn’t have humored this. She would have been outraged at the thought of sitting in on an illegal slave auction and not doing something about it. Hell, she would have been outraged at the thought of sitting in on a slave auction regardless of its legality. And yet… she pushed the troublesome thoughts aside and cleared her throat softly, tilting her head towards her escort’s. Her dark head of hair pressing lightly against his jaw. “We have a job to do,” she reminded him faintly, “and to do my part, I must focus.”

Not that Yennefer wanted him to stop.

That job was twofold. They had received a… tip that a woman fitting Ciri’s description was going to be put up for sale here. And though Yennefer sincerely doubted Ciri would appear here, they were behooved to check everywhere. The second? Emhyr wasn’t the sort of ruler prone to wasting precious resources. If there was a potential mage here, he wanted them under his thumb, not locked away as someone’s private pleasure tool or put up for public pounding in a brothel.

At least, the second part was something Yennefer tacked on to– not the explicit purpose of the mission.

Those mages would become his slaves in all but name. Even so, it’d be a much better life for them. They would be pampered and given token freedoms in exchange for their service. That was why when Yennefer overheard the planning of this ‘mission’, checking the auction for Ciri– she volunteered to go too, without Emhyr’s knowledge. Save anyone she could, if she could. Anyone. It was a welcome bonus that she had plenty of experience working with her escort, whose mission it was.

“Seen you focus through worse,” he pointed out with a hint of mirth. “She’s not the one we’re looking for, is she?” he asked, continuing to rub just above her clit with the confidence of a man who was certain his fingers were a one-way street to bliss. “Or one of the ones you wanted to find?” he further probed. As he asked the question, the hand of his shoulder-slung hand slid down and through the neckline of Yennefer’s dress, finding no bra beneath it. His bare-skinned hand squeezed her breast roughly, warm and rough against her softness. Unlike her clit, he couldn’t miss her nipple, long since peaked.

“One hundred and sixty florens? Do I hear one hundred and sixty florens? Going once, going twice…” The auctioneer paused, lifting his gavel.

“... No,” Yennefer exhaled slowly and reopened her eyes just as the gavel crashed and the auctioneer declared the blonde’s sale finalized. She became all the more confident of the girl being drugged when the auction house’s guards had to step in, forcibly pulling her from the floor-mounted dildo, dragging her off stage to wrap up her sale in private. The three women before the blonde were not anyone they were looking for, either. She wished she could have purchased all of them and set them free, but that wasn’t her call. 

“What do you want to do?” she murmured, hips shifting atop her seat, a restless squirm almost aimed at trying to get his fingers to go that little bit lower. With that same alcohol derived confidence, he thoughtlessly adjusted his fingers accordingly for it, confident he had her clit pinpointed. Yennefer was just glad that she’d gotten wet enough that her panties weren’t dry for his rubbing.

Yennefer didn’t see it as giving in to his insistence. He was a fine lay, and any semblance of her being a demure woman had faded some eighty years prior. Doing something would go a long way to getting the sour taste off her tongue before it became too bitter to bear. Her hand reached over for his lap, palming at his stiffened cock through his trousers. “Fuck your face?” he suggested shamelessly, straightforward– something she appreciated as much as she appreciated his accent. Still, she shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“Something that will let me keep my eyes on the stage,” Yennefer insisted. He pinched her nipple roughly and she squeezed his cock lightly in turn, reminding him once more, “We’ve got a job to do.” Shifting her hand, she started to deftly, blindly work at the buttons keeping his cock constrained within his pants. Tailors had a different technique for making a proper fly in the Northern Kingdoms, and it had taken Yennefer some time to figure out the trick to it. She’d gotten quite good at it with her constant practice, and quickly had her fingers diving down to curl around the familiar girth of his shaft, pulling it out and giving it a long stroke.

Her escort grunted and considered. “Suck me for a couple of minutes, then I’ll bend you over the next row and take you like the bitch you are. Just pull your skirt up first so I can get at that cock-craving cunt of yours.” As he gave his answer, his hand slipped further into Yennefer’s dress, scooping her pale breast and tugging it out to feel the room’s draft. Goosebumps quickly spread over her pale flesh, pebbling up even around her nipple. 

She appreciated the shamelessness, not so much the crassness. Yennefer delicately ran the pad of her thumb over the head of his cock, drawing it along his slit, a hint of precum already welling on it. Bitch wasn’t something she would suffer before her extended stay and service to Emhyr, but– she’d gotten used to it. “Fine,” she sighed, giving his cock one last pump before releasing it. “But don’t be as rough as last time,” Yennefer warned her escort. “Take your time with it, or you’re more likely to leave my cunt chafed than cumming.”

“Sure,” he replied, giving her tit a hard squeeze at the same time, as though that might somehow prove his sincerity. Yennefer rolled her eyes and lifted one of her hands, grabbing his wrist and prying him off her breast. He smiled and flicked at her nipple in parting, making her hiss out briefly and give him a dour look, the sort that could have frozen any man with a healthy respect for her. Most Nilfgaardians did. Unfortunately, most Nilfgaardians didn’t give the occasional in-person report to their Emperor. They didn’t see how he treated his court sorceress. Probably didn’t get to stick their cock in her either, for that matter.

Not that Yennefer regretted anything she had done with her escort. The roughness didn’t suddenly dry her soaking wet cunt. She enjoyed a man who treated her like a treasure, but had always secretly adored the ones that seemed as though they were fine breaking her in the process of fucking her.

The pat that he gave her cunt through her layers was a little kinder, at least– and it actually hit the mark. Just one, though Yennefer would have been pleased to get subjected to a few more. Nevertheless, when his hands were off her, she rose smoothly to her feet. A few eyes went her way briefly, their attention no longer demanded by the blonde’s whorish show; the next girl up for auction was still being prepared. Yennefer frowned faintly at them, making no effort to cover herself up. Even with a tit out and what she was about to do, she’d remain mostly decent. There was no point worrying about it or delaying anything.

The disguised sorceress bent, her long, dark and curling hair falling over her shoulders as she gathered up her skirts. Quick and efficient, she pulled them up, baring long and shapely legs hugged tight by stockings of black silk, terminating in bands of dark, sheer lace just over her knees. Garters clipped on to them courtesy of a matching belt worn higher on her body on her waist. Not so common in Nilfgaard, but they were catching on, courtesy of the conquered Northern Kingdoms. 

Soon, the gathered skirts cleared over her lean, sleek thighs. Yennefer pulled them up a bit higher, just over her pelvis and just shy of her navel, baring her flared hips while not quite uncovering her full garterbelt. Pinning them against her skin with one hand, her other went down to the panties revealed by her exposure, frilled and as dark as her stockings. Just as she started to work them down, two familiar hands clapped down on her hips and slipped fingers beneath their bands. “Allow me, my dear,” her escort drawled. Their neighbors were watching now.

It was a lot easier than doing it one-handed. “Thank you, dear,” Yennefer told her ‘husband’ with a dry smile, glancing back over her shoulder at him. He just grinned up at her, then started to peel them down from where they tightly clinged to her ass, only pausing when they cleared over her buttocks altogether. 

His hands scooted up to squeeze both at once. Those cheeks weren’t quite as pliant or as soft as her tits, but they were just as well-shaped in their own way, balancing out the rest of her curves to overall perfection. Yennefer shifted her hips restlessly, keeping a tight bridle on her rising impatience. She prepared herself for the inevitable. There was a reason she worked well with this man. “Are we skipping the preamble?” she asked him, eyelids lowering.

Bedroom eyes in public. Yennefer almost sighed at herself. “Tempting,” her fake husband sighed in her stead, taking a hand off her ass to clap down on it. The sorceress had braced her weight for it, though, flinching forward only slightly before pressing herself back, almost as though she was eager for another. “But you’re right.” He dragged his hands down her ass and grabbed the panties, peeling them down her thighs. “Acts just like her mother, these days,” he said to the man sitting to his left, rolling his eyes with good humor.

That joke made the corner of Yennefer’s mouth twitch and her bedroom eyes slip into far more dangerously slitted territory, but he didn’t notice. She doubted anyone else looking at her noticed it either. Though the magic disguising her downplayed her curves, it didn’t eliminate them altogether. She closed her eyes, her heart beginning to race a little faster in her chest with the attention that she had garnered. One thing that Nilfgaard had taught her about herself? Yennefer liked showing off. She liked being seen.

Some little part of her wanted to drop the disguise altogether and see what the room made of her. How long would it take someone to recognize me, I wonder? Yennefer thought to herself, hand lowering to drift past the neatly-groomed dark hair positioned above her cunt, finding the clit that her ‘husband’ missed over and over again. The thought of it excited her– even the idea of it going terribly awry for her excited her, getting fucked and used by the whole room. 

Yennefer poured greedy attention upon it right up until she felt her panties drop down to around her ankles and heard her escort say, “Step out of them.” She stopped her touching reluctantly and did so, glancing back at him just in time to see him tuck them away into a pocket. At the sudden arch of her eyebrow, he shrugged and claimed, “Safekeeping.”

Wasn’t the first time that he safekept her knickers and she never saw them again, but Yennefer rolled her eyes and retook her seat, kneeling upon it and facing him. The chair wasn’t quite big enough for her purposes, but it lacked arms and she didn’t have anyone sitting on the other side of her, giving her a bit of room to stretch a leg back if she needed to. She briefly ran her fingers through her curling hair and gathered it all up and over one of her shoulders, putting it safely out of the way. Then she bent and dipped her body, grabbing sideways at the thighs of her ‘husband’ for balance as her head lowered and her ass raised.

Was it a comfortable position? Hardly, but in her experience, some of the best parts of sex were the most uncomfortable ones. Yennefer took a second to glance up and meet his eye. “Don’t push my head down,” she warned him, taking a gentle hold of his cock, saying hello to it once more with a few long, fond strokes. Was it contrary to her sharply-spoken whispers? Perhaps a little. “Let me keep my eyes on the stage. And when you cum, it has to be inside me.” He nodded absently to her and lowered his hand to rest passively atop her dark locks, stroking soothingly along them.

Grateful for his understanding, Yennefer shifted one last time, tilting her head and moving her knees just a tiny bit more. Her view of the stage wasn’t great and it was almost sideways, but there wasn’t anyone sitting directly in front of them. It would serve their purposes well enough, and nothing was going to get the sour taste of slavery out of her mouth as well as a cock. The fingers on his cock shifted to cradle it underside, holding it as she pressed her painted lips right up against its crown.

It was a kiss Yennefer had given almost a thousand times in her long life. To kings and princes, to queens and princesses, and of course she’d given it to an emperor. Powerful people, with strong personalities. When she abandoned any vestige of being demure decades ago, she went straight for what attracted her most: people who were unrelenting and driven by their convictions. That wasn’t exclusively rulers (see Geralt of Rivia), but she couldn’t help it that most of them fit her bill. It was no less loving for her escort than it had been for any of them. 

When Yennefer pulled her lips away, the red stick coating them had left a blatant stain on his crown, lopsided by her angle. With her mark made, and his cock claimed, Yennefer smiled briefly to herself, not letting him see the satisfied twitch in her expression, then dipped her head again and ran her tongue around the very base of his shaft. Although Yennefer had a reputation for elegance, she willingly gave him sloppy, near-sloppy licks of her tongue, idly running her cradling fingers down as her mouth blazed a damp path upward. She was just nearing the ridge of his crown when they brought out the next slave for sale, pausing there.

Her heart stopped along with her cockslobbering. The next woman up for sale was fairly tall. Nude, her build could easily be described as both rangy and spry. Long-limbed, nimble. Probably graceful, when her steps weren’t swaying. Yennefer was even more certain she had been drugged with an aphrodisiac. A handful of scars marked her body, attesting to battles fought and won, or at the very least losses survived. Her long, nearly ashen hair was put up messily behind her head, and she seemed to be trying to fight the need within herself to scan the crowd.

Strong-willed. Headstrong. Yennefer could see the resemblance to Ciri and knew right away that it was the woman her escort came here to see. Yet her eyes were amber, not green. If her hair was ashen, it was only for a lack of proper lighting in the blackmarket auction house. In sunlight, she’d be platinum blonde. And though her face bore a prominent scar, it wasn’t half as long as Ciri’s, nor even cutting over the right cheek. Yennefer turned her head and shifted, lifting it to look up at her ‘husband’. Her lips parted and she sucked in a breath.

“... Now, this lioness is a deadly one, ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer called out. Yenn paused, cringing at the animal named. Far too close to ‘lion cub’ for her comfort. “And she is not for the faint of heart. But train her well and keep her on a tight leash, and I assure you that you’ll never have a better, or more fuckable, bodyguard.” He paused. “Bidding opens at fifty florens.” A steep price. The auctioneer wasn’t daunted by the relative silence that hung over the room; clearly, he had even accounted for it. Smiling wide, he added, “You may like to know that she’s a virgin.” 

The bidding exploded into a frenzy. One of the auction house’s guards stayed close to the slave as a minder, keeping her away from the floor-mounted dildo and the other props on display, only letting her try to satiate her lust with her hands, clumsy and shaking, as though she were afraid to masturbate, even with her body demanding it. Yennefer’s heart panged for her in a way that it hadn’t for the previous slaves. It was too close to Ciri. Too real.

“Is that her?” Yennefer’s escort asked, glancing down at her. He had the description and he’d seen sketches of Ciri’s face, but that wasn’t the same thing as being, for all intents and purposes, her stepmother. After a moment’s pause, Yennefer gave her head a small shake, not trusting herself with words. “Great. So we’ve got that out of the way,” he presumed, giving the slightest of nudges to get Yennefer back on track with his cock. “No magic in her either, right?”

“Mmm,” Yennefer hummed against him, obliging the silent demand without much qualm. The very tip of her tongue snaked over the red imprint on his crown, furthering its smear. Leaning in more closely, she kissed his cock again with spreading lips, her head hovering right over him, no longer along the side of his cock. She pressed her hand against the base of his pelvis, slowly taking him into her mouth, in no rush. The licks started the process, but sealing her lips around his shaft was what finished it– it was what made her get rid of the sour taste in her mouth. Cock, pleasure? It was much preferable.

… Far too comfortable, Yennefer reminded herself, closing her eyes. Things were too far along now to stop. Her long hair pooled on his hip as she worked him over with her tongue, head moving in leisurely bobs that kept her lips sliding along him. She kept it shallow, never taking him any deeper than just into her throat, wanting to be able to lift her head at a moment’s notice. They still had an important purpose there. 

The sound of the auction dulled in her ears; the sound of her mouth’s work filled her ears far more keenly, and she felt sharply tuned to his reactions– how he shifted in his seat, how he curled his fingers into her hair. How he grunted and how he twitched slightly in her mouth. Even when she felt her escort’s other hand touch the small of her naked back and start sliding down over her ass, Yennefer’s focus stayed rapt on him and his cock. 

She enjoyed getting pleasure just the same as anyone else, but she had always had a small preference for giving over taking. Cool as her outward exterior might seem, she was a giver more than she was a taker. Yennefer shifted her bent-body kneel slightly to accommodate his hand, knees spread beneath her as far as she could get them on the chair. Above her, he chuckled right before delivering a leisurely swat against her ass. 

Yennefer grunted softly around him, body rocking forward. To steady herself, her fingers on his pelvis shifted and curled to keep herself steady, black-painted nails digging roughly into her skin. “Easy there,” he muttered down at her, and she relented just as his hand started to slide between her parted ass, squeezing and groping on its way down. Her tight, puckered asshole tensed slightly as his fingers skimmed past it, but then they were on her mound, swollen and slick. As he started to slip them along her slit, Yennefer groaned around his cock, pulling her lips back to seal under his ridge. Thus situated, her tongue focused on his cock’s slit in turn, tongue lapping up another hint of precum.

Her ‘husband’ reminded her of Geralt in his willingness to push her, to call her out, to argue with her… but he wasn’t anywhere near as good a man as Geralt was, that was for certain. The real basis for Yennefer’s fondness for him? His cock, plain and simple. With his length and thickness, he was close enough to Geralt’s mutated size that she could easily forget it wasn’t him. If not for the difference in their tastes, unique and difficult to pin in precise words, there’d be nothing discernible.

Two things happened at once, and Yennefer could notice only one of them. Both his forefinger and his middle finger tucked into her quim, easily squeezing inside of her with how warmed up and wet that she was, and her hips gave a near-automatic wiggle and backward push against them. Although her walls clenched down against the intrusion, that didn’t make her so tight as to stop them from going in as deep as he’d like– or shoving his ring finger in alongside the other two. A shudder ran the length of her spine, her thickened groan muffled, inaudible even to him but incredibly tactile in its vibrating thrum.

Not minutes ago, Yennefer had told him not to be as rough as he was last time– to take his time. She implied he might chafe her, but of course they both knew full well that it was a hock of shit. To her, rough wasn’t good. It was great, and great things being done to her cunt? Unsurprisingly, that was very distracting, whether she was a giver or a taker at her base nature. Bastard, she laughed inwardly, as sincere a compliment as any other she might offer to him in the heat of the moment.

As for the other thing, the thing Yennefer didn’t notice…

“Do I hear four hundred florens? Do I hear four hundred florens?” the auctioneer cried, the words just background noise to Yennefer. Not so for her ‘husband’, though. He lifted his hand from Yennefer’s head and waved it leisurely. The auctioneer pointed at him with his hammer. “Four hundred! Do I hear four hundred and fifteen florens?” Someone else waved their hand. “Four hundred and fifteen! Four hundred and thirty? Four hundred and thirty, going once–” Again, Yennefer’s escort, her ‘husband’, waved his hand, and ten seconds later…

“Sold!” the auctioneer cried, and the woman up for sale was led away to be prepared for the finalization of her sale. Yennefer started to glance up, but her ‘escort’ dropped his hand back down on her head before it could clear away from his cock. The sorceress grunted faintly at the insistent course-correction, wanting to know where the near-Ciri was going, and pushed up against his hand. Not too forcefully, mind, expecting him to at least heed her warning not to shove her head down.

And yet that was exactly what he did. A muffled noise ripped out of Yennefer as she found her face being forcefully impaled on his cock, half-squeal and half-yelp. She was made to swallow several inches before her spasming throat slowed him, but it didn’t stop him. Both unprepared and already off-kilter thanks to the three fingers stretching out her cunt, Yenn couldn’t help but grunt and gag, heart racing with an instinctive panic in her surprise. Rather than fight it, however, she gave in to his wordless demands and fought to school herself, to get her body wholly under her own control once more.

Yennefer loved it rough, after all. She’d fucking murder him with her biting wit later, but for the time being, she couldn’t complain over anything but his lack of warning. The sorceress opened her eyes and tried to glance up at him, just to imply as much with a cold-eyed look, but of course she couldn’t get a glance up at his face– only further down along their row of seats. The pair sitting right beside her ‘husband’ had fucked off since she dipped down on his cock, but three seats away she could see someone jerking themselves off, looking right at her.

Though Yennfer had every intent of promising verbal evisceration with her eyes, there was no mistaking how cloudy and unfocused they were, lust miring her body and mind alike. For just a moment, their eyes met. Then the other man glanced up and away from her, almost as though he felt guilty, caught in the act of looking at something he shouldn’t have seen– that’s what her Northern Kingdom sensibilities made it seem like, at least. No matter how lurid things got in Nilfgaard, those remained intact.

Yennefer’s eyes were then squeezing shut, face forced to press down against her escort’s pelvis. His pussy-plundering hand pulled away briefly, yanking her hand out of the way before getting back to business back there. Deepthroating him (or Geralt, for that matter) was always a challenge for her, and even with all her experience sucking cock it left her jaw aching, her throat sore. He kept Yennefer’s head pressed down, basking in the nearly-miserable sounds of lust made around his cock and how her throat’s tube worked around him. This time, Yennefer wasn’t sure she’d be able to get her gag reflex under control.

Rather than looking away, the stranger was meeting her escort’s eyes. “You and your missus looking to double up?” he wondered, still beating his cock off all the while. Yennefer heard words, just barely– indistinct, drowned out by her heartbeat pounding in her ears and the lightheadedness sweeping over her body.

“Uhhhh…” Yennefer’s escort mused it over. Inviting a random jackass at a blackmarket slave auction to fuck the Emperor’s court sorceress? To spit roast the Yennefer of Vengerberg? If only the man knew what he was asking to do, he wouldn’t have asked the question to begin with, surely. The spy that Yennefer had grown to like and had become so comfortable around gave the only reasonable answer he could think of, continuing to choke her on his cock. “Go for it,” he invited casually. “She always says the more the merrier.” 

He knew full well, of course, that the only time Yennefer ever said ‘the more the merrier’ was when she felt obliged to explain her hatred of the saying. She’d always been a quality over quantity kind of woman, especially when it came to lovers. “Fan-fucking-tastic,” the stranger said with a broad grin, or at least a rough equivalent in the Nilfgaardian language– not quite a clean translation to any of the Northern Kingdom’s tongues. She heard a hint of his loud exclamation and may have glanced up to see what caused it, but her ‘husband’ continued to keep her head pinned against his pelvis.

Bloody… bastard… Yennefer almost laughed inside herself, almost. Damn it all, she was enjoying this. Yennefer could barely hear anything else over her heartbeat and the increasingly harsh noises coming out of her throat. One of her shoulders jerked as she felt a third hand reach over and grasp at her bare tit, though she didn’t even recognize it for what it was– the stranger’s, someone she hadn’t invited to touch her. Yennefer just assumed it still belonged to her ‘husband’, unable to do the mental arithmetic to figure out he couldn’t finger her pussy, hold down her head and pinch her nipple at the same time. It was a brief contact, anyway, just happening as the man paused alongside her knelt body.

When the stranger half-climbed up on the chair she was knelt upon, though, that was harder for her to miss. Its wood creaked and shifted with the extra weight, legs scraping along the room’s well-scuffed wooden floor at the same time. Then and there though, Yennefer was no more able to lift her head than she had been previously, without her escort’s blessing. One of her hands continued to brace herself across his knees and lower thighs, while the other– pulled out of her mouth’s way –dipped beneath her body, pushing down along it. Trembling fingers alighted upon her long-neglected clit as her ‘husband’ continued his brisk fingering, ready to coax even greater pleasure out of it.

Just in time for his fingers to ditch it.

Just in time for someone else’s fingers to enter it. Half-aware of the presence behind her, Yennefer didn’t make the same mistake she had with her fondled tit. She realized it was a different man, partially because he was much gentler than her ‘husband’ was to begin with. One finger, testing the soaking-wet waters of her slut’s cockslot, then two. Neither was quite as wide as her escort’s, making for a noticeable difference even just between the stranger’s two digits and her escort’s three. W-what– oh, you bastard . This time, Yennefer’s inner voice didn’t want to laugh. Why are you letting him–

If Yennefer could give the stranger one point in his favor right off the bat? He knew exactly where to find that special little spot inside her cunt, the place that Geralt often drawled about in his most WItcher-ly of voices, acting as though the steel sword he was so fond of had turned into a snatch-slaying silver sword when he angled himself for it. 

After spending so long gurgling and gagging on cock, a high-pitched and utterly breathless whimper sounded so starkly different coming out of Yennefer’s throat, even for its muffling. The trembling fingers on her pussy veered off, grabbing blindly at her naked thigh with her black-painted nails. A weak spasm took her hips, back arching further with it. The stranger rubbed her there, fingers swift, unwittingly taking advantage of all the work that had gone into getting Yennefer’s lustful body into such a wretched state.

And just as her breathless, lightheaded state hit its lowest point– just as her world seemed to darken despite her eyes already being squeezed shut –Yennefer came, swift and sharp and heady as it was abrupt. Her pussy’s pink walls squeezed and tensed erratically around the man’s spelunking digits, almost as though trying to suck them in deeper. Almost as though her body couldn’t tell the difference between his fingers and a proper cock, and that they’d be able to fill her womb, giving her the child she deserved so but could never have. “Shit,” the stranger laughed behind her, “what a cunt. You’re a lucky guy, you know that?” he told Yennefer’s escort over her, lifting his other hand to swat her pliant ass. He gave it a good squeeze thereafter, fingers dug deep.

Choking out on cock? Although Yennefer did love it rough, it wasn’t her idea of a good time. Still, cumming while it was happening… something about that made her orgasm so much more intense, made her feel the pleasure in a far more distinct way. It was like her body had no resistance to the mind-numbing goodness that flowed through her. Other muscles caught the spasms like a spreading disease. Thoughtlessly, she clawed all the rougher into her escort’s thigh and her own at the same time. His skin was protected by his trousers still, but hers was all smooth, soft and pale skin, easily scratched. 

“You’ve got no idea,” her escort replied with a terse smile, words bitten out quickly. Yennefer’s frantic, unconscious attempts to mouth-breathe around cock while wasting any air she got on the most lewd of moans? It was more than he could take, too. Just as Yennefer found herself slipping, he roughly curled his fingers deep into her hair and yanked on her raven locks, forcing her tightened lips to glide their way back up along his cock. They pulled off his crown with a soft, wet pop, both moaning and panting for breath to moan with, almost hyperventilating in the process. Her eyes remained tightly shut.

That spared her from having to see the people beginning to turn in their seats to watch Yennefer, now that she was being so goddamn noisy about things. Public sex wasn’t a big deal in Nilfgaard, but it was considered particularly gauche to be loud and disruptive about it. Her escort pulled back on her hair to lift her face towards some of her observers, his other hand grabbing hold of his cock and starting to pound at it, just seconds away from release. Suffice to say, disguising magic or not, the sorceress had become a lurid mess, retaining little of the elegance she was reputed to have, or at least seemed to have to any of them prior. 

Yennefer’s pale face was flushed a desperate red, with matching tears running down her cheeks from her gag reflex’s failure to excise the cock plugging her airway. She had, of course, given herself a touch of makeup– nothing major or too fancy, considering she was supposed to be playing at being the middle of the middle class. The liner, mascara and faint hint of shadow around her purple eyes had smeared and smudged, little lines dragged down along her cheeks by the tears. Even with her face in such a wantonly wretched state, there was no mistaking her expression for anything but slack-jawed bliss.

Just as she managed to get her breathing in some semblance of order, her burning lungs ready to slow their rapid contractions? Yennefer’s escort let out a primal groan and gave his hips an instinctive, needless jerk. His hand pushed himself over his limit, and his cock shot its thick, hot payload up at the sorceress’ waiting face, hitting it from below. She flinched at the unexpected impact and jerked back a bit, but his hand kept in her hair and kept her face steady. The lines of dark makeup running down her cheeks were joined by white lines of spunk running up them. Not all of it landed cleanly; some went up high, given the angle, only for gravity to bring it down on Yennefer’s dark hair, or along her clothes.

She opened her eyes with a few slow blinks of her eyes, clearing away the tears that left her vision so blurry. Her purple gaze fixated on her escort’s face, a clarity in them. The stranger’s fingers had pulled away from her g-spot after getting her off, and in fact were out of her now altogether– out of body and out of mind.

There were just two things that Yennefer had asked him to do: don’t push her head down, and cum inside of her. He was supposed to cum in her pussy, for fuck’s sake– she was supposed to be able to see the stage the entire time. If Yenn took a moment to look over there, she would have seen that at least one other woman had been sold since the Ciri lookalike. Another was being led on stage right then and there. 

Yennefer didn’t look over, though. Her eyes slowly slitted at her escort, her ‘husband’. “What,” she hissed out, raw-throated, “the fuck was that?” she demanded of him, perhaps not mustering as much venom as she otherwise could. There was still plenty of pleasure clouding her, tiny tremors working through her body. “You have a lot of nerve, you loathsome little–”

The stranger had pulled his fingers out of her, but he hadn’t actually left Yennefer. His snatch-slickened fingers gripped her hip as he adjusted his position, half-rising to get his hips relatively aligned with hers, still pushed back in his direction. And while the sorceress started to chew out the man that brought her there? The one behind her lined everything up. Blithely ignoring what seemed to be a lover’s quarrel to him, he savagely slammed himself into her waiting hole, its petite lips left slightly spread from all the attention it had received. He didn’t give Yennefer the courtesy of a warning, not even a little one like dragging his cock over her slit to ensure he couldn’t miss her on his thrust.

“–Ffffffuck!” Yennefer’s words cut off in a surprised shriek as her cunt was filled. It was such a narrow and shallow little hole by its nature, and though she was well-warmed up and given an opportunity to stretch out, her body wasn’t ready for what it received. Her eyes widened as her whole body rocked forward, almost collapsing over her escort’s lap in the process, but his grip on her hair kept her face up. The stranger’s cock was no smaller or thinner than that of Geralt’s or the one she had just sucked. Its hilting inside of her was almost painful, punching up against the deepest parts of her hole, best left undisturbed even in sex. 

Almost painful. She was warmed up, and she did love it rough. Even as her outward cry was tapering into wordless territory, Yennefer’s eyes briefly rolled back, showing their whites to both her escort and those that had crowded around them now. Gauche as Yennefer’s volume was, the people who attended slave auctions liked that sort of thing– the lurid, the illicit. The stranger didn’t pause to enjoy the depths of her pussy, as wondrous as its immediate squeeze down on his cock surely was. As he drew his cock back, the hand that held his cock steady during his slamming thrust pulled away, slapping at her ass again before grabbing her hip. “What a fucking hole,” he groaned.

Her escort smirked, shameless– not that Yennefer was as appreciative of it in this context as she was the others.

“H-hold– hold on,” Yennefer tried to twist her head around to gasp back at the stranger, but her ‘husband’ reaffirmed his grip in her raven locks, keeping her face forward, forcing her to observe those observing her with lust hazing her eyes. “Stop for just one second–” she tried to beg, too, but the moment his cock was all but outside of her, with just the tip of his cock still gripped by her walls, he slammed back into her again, even harder. Yennefer had been too shocked by his first thrust to gird herself for the second; for it, her shriek was one lacking words. Again, her eyes showed their whites.

“And if the gentleman would kindly stuff a stocking or a cock in his wife’s mouth,” the auctioneer called out drolly, “we’ll continue with the next sale. Opening bid will be eighty florens, with more details to come once I’m not competing with a harlot who apparently doesn’t get enough attention at home. Shame on you, sir!” he declared, waving a hand at Yennefer’s escort. He wasn’t mad, though. He was smirking, his eyes knowing. 

“Sorry, sorry,” the escort called back easily, grinning and winking. 

If only Yennefer wasn’t in the middle of getting fucked, she might have noticed that and found it intensely uncomfortable. As it were, however, the only uncomfortable feeling she felt was that of a rock-hard cock bumping into her cervix. The stranger’s thrusts quickly built up into a rapid pace that matched his savagery, fucking Yennefer like a beast desperate to rut and breed– another thing she loved. Each time he hilted inside of her cunt was heralded by a wet, sloppy slap as his pelvis hit her sweat-lined ass and swelled, slickened mound. Each one warranted a shriek of their own, but that wasn’t exactly sustainable– within the first few full-shaft jabs of his cock, she could only yelp between moaning gasps.

Yennefer’s escort didn’t bother shoving her face down on his cock again. He crooked a finger at a man sitting just past where the stranger had been, tall and thickset in a robe, a small giant that perhaps could have passed for a handsome troll child, were he so inclined. That, or the world’s tallest, baldest dwarf. Previously, Yennefer had taken notice of him– but with the way he engaged in the bidding, he didn’t seem all that out of place. Just another bastard looking to pick up cheap female flesh at an apparent discount. Not a word passed between the robed giant and her escort beyond their eyes touching. The brief glance almost seemed to say a thousand words.

She would have found that intensely uncomfortable, too, for only her escort and one of his superiors in the spy corps knew about this mission. They certainly didn’t report every little lead on Ciri’s whereabouts to their Emperor. He only had time for the most promising ones. That was why Yennefer hadn’t bothered letting Geralt know about it, either. It was probably going to turn out to be nothing. If she was lucky, she’d save a few girls with undiscovered magical talent and that’d be that.

The robed giant stopped just off to Yennefer’s side, though she was so lost in the midst of the hard dicking she was receiving that she didn’t notice right away. Her ‘husband’ gave her hair just enough slack that she could look up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, a hint of irritation buried beneath the lust clouding her focus. “I-I’m going to have your balls for this,” she just managed to gasp out at him, hand leaving her thigh and reaching out to better brace herself on his lap. 

“That seems awfully hyperbolic,” her escort chuffed, wine still heavy on his breath. He grinned, reaching beneath her body to briefly squeeze at her tit amidst its jostling. Yennefer shuddered and clamped her mouth shut, feeling another orgasm rushing on to her. Afterwards, her escort dragged his hand back and gave her a condescending pat on the cheek. “I know you’re having fun,” he told her, before grunting with distaste, realizing that his pat had gotten his fingers full of his own spunk. He gave Yennefer’s cheek a light slap that had her mouth gasping wide open, then smeared them mostly clean on her skin. “So just enjoy it, hey? You’ll want to get used to quantity over quality, I think.”

What he said brought to mind her words to Geralt once more: I merely know when I can indulge my pride, and when I must swallow it . Yet she had no time to dwell on what about that evoked those words.

The pat was one thing, but the slap was another. It got Yennefer glaring up at him. “What… what are you talking about?” she panted after a yelp, only to suddenly find her ‘husband’ releasing her hair. She blinked once, then found her head suddenly gripped by the robed giant, turned to face him, face level with his hips. Her eyes widened at the sight of what was already out and waiting for her. The stranger inside her cunt had a big cock, certainly, but the one she was staring at was bigger than Crach an Craite’s, and that godforsaken bear of a man had almost broken her with his. For a moment, Yennefer could only stare at it, mouth opening even wider with sheer horror at the thought of it going anywhere near her body.

“Eh. You’ll understand soon enough,” her escort promised, grabbing her wrists and roughly prying her hands from his legs. He slid out from beneath her and let them drop against the empty chair, dusting himself off as he rose to his feet. “This is, uh, my brother-in-law. You just keep on doing your thing and enjoy yourself, man,” he told the stranger, reaching down to give Yennefer’s cheek a rough pat before stepping away.

But the stranger was far too focused on hounding her hole to do more than grunt at Yennefer’s ‘husband’, not even pausing to appreciate the fact a 7’0 slab of muscle was looming a few feet away from him. His ceaseless conquest of Yennefer’s cunt continued, barreling both of them towards the inevitable once again. One slam in particular from him had her back arching and eyes rolling back, arms quivering and starting to slacken beneath herself. Her palms tried to keep steady on the now-vacant chair, but she surely would have slumped face-first upon it if not for the robed giant gripping her head. The next one put her over the edge, left almost painfully empty before he filled her up once more.

Yennefer’s gut-clenching horror over the robed giant’s cock dissipated the second she came on the stranger’s cock, body giving a spastic jerk before wild quivering overtook her muscles all at once. A keening wail started to bubble out of her throat, but long before it could escape her mouth and continue interrupting the auctioneer, the robed giant finally pushed himself in her open maw, immediately straining her poor jaw with the sheer size of his crown. She tried to move her tongue– driven by pure instinct, really, but the ungodly size of him was too much for her. It pinned her tongue to the bottom of her mouth as he forced himself deeper into her. 

And the taste of it, the fucking taste of that enormous cock… 

Even though Yennefer’s whole body was trembling with bliss-induced relaxation, even though the stranger’s cock was still hammering into her little hole despite how it kept twitching and spasming around him, her mind was hooked on the taste of the robed giant’s cock. With it in her mouth, everything else seemed less important, less… meaningful. From the very first moment her tastebuds rubbed against it, she knew there was… something different about it. Something unnatural, whether it was made through magic or alchemy. It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted, and even though it felt like it’d break her jaw if the robed giant kept it inside her? Yennefer never wanted it outside of her.

She loved it. She knew that she shouldn’t, but she did, as strong a love as she had felt for anything prior in her life. Whether that something was the magic that made her so ageless, desirable and powerful enough that kings lusted and fought over her… the emotional loves that her life revolved around, like Geralt and Ciri… or something as simple as a love of decadence. There was nothing in life that Yennefer loved more than the freedom to spend an evening in a perfumed bath on her lonesome, surrounded by candles, a glass of fine wine in one hand and a stimulating book in the other.

No– it’s not as strong as any of them, Yennefer thought to herself, rendered dim-witted by her exposure to it. It’s… it’s better. I love this more than everything else I love, cobbled together. And though that was so wrong, it felt so right. Muffled, Yennefer’s wail around his jaw-straining cock turned out to be little more than a helpless, wanton whimpering that dragged on. He barely fucked her face, just rocking his cock back and forth slowly, dragging himself over her tongue. Ample precum spilled out of him, and something about it made her shudder powerfully, making what she already felt so much better. Her orgasm didn’t stop, another starting well before it ended.

Neither the stranger railing her nor the robed giant gave any thought towards her comfort, but Yennefer had always thought the best parts of sex were often the most uncomfortable ones. Her pussy-plowing stranger couldn’t withstand her tightness and her walls’ wicked tensing, and with one final, brutish ram of his hips hilted himself inside of her, growling and delivering a hard, double-handed spank to her ass as he flooded her with his cum. That, too, kicked her off into another orgasm, three back-to-back-to-back. Her all-but-legal adoption of Ciri hadn’t ever eased her hunger for motherhood, and nothing ever topped a rough fuck off for Yennefer like getting her womb inseminated.

“Wait, uh– he said you’re his brother-in-law, right?” the stranger asked as he pulled out of Yennefer, lazily smearing himself against the inner curve of her ass as though wiping himself clean. “You’re not her brother, right?” he asked the robed giant, post-nut clarity inducing a willingness to question. Bald, stoic-faced, the robed giant simply stared at him until he backed off, lifting his hands. “Sorry, sorry, uh, tell her thanks…?”

The 7’0 monster of a man had no time for the nonsense. As soon as the stranger was out of the way, he lifted a hand and silently crooked fingers in a beckon towards some of Yennefer’s audience. More and more of the room was watching her with hungry eyes. Her volume might have started that, but the robed giant attracted far more– a familiar figure to many in the underground, illegal slave trade. The loss of the room’s attention probably should have infuriated the auctioneer, but he continued to peddle female flesh with a casual disregard for it.

Those seated in Yennefer’s row, as well as the two adjacent, began to clear out at another motion from the robed giant, whispers rising around them. She was far too absorbed by his life-redefining cock, riding out the tail-end and afterglow of her orgasm with squirming hips. As much as she loved the feeling of cum inside her, her cunt’s constant twitches had the stranger’s spunk slipping out of her, pooling on the chair beneath her gaped hole, certain to stain it lest some quick thinker decided to wipe it up well before it had a chance to dry.

No one did. There was a sudden commotion around her, chairs getting knocked over and hastily scraped over the floor. Yennefer opened her eyes to lash-shadowed slits, curious at the distraction but ultimately far more attentive to the cock in her mouth. Those beckoned over by the robed giant cleared a space around them, and for a moment, he, Yennefer and the chairs her knees and hands were on were on their lonesome.

The auctioneer called the last sale, and then all the eyes in the blackmarket auction house were upon them. Yennefer didn’t realize that. All she could think of was how wrong it was that this was so right– and that it was so right that it had to be wrong. She could do little more than wriggle her tongue in place and try to suck on him, her breathing a desperate thing, done purely through her nose.

Suffice to say, the sour taste of slavery was no longer on Yennefer’s tongue, nor was she all that concerned about why she was there to begin with. The crown of the massive member in her mouth was more than enough reason for her presence. Her eyes closed, careless of the crowd but for how good it felt to be seen by them.

The massive hands holding her head steady slipped down from them. They didn’t need to be in her hair to ensure she kept suckling on him, and soon grabbed at the back of her dress’ bodice and her skirt. Being disguised as ‘the middle of middle class’, the fabric wasn’t anything like what Yennefer used– it bordered on fine and practical rather than truly doing either. Though it had an attractive cut, it was full of compromises. Stitches began to break and fabric began to rip as the robed giant lifted Yennefer by her dress. Surprising as it was to her, so long as she had his cock in her mouth, she didn’t care.

He had no problem holding Yennefer aloft, turning her one way while his assistants pulled the chairs out of their way. The second they were gone, the robed giant gave a sharp pull on her skirts, showing his sheer strength with how easily he ripped them off of her. Though it jerked her hips up, she could still keep her mouth on his cock’s crown as he did it. She landed awkwardly on her heeled shoes afterwards, each an impractical wedge shape after Nilfgaardian fashion standards. One broke beneath her and its leg nearly buckled, both of them already unsteady. Then the robed giant ripped at her bodice, and as it broke from her skin, she lost the support of everything keeping her upright.

Yennefer tried her damnedest to keep her mouth on his cock, but as she fell, his length was only willing to go so far down with her. As it slipped out of her mouth entirely, it bounced up and slapped up alongside her face, making her yelp out. If not for the fact she was already falling, she would’ve flinched back from the slap. With its size, it was like a small, meaty club. The sorceress landed with her legs spilled out beneath herself, shoes pointing outward in either direction. With her dress all but destroyed, she was left in immodest tatters, only her garters and stockings left undamaged.

She barely caught herself from a flat-faced fall with her quivering arms, palms pressed down against the auction house’s floor. Though there was a hint of the robed giant’s cock on her tongue still, and Yennefer could smell its proximity– the effect it had on her rapidly diminished. Her shoulders shaked as she heaved for breath, blinking as her common sense and usual mental acuity flooded back into her. 

What in all the bloody hells was that…? I… an incubus? A succubus? The room was quiet. Yennefer slowly lifted her head and looked around, face no less wretched in its wanton state than it had been prior. There was no sign of her escort, her ‘husband’. Many of the auction goers were either leaving, while others were settling into chairs hastily rearranged to face Yennefer and the robed giant. The auctioneer leaned on his podium, watching not her but something behind her. With a morbid, twisted feeling rising in her belly, the purple-eyed sorceress started to look over her shoulder.

Walking legs. Someone was approaching her. Before Yennefer could glance up to see their face, the robed giant grabbed her hair and yanked it up, forcing her forward and almost lifting her off her knees, pulling at her scalp. As much as she liked having her hair pulled, Yennefer could now see past the sex and bliss that came with it: she was in a bad situation. She didn’t know what that situation was, but she knew sticking around to find out what it was would end poorly for her. So, her trembling fingers lifted, lips opening to begin an incantation in Elvish that would surely give away what she was, though not who.

The robed giant was swift, though, gifted with fast reflexes and quick wit. He recognized what she was doing right away and pulled again on her hair, indeed lifting her off her knees. “Tch–!” Yennefer grunted out, but she didn’t let it stop her. She couldn’t let it stop her. Her mouth opened again, deciding not to go with lightning but controlled fire to incinerate the bastard and frighten the rest, giving her time to teleport away. 

Unfortunately for Yennefer, her new friend was two steps ahead of her. He didn’t pull on her hair just to shut her up; he did it to align her open mouth with the crown of his cock once more. A little jut of his hips bumped him against her mouth, not quite wide enough to immediately admit him entrance. The sudden proximity, the touching, the taste and the smell– it all overwhelmed Yennefer in an instant. Within seconds, the sorceress had him straining her jaw once more, flushed, cum-stained and still an awful mess. All the fiery doom that her fingers were about to conjure died well before she summoned so much as a spark, and her hands went to his thighs to steady herself against him.

Where has this godforsaken man been all of my life? Yennefer was already asking herself. She had no more luck moving her tongue beneath his massive member now than she did prior. It was so easy for her to picture a life where she did nothing but sit between his legs, lips locked over his cock. In time, she was sure she’d get used to his size and find it far easier to keep him in her mouth. Maybe she’d even learn to take him down her throat? Excited butterflies rose in her stomach at the prospect, and her cum-leaking cunt twitched tight, as though imagining what it would feel like to get stretched out by him.

The thoughts were wrong. So fucking wrong, she knew deep down, but that didn’t make them any less real. Their cause may have been unnatural, but even so. Even so, they were real. The robed giant grunted, bending forward slightly to gather up the rest of her hair with his other hand, not pulling it so much as lifting it clear of her back and neck, soon pushed into his other hand. Yennefer thought nothing of it, closing her eyes and focusing on nothing but him. Once freed, that hand took to his cock, working over his shaft.

As Yennefer’s time at the auction grew more torrid, her heart had begun to race and pound in her chest. Her erratic pulse had picked up notably when he slipped out of her mouth, and now it was up again, pounding away as though it might manage to shatter the ribs that hold it. His precum was good enough, but the thought of him actually spilling his seed inside of her? Just the notion of it left Yennefer as dizzy as she’d been choking on cock. 

The smallest of the dark hairs at Yennefer’s nape rose, warning her of the man that was finally behind her and what he held in his hand. She could feel it, just slightly, but… the robed giant’s cock was so much more important to her. Yennefer wanted to earn his cum; she wanted everyone in the room to see how it filled her mouth and how heavy it was on her tongue before she swallowed it down. His sheer size kept him from doing much to aid him in getting off, yet Yennefer was not so blinded by his cock that she forgot about her hands. They raced up the giant’s body, trying to wrap her small, slender fingers around his shaft. 

He was too thick for even the nail of her middle finger to touch the heel of her hand. Even more excited now, Yennefer moaned her delight around him and carried on like the slut that she had become for him. He let her take over the jerking he had started. She opened her eyes slightly, her lashes a dark veil over purple eyes as she gazed up at him, shameless, prideless, and all too comfortable.

“And… here we go,” Yennefer’s escort hummed as he snapped the dimeritium-lined choker around her neck from behind. Not a thick and heavy collar, but a collar all the same, all dark satin bearing an amethyst in its center, matching her eyes. The sorceress felt the spell hiding her appearance suddenly falter, no longer downplaying any aspect of her appearance or making her famous black hair seem red.

The city was one of the worst in Nilfgaard and nowhere near the capital, but even this far away, even with few people who had ever seen the Emperor’s court– people knew the Emperor’s court sorceress at a glance. An excited murmur suddenly spread throughout the room as those remaining auction-goers wondered if it was really her , if it was really Yennefer of Vengerberg.

… And Yennefer didn’t care one bit. She could feel the blockage between her and her connection to the ebb and flow of magic, but the cock was just so great. It was something that she could worry about later, if she ever had to worry about casting magic again. She worked her wrists and elbows in tandem, desperate to swallow the robed giant’s seed like the good little slut she was, ignoring her jaw’s strain.

Behind her, Yennefer’s escort, the man she liked, the bastard that she’d come to loathe– he tugged at her shoes and tossed them away. Tugged at the scraps on her and left her truly nude. When he was done, she was just in those dark stockings and her garters. Later, when that loathing settled in, she would come to realize he was nothing like Geralt after all: he was just an utter cock with a nice cock.

Later, though. Later.

The auctioneer brought his hammer down on his podium and cleared his throat, speaking over the lewd noises coming from Yennefer and her new friend. “As you can see here, ladies and gentlemen of the Empire… we have a special event taking place today. One might call it a preview of sorts,” he added with a broad smile, waving his hand at where Yennefer kept desperately milking that cock. 

“Behold, a woman who is either Yennefer of Vengerberg or an impressive impostor, conquered and brought to heel just like her homeland.” 

Several people laughed at that. 

“Though she is not for sale today, we will give three lucky people the chance to claim her holes.” The auctioneer’s smile damn-near sparkled. “The highest bidders, naturally. Two of those holes will be sloppy,” he admitted candidly, for there was no hiding the cum dripping out of Yennefer’s gaping snatch, the white on her face or the enormous cock filling her mouth. “It isn’t every day that you have an opportunity to fuck the Emperor’s favorite slut, hm? You may have other opportunities to fuck her as we train her, but for now–”

Yennefer didn’t care. She just didn’t. All she wanted was that cock and that cum and nothing else mattered, nothing else. The worst thing that could have happened to her was getting neither. When she felt him twitch in her mouth, when she heard his grunt, she hastened her work, her poor wrists already aching and burning from the labor. He had so much fucking cock that she couldn’t help but wonder if his father was a stallion. Another twitch, and she knew it was time… and he denied her.

Even as he started to pull away, Yennefer started to cry out her protest the moment her tongue could do more than scant wriggles beneath its sheer size. “N-no!” she pleaded breathlessly, throwing her body towards him, desperate. He stepped back and easily pried her fingers from his cock, releasing her hair. With swift ease and experience, he had both of Yennefer’s wrists clutched within one hand, held over her head, leaving the mostly-naked sorceress raised up on her knees.

“Please,” Yennefer begged without thinking. Her common sense didn’t snap back into place as easily as it did the first time, and she acted on instinct, keenly honed by her long life and all the lewd things she’d done throughout it. Arching her back, she pushed her shoulders backwards and pushed her chest out, trying to catch his eyes with her tits, each a generous, pale round swell for her petite size. The sorceress’ body sank as she spread her thighs and posed herself just so, ensuring he could see just a hint of her whorish cunt. “Please,” she begged again, if only to leave her mouth hanging open, her tongue stuck lewdly outward, lacking any pride at all.

“Bidding opens at a five hundred florens,” the auctioneer cried, and immediately the remaining crowd– the highrollers –began to cry out their offers, each greater than the last.

From behind, Yennefer’s escort took her wrists from the robed giant, pulling them back and quickly binding them over the small of her back. Not with the ease of a soldier, but perhaps the randiest sailor in the world. She stirred, but it didn’t matter to her. Not so long as she got that cock. That cock…

The backbone and biting wit that Yennefer should have had, it was all gone, and in place of the proud sorceress was someone depraved, ready to debauched, ruined, smeared. A low grunt from the robed giant told Yennefer it was coming, and she closed her eyes as she saw him start to lean forward, lewd joy making a parody of her lewder face. She felt the tip of his cock touch her tongue, the taste making her shudder all over again– and then she felt that not-so-small, meaty club smack across her cheek, crown first, deliberate and far from gentle. Unprepared in her cock-ready pliancy, Yennefer yelped out and found herself thrown askew, knocked senseless and spilled out on her side upon the floor. 

“Do I hear six hundred?” the auctioneer asked the crowd, and instead he heard six hundred and fifty. Greed shone in his eyes as he continued to egg his irredeemable patrons on, with no real interest in what happened to Yennefer.

The robed giant didn’t seem to care much, either, though he left his mark on her. Yennefer picked a poor time to open her eyes and look up at her new friend; her purple gaze had just the barest moment to widen with surprise before he gave his cock a single stroke and shot his load at her from on high. “Ah!” she cried out in surprise, hastily squeezing her eyes shut. Not quick enough, although luck and perhaps good karma spared Yennefer the worst of fates. The splatter of his first white rope took her almost dead center in the face, right above her nose; none of it ended up in her eyes before they closed. One rope, and he re-glazed her face almost as thoroughly as her escort’s entire orgasm had.

Three more followed the first, not one of them a clean hit either. The alloy-lined choker that blocked Yennefer’s magic was summarily soaked in the stuff, just a hint of black and the amethyst at its center peeking out past the thick white cream. A fair bit of it ended up in her curling black hair– rather perfectly arranged at the start of the evening, but now wayward and mussed from all the ways she’d been tossed around and used. More yet coated her chest and collarbone, sure to slowly drip down to her tits if she sat upright and stayed upright. What didn’t hit her left a mess on the floor near her head.

“Eight hundred? Do I hear eight hundred and twenty five? … Eight hundred and fifty!” the auctioneer continued to bellow in the background, loud enough now that Yennefer could no longer block him out. She groaned thickly and squirmed, trying to get her face away from the spunk-covered floorboards as she felt her common sense return to her. There was still a great longing for the man and getting his cock inside of her, but she could start to see past it. Her tongue flicked out and over her lips to taste some of what he lathered her with, but it was what it was: cum. Tasty cum, but not anywhere remotely as intoxicating as his cock.

Everything that her whorish-bent, warped mind had built up came crashing down. The fantasy of it was gone, and Yennefer found herself forced to confront the truth of her situation, unable to as easily rationalize all of her actions. She tested the ropes on her wrists, finding in short order that they held tight no matter how she twisted them. “This–this can’t be happening,” she muttered to herself, her stubborn will driving her to squirm, hips and shoulders working in conjunction to try and get her up. The process had her cheek smearing into the cum she had tried to avoid, but there wasn’t an easy way around that. Just as Yennefer got her ass beneath herself, something else got her shaking.

“It is,” the robed giant spoke down to her gently, almost kindly, though his voice was terrifyingly deep– as though he were a giant in truth, and not just a human facsimile of one. “You had best get used to this, for you and I shall be spending a great deal of time together, Yennefer of Vengerberg. Enjoy the rest of the night.” Hearing her name from his mouth made her tremble, the sound of his voice briefly reminding her of how his cock had tasted– but then the floor was creaking audibly, groaning beneath his weight as he stepped away.

The shaking didn’t subside until he was away from her. Yennefer tried to blink away the cum that clung to her eyelashes to get a glance at him, but it was thick stuff, and the harder she tried to bat her lashes the more likely it seemed to end up in her eyes. So for a moment, the court sorceress to the Emperor simply sat there in shock, ass to the floor, legs spread akimbo, utterly wordless. She reached for her magic, her features contorting with discomfort and uncertainty as she felt the dimeritium spring between it and her.

“A thousand, two hundred and seventy-five,” the auctioneer roared in the background.

Someone roughly scrubbed a rag over her eyes, doing what her blinks couldn’t. Yennefer winced at his roughness and kept them squeezed shut afterwards. “Nothing personal about this, Jennifer,” her escort’s familiar voice muttered in her ear, the wine on it fresh. “It just is what it is. I’m a man in need of coin, and you– well, you were just a bit too trusting for your own good, weren’t you? Gullible. I’d expect more suspicion out of a famous sorceress like yourself, to be honest,” he said. The contempt in his tone suggested it was personal, all but rubbing Yennefer’s face in it.

She didn’t correct his butchering of her name. Yennefer liked the fucker. They got along well. They worked well together. And for him to do this– for him to manage this? “Comfortable,” she whispered thickly, the word far more bitter on her tongue than ‘slavery’. “Not gullible. Too comfortable.” If only she had realized it sooner. Yennefer wondered when he decided to do this, and how much planning went into it. Was the Ciri look-alike just a way to lure her into this? Was it all just a miserable stack of built-up coincidences? Would she ever learn the truth? … Would any of it ever fucking matter?

“Well.” Yennefer could hear his shrug. “Whatever makes all the cock more palpable to your palate, eh? It’s been fun, girl,” he said, reaching around to give her tits a firm, two-handed squeeze that she would have found stirring in any other circumstance. “And I’ll miss these girls. Who knows, though. Maybe I’ll get a chance to see you again before your sale,” he drawled thoughtfully. “Anyway,” he sighed, giving her pert nipples a rough squeeze before pulling away and starting to rise. “Time for me to…”

“I’m going to kill you for this,” Yennefer promised softly. “You’ll beg for my mercy but find none.” The words slipped out of her as easily as her begging for the robed giant’s cock, but this time they were hers , not the product of something messing with her mind and libido. It was the briefest spark of her old pride– the pride that she claimed to know when to swallow.

“Maybe,” Yennefer’s escort allowed, pausing lightly. “But probably not.” He rose and tossed the cum-drenched rag he used to clean off her face to the side. Yennefer whipped her head around, wayward dark curls flying with it, eyes opening to fix him with a glare to ensure he knew how serious she was about it.

Even with her face mostly-wiped off though, she hardly struck an imposing figure, on her knees, wrists bound, still a sloppy mess. He was so thoroughly intimidated by Yennefer in her state that he had absolutely no problem lifting his boot and placing it casually against her wrists. “Like I said, time for me to go. I’ve got a slave to meet. A fierce, virgin lioness,” he told Yennefer wryly, clearly relishing the idea. “Imagine.” His shamelessness was no longer all that appealing to her. A little pressure from his boot, and Yennefer found herself pushed over, sent face-first into the robed giant’s cum once more.

Damn it all, Yennefer grit her teeth, stewing in the pile of spilled seed for several seconds before beginning her squirming anew. She knew what was coming next, and didn’t want to face it in such a pose– retaining some dignity would be better than surrendering it all. So many of Yennefer’s sisters in the Lodge of Sorceresses had suffered terrible fates in recent years, and in her conceit– in her sheer usefulness and competence, she was certain Nilfgaard was safe for her. But come what may, Yennefer had no intention of letting this be the end of her. Whatever happened, she would survive. She would escape.

And Yennefer would kill every bastard involved in this, even if it took her dying breath to achieve. She had died before. Dying once again? Couldn’t be so bad. The raven-haired sorceress had more difficulty getting upright the second time around, ultimately receiving help from another one of the blackmarket auction house’s guards. They pulled her up to her feet and put a fair bit more effort into cleaning her up than her escort had, though the way they went about it robbed her of whatever dignity she hoped to retain.

“–And the holes are sold, for the final bids of one thousand eight hundred and fifty florens, one thousand eight hundred and twenty five, and one thousand eight hundred!” The auctioneer slammed his hammer down on the podium. The moment it struck, the guard dumped his bucket of water over her. 

Yennefer hissed like a cat dunked in a tub, and was no more happy to to have another stranger (certainly not the one that had already fucked her) begin scrubbing away her body with a towel. They took the opportunity to grope at her through the terrycloth, of course, and did a piss-poor job of actually cleaning her. A good deal of the cum was simply smeared into her skin, leaving a damp glisten after they finished their half-assed work. Much of what was in her hair ended up streaked along it rather than rinsed out of it, given the rush. 

The guard who mopped up the robed giant’s proportionate cum-puddle did a much better job, but it was a low bar. All he did was throw several sets of towels over it, some thin and coarse, others plush and soft, all of them clearly plucked from some linen closet at random. When they finished, the guards stepped away from the stockings-clad sorceress and left her standing on her lonesome, surrounded by the crowd that remained to watch the evening’s final debasement. The stockings, bless them, had managed to stay mostly dry.

Otherwise dripping wet in more ways than one, Yennefer did her best to stay upright and steady. She glared at anyone who dared to meet her eye, but they were just as thoroughly intimidated by her as her escort had been. She’d done nothing to impress them, except getting dicked over in extraordinary fashion. Without her magic, Yennefer was simply a woman. Beautiful, with looks that lent themselves to cool elegance despite her resting bitch face. Small in stature without any heels to boost her height, though her body’s curves were plentiful for her size. Clever little uses of her magic ensured her ever-youthful skin was soft and sleek all over, utterly hairless below the neck but for the neatly-groomed dark patch between her thighs.

She didn’t say a word. With her hands bound behind her back and her damp hair hanging back there too, there was no covering herself. As much as Yennefer liked being seen and as much as she’d gotten comfortable with public lewdity? There was a stark difference between it being consensual and– this. Being sold off. Being treated like walking holes at a flesh market, which… I suppose that’s what I am, the sorceress thought bitterly to herself.

The crowd said plenty, though. They spoke amongst themselves, some elbowing their neighbors as they made crude comments in varying volumes, most of them simply not caring how much Yennefer might hear. “Gotta be an impostor, right? Can’t actually be her,” was a common sentiment, shared in about a dozen different ways. Others were cruder and more direct in their crassness. “Hey, whore!” one man called out. “What hole did the Emperor fuck first?” Yennefer bit on the inside of her bottom cheek, knowing it wasn’t worth answering. 

Despite their raucousness, they were surprisingly well-behaved. None of them broke the established circle, leaving the ‘honor’ of Yennefer’s holes to those who had actually won them. “Enjoy, gentlemen,” the auctioneer told those lucky three once the matter of their coin was settled up, waving them towards their reward, each knowing exactly what they were permitted to do. Yennefer shifted to face them as they approached, edging back a step and eying each of them warily. Each one was from a different part of the Empire, by their dress and appearance, with differences both drastic and subtle.

She remembered a time when the Empire was small. A time before Emhyr took power and expanded his domain so drastically before conquest. A time when she wouldn’t have to stare and wonder if one of the men was from her native Vengerberg, or another from the Cintra that her Ciri was fated to rule. 

The one that looked vaguely familiar to Yennefer spoke first, the other two fanning out to form a three-man triangle that hemmed her in. Though Yennefer tried to remain undaunted, their size compared to hers made her acutely aware of her vulnerability, and she took an unconscious step backwards. “How shall we do this?” the head of the trio asked her, smiling smugly as he reached out to grab at her breast. “Do you want to do this the easy way, or the hard way?” The other two closed in on her from behind while he dug his fingers in, one grabbing her hips while the other a thick hold in her hair. Reflexively jerking away from one only pushed her towards another.

Yennefer knew what the easiest thing to do was: I merely know when I can indulge my pride, and when I must swallow it. Those words had flitted through her mind time and time again throughout the night, always a reflection on the latter half– swallowing her pride. Maintaining her comfort in the Empire, and inadvertently ensuring her complicity. It was finally time for Yennefer to indulge her pride, lest she lose it altogether. It wasn’t as though these bastards were likely to be any kinder or crueler to her if she said one thing or the other.

They were just going to do whatever the fuck they felt like doing, and there wasn’t anything Yennefer could do about that. The hand on her breast started to trail up her body, grabbing her jaw and running a thumb over her lips. She leaned into it and let her eyelids grow heavy, showing a facsimile of bedroom eyes before whispering, “Cut off your pathetic excuse for a cock, stuff it up your arse and go fuck yourself, you pathetic pig of a man.” She wished he wasn’t from Vengerberg, but his accent suggested he was.

A chortle? Not the reaction that Yennefer expected out of him. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this,” he said, snide amusement rising on his face, shadowed by a sneer. He gave her cheek a rough pat, following it up with a short slap that had Yennefer yelping out and starting to tilt to one side, quickly brought back upright by the other men’s hands. “How do you want to do this?” he asked his partners-in-filth while Yennefer reeled. “Two at a time would be easiest, with her hands still behind her back. She won’t be able to balance worth a damn.”

Another chortle, this one from the bastard pulling on her damp hair. “What about her telling you to fuck your own ass made you think she wanted the easy way?” he wondered, his amusement proving infectious to their audience, scattered laughter rippling amongst them all. Yennefer managed the faintest smirk despite her stinging cheek. The head of the trio rolled his eyes as his compatriot in cock posited, “Let’s do three. Hell, I’ll even let you take her ass instead of her mouth. Always been more my style,” he admitted.

“Ugh, no. I’d rather have her cunt,” the head of the trio replied with a wrinkle to his nose.

“That’s fine by me,” the third man interjected, the one gripping Yennefer’s hips. He sloped them down, giving her shapely bottom a good squeeze, as though testing the proverbial waters he was about to tread. “Three way trade, then?”

“Three way trade,” the hair-puller confirmed. “Let’s spit on it–”

“By the Emperor’s balls,” someone in the crowd cried, “shut the fuck up and stick your cocks in her, you rich arseholes! Either fuck her for all the people you shoved out of the bidding or fuck off and let one of us take your place!” Although there was genuine ire in the shout, the fresh laughter amongst the crowd suggested a kind of camaraderie amongst them all– good humor. Like they were used to this sort of thing.

Disgusting, Yennefer thought to herself, scowling as she glanced between the head of the trio to the laughing crowd. If I knew this was what Nilfgaard’s underbelly looked like… She couldn’t imagine herself getting half as comfortable as she did. Complacent. Gullible, like her escort here had said, her traitor. The head of the trio gave the crowd a flippant flip of his old bird, then turned back to Yennefer and said to his compatriots, “Let’s get this whore stuffed airtight already, then. Gods forbid we make a commotion and the city guard come to investigate,” he said casually.

Someone cackled. Yennefer didn’t have an opportunity to consider why. With their course set, the three horny, rich bastards wasted little more time with anything so trivial as jokes or good humor, all closing in on her at once. 

A scattered clap went up through the room as they grabbed at her body with mounting intensity, mauling her breasts and her ass with harsh forcefulness. One of them– Yennefer lost track of who was doing what –slipped his fingers down to grope at her cunt. He didn’t finger her so much as he grabbed at it and made damn sure that she felt like a piece of owned property, not people. He pinched together her pussy’s lips, still slightly gaped, its steady leak of spunk finally slowed to a trickle.

She tried to squeeze her legs together to deny him that, but a foot wedged between hers, joined by a knee, keeping them parted enough for his purposes. A ragged groan spilled out of Yennefer’s lips, all discomfort, body trying to twitch away from each of them as it could. She couldn’t, of course. All she could do was stand there and take it, teeth pinching at the inside of her bottom lip as the snatch-snagging man announced to the room, “Wet as a half-floren whore!” He chased the claim with a few lazy pats of his hands against her swollen mound, just shy of slaps.

Those got Yennefer jolting, almost jumping off her feet at the first one, face twitching with each. The bastard with her tits groped them cruelly and bounced them, and the one playing with her ass– well, he knew where his cock was going. He ensured Yennefer was on her tip-toes, tensed up and feeling a surge of anxiety as he slowly squeezed a finger into her resistant asshole, his other hand pinching at her.

It was all rough, callous. She’d never been one for quantity over quality when it came to cock, but– fuck if she didn’t love rough. There was no stopping her body’s natural reaction to the stimulation, only getting wetter by the moment. Yennefer barely realized she was being moved throughout until her stocking-clad toes brushed up against the pile of towels tossed over the robed giant’s cum, their touching simply a way to pass the time as they got her into position. It was about as much ceremony and foreplay as she was going to get from the men before they made good on their words.

One dropped down on those tiles and the other two shifted their holds on Yennefer to force her down, to make her straddle him, his already-withdrawn cock lined up along her cunt’s mound, no smaller than any other dick that had been inside of her that day. She swallowed, pelvis pressed down against his in such a way that her whorish cunt was against his balls. If there was a time for one of her friends or allies to crash in and save her–

Yennefer didn’t hope for that. She’d never let herself be a damsel, but it would have been a very nice coincidence. They bent her forward and the one beneath her lined up his prick with her sopping wet hole, slotting himself just inside her entrance before grabbing her hips. Not 

wanting to give him the slightest hint of satisfaction, Yennefer tensed in hopes of depriving him of anything to be smug about. Her cunt, her jaw, her thighs– all over. 

Without fanfare, the bastard beneath her yanked them sharply down and impaled Yennefer’s loving snatch on him, its lewd lips kissing against his skin. Tensing up served no purpose but for feeling him all throughout her pussy much more keenly. “Oh, you– fucking bastard,” she gasped out, a moan in her breath, her shoulders tensing even more at how he hammered her deepest depths. She couldn’t deny how good it felt. Not just the roughness or the twang of pain that went with the pleasure, but more claps running through the room, cheers going up throughout their small audience.

“That’s exactly what I am, you cock-hungry bitch,” the man beneath Yennefer laughed, one hand leaving her hip to give her breast a lazy slap that had her shoulders jerking. His upward, pistoning thrusts into her were just as leisurely; Yennefer couldn’t stop her hips from lifting and falling of their own volition, encouraged only slightly by the hand he had on them. Her expression contorted, all tightly-squeezed eyes, a scrunched nose and a slack jaw. 

The latter was quickly filled by the man who traded for her mouth, muffling the moans that were making it abundantly clear Yennefer’s body was far more of a willing participant than she wanted to let on. With her eyes squeezed shut, she could hardly tell how big he was. Mouthfeel alone wasn’t quite enough for that. Perhaps she would have been able to tell if he let her take her time, working her tongue over him and sucking on him– but he hammered her face in all the ways that the robed giant and her escort hadn’t, the sweaty sack of his balls slapping against her chin all the while.

Naturally if unconsciously, Yennefer compared his taste to that of her… ‘new friend’. Strong, masculine, but it didn’t have the same effect on her. Rather than immediately losing herself to his cock, it was the pleasure of getting roughly used that overwhelmed her, not just the taste of a cock. That would be something for her to think and theorize over. Later, though. When she could think, when there wasn’t a pair of cocks pumping into her relentlessly.

Harsh gags quickly overtook Yennefer’s muffled moans. With her hands still bound behind her back, knelt, impaled and bent over, she couldn’t even grab at something for balance’s sake. The sorceress was purely reliant on the two bastards for any stability, with her face-fucking twisting her damp locks around his hands for handholds. It still wasn’t enough, but they were quickly managing to fuck any sort of concern out of Yennefer. Her fingers curled, nails raking deep at her palms. And the crowd around them, they were hooting and stomping their feet, egging the men on to go harder, faster–

Yennefer knew it was wrong, but in the end, her reaction wasn’t all that dissimilar to what the robed giant’s cock got out of her: she gave into it. A willful choice on her part, though, compared to simply having no choice at all. Why not enjoy it? For the time being, it wasn’t like she had a choice but to get fucked. Surely, if she couldn’t find an escape, Emhyr would send someone to look for her. He wouldn’t accept such a valuable pawn as Yennefer of Vengerberg disappearing on him. 

Giving in like that was easy, up until a point. Up until the third man joined them, taking the time to get some lube from the auctioneer, not wanting to damage the merchandise ahead of time. As she rocked back and forth between the two men already hounding her holes, she forgot about him until he was pressing in against her ass. Feeling her tight little ring of muscle start to give way, Yennefer tensed up all over again, certain her body wouldn’t agree with it. One in her mouth and one in her cunt was about as far as she usually went on the rare occasion she agreed to a threesome. Maybe one in her ass and one in her mouth, but both her tailhole and pussy at once?

Yennefer was far too small for that, and they were far too big. Fear seemed to quiver throughout her whole body, certain that they would break her, that not even she could handle something like this. The tensing and quivers were signs of something else entirely, however. All the wet slaps of the cock pounding into her pussy continued, and her participating hips didn’t slow their whore work either, both Yennefer and the man beneath her going at each other harder for how much tighter she was. 

And though the noises coming out of her throat sounded savage, the feeling of a cock ravaging through her throat always played to her arousal. It wasn’t until Yennefer was spasming and whining around the dick in her mouth that she realized what was going on. She wasn’t fearful: the bastards were making her cum, with barely the tip of the third cock in her ass. He slowly squeezed in, grumbling loudly about how impossible it was to get inside of her. “That’s why we’ll be training her, sir, don’t you worry. We’ll give you another chance at her for free if you don’t get off tonight,” the auctioneer called out, assuaging from his podium.

There wouldn’t be any concerns about that, though. Yennefer sagged as the worst (or rather the best) of her body’s quaking subsided, gurgling helplessly around the cock that was turning her face a flustered red.  It didn’t fully stop, though, and it wouldn’t until each of the men finally spent themselves inside of her– something that took the horny fuckers a considerable time to do, having built up disquieting wells of sexual stamina courtesy of their participation in events such as these. One after another, they seeded her well-fucked holes. The one in her cunt went first, and just faintly feeling his seed slosh into her womb got Yenn off again.

Second was the man in her ass, his work made so much easier when the man under her squirmed out and emptied the adjacent hole, all but bashing Yennefer’s poor hips, simultaneously gripping them to keep her somewhat steady throughout. It wasn’t his cumming that got her off again so much as the sensation of him pulling out, almost popping out of her ass. When he pulled away, Yennefer could only slump towards the last man standing, who didn’t remain standing after he pumped his load right down her throat.

Yennefer had made the choice to just enjoy it, but she hadn’t quite managed that: they left her insensate, dumbfounded, teary-eyed and drunk on cum. As the last man pulled out and dropped on his ass, she sank down to the pile of towels, not built to last in the face of so many orgasms– but at least it was over. At least now, she could rest, recover. She could get her bearings. She only opened her purple eyes for a moment, staring at nothing before letting them start to fall shut, embracing the coming darkness, far from cognizant of the standing ovation she received. A lot of the clapping was one-handed.

The auctioneer slammed his hammer on his podium and called out, “What do you say we begin bidding for an encore round?”

Her rest was over before it began.