Swallow

A decade after the defeat of the Wild Hunt, Ciri subdues a futanari succubus with an ancient technique known as prostate stimulation.

Features: Ciri (F Human) x Salma (Futa Succubus)

Contains: Slight NTR/Cuckolding Elements, Brief Mention of F/F Sex, Monsterfucking, Huge Cock (24+ inches), Outdoors Sex, Slight Voyeurism, Outdoor Sex, Light Degradation, Excessive Semen, Huge Balls, Deepthroating, Throat Bulging, Belly Bulging, Cum Swallowing, Anal Sex, Prostate Massage, Inappropriate Use of the Aard Sign, Sloppy Throatfuck, Painted In Cum

⚜️ ⚜️ ⚜️

The crunching of autumn leaves underfoot announced Ciri's arrival in Rinde.

With the soft breeze came the stench of rotting seaweed and fish guts from the nearby Pontar, causing her to crinkle her nose in disgust, her ashen hair concealed beneath a black hood. The midday sun, hidden behind thick grey clouds, did little to deter the crowds thronging the market square.

Better this way, Ciri thought.

Busy streets meant fewer eyes lingering on a lone traveler, and fewer chances for someone to take note of the silver sword beneath her cloak.

"Another 'un gone last night," Ciri overheard as she passed a group of workmen unloading foul-smelling barrels. "Raymond's wife, I eared."

Ciri paused, feigning interest in a cobbler's wares while her ears sharpened to the conversation.

"That so?" came the other workman's reply, carrying the skepticism of a man who'd heard far too many outlandish tales from his friend.

"Aye. That's the truth of it, Ralf. Like all the others, she was back by dawn, humming to 'erself like a maiden who's just met a traveling bard."

"So what? Probably off gettin' a taste of the baker's son, she is," the second workman said, grunting as he hoisted a barrel over his broad shoulder.

Ciri turned her head to observe them briefly.

"I'm tellin' ya, Ralf. Something's off about it. All of them that went lookin' for their wanderin' wives? Say they vanish into thin air!"

His companion laughed, giving him a pat on the back. "You've been workin' too hard, thinking them tales is worth anything more than the shit under your boot."

The first workman sighed. "Mock all you wish," he muttered. "Something not right about any of this."

Their conversation dissolved into the general babble of the marketplace, but Ciri's interest had already taken root. If her years of experience hunting monsters had taught her one thing, it was that coincidences were rarely just that.

Ciri headed for the nearest tavern she could find, her eyes only briefly glancing up to see the name of the place: The Fat Pink Mast. She frowned slightly and headed inside.

The place reeked of piss and beer, and only a handful of patrons sat in the establishment's shadowed corners, whispering among themselves.

Settling at the bar, Ciri ordered whatever one would consider ale in such a place. The barkeep, a woman with arms nearer to tree trunks than human limbs, slid a mug across the counter.

"Three coppers." Her expression told Ciri that this was a woman who'd seen much trouble come in over the years.

Ciri placed the coins on the counter, taking a measured sip of her drink.

After a while, the barkeep approached her. "Don't see your kind around here these days."

"I'm not here to cause you any problems, if that's what--"

The woman held up a hand to stop Ciri. "Seen one like you," she said, lowering her tone, making clear she knew what Ciri was. "Couple decades ago. Fine man. Helped out my cousin with a wyvern problem. If you're anything like him, I'm at your service."

Ciri offered the woman a smile. "Know anything about a Raymond?"

"Many Raymonds in Rinde."

"The one whose wife has taken to nocturnal wandering."

"Doesn't narrow it down much," the barkeep said, grabbing a glass to clean with a dirty dishcloth Ciri suspected might be adding more grime than it was removing.

"He'd know a... Ralf. A Ralf that works at the nearby market."

The barkeep closed her eyes for a moment, tilting her head back. "I know the one. Lives nearby."

Ciri nodded, taking another sip of ale. Her face twisted at the taste. "And what do you know about other women who've taken to nightly pursuits?"

"Started a couple months ago, I think."

"And they all return?"

"Without fail. Every morning, by dawn. Happy as spring lambs, they are." The barkeep shrugged. "Ask me? I'd say some things're better left alone. Especially when everyone involved seems... content with the arrangement."

Ciri stared at her drink for a moment, trying to piece together the puzzle. "How many do you know of?"

"Hard to keep track. Couple dozen, at least. Men who come here like to complain, and I hear quite a bit more than I'd like, sometimes. I

do

find it odd that so many women in town would be sleeping outside their marriages so suddenly... Didn't hear anything about a bard coming through the gates. Though..."

Ciri's eyes looked up at the huge woman.

"What do you know about dreams?" the barkeep asked her.

"Useful tools in my line of work."

The barkeep smiled, rubbing at a spot on the counter, as if the act itself helped jog her memory. "There's also been talk about dreams, recently. Not just any kind, mind you. The kind that leave you gasping when you wake. Half the women in town, maybe more. Myself included."

She cleared her throat, grabbing Ciri's mug to refill it.

The Witcher raised an eyebrow, the picture becoming far clearer with every word spoken by the barkeep.

"More vivid than any mortal pleasure, I tell you... Started right before the wanderings. At first, I thought it might just be me. Haven't known a man in some time, you see. Not since my Gerrick passed. But..."

"And you haven't taken to wandering out at night?"

She shook her head. "Bad knee. I'd rather not walk more than I have to."

Ciri reached into her purse, producing a single crown that she pressed into the woman's palm. "For the information."

The barkeep's eyes widened. "Oh, I couldn't. If you're here to help people..."

"Consider it payment for the ale, then." Ciri paused, a slight smile playing at her lips. "Use it to hire someone to help you pick out a better name for your establishment. 'The Fat Pink Mast' is rather... distinctive."

"Named it after my favorite author's work. Man had a way with words." She pocketed the crown, laughing. "Raymond lives a few streets down. Grey house with five windows."

Ciri nodded her thanks and rose.

⚜️ ⚜️ ⚜️

There was only one creature Ciri knew of that had such abilities and appetites.

A succubus. Or an incubus, perhaps.

The creature's name alone brought back memories of her time in Kaer Morhen, and Ciri felt a slight smile tug at the corner of her mouth. She could almost feel the pages of Vesemir's ancient bestiaries under her fingers once more. Though she'd not known it when she was a child, she would come to miss those simpler times.

Simpler. Not simple. Nothing had ever been simple in her life.

Raymond's house stood before her. Unremarkable, save for the red paint of its weathered door, and the colored flowers still in bloom despite the autumn chill.

She approached cautiously.

No vibration came from her medallion.

Two sharp raps on the door. The sound of a chair against wood, someone rising.

A middle-aged man answered, deep creases around his eyes that spoke more of worry than laughter. His clothes were those of a man of modest means. Clean and well-maintained.

"Raymond?" Ciri asked.

The man's eyes narrowed slightly. Blue eyes. He would have been a handsome youth in his time, Ciri determined.

"Who's asking?"

"I've come to offer help."

His eyes searched hers for a while, and realization came over him as he stared into the slits of her golden irises. He looked over her shoulder, noticing the distinct form of the two swords at her back.

"I've no coin to offer you, Witcher. It'd be best if you left."

He began to close the door, but Ciri stopped it with her foot.

"Your wife. The dreams. The wandering." Ciri kept her voice low, measuring her words. "You're not the only one in Rinde dealing with this."

For a long while, he stood frozen, hesitating. Rather than push the door against her foot, he simply stepped aside to let her in. The interior was as modest as the exterior. These were people who took care of their home, of themselves.

The morning's breakfast still lingered on the table. There was but a single plate on the counter, however.

"Tea?" Raymond offered.

Ciri closed the door behind her, though she chose to stand.

"Thank you, but no. Tell me about when it started."

Raymond sank into his chair, shoulders slumping. "Two months ago. The dreams came first. Millie, my wife - she'd wake up in the middle of the night. Flushed. Distracted - insatiable. I'd... I was a

very

happy man, for a time. Our relationship was as it had been when we'd just met."

Ciri nodded, listening.

"And then, she stopped waking me. Sometimes, I'd wake up to see her walk outside our home. Not in a trance, mind you. She had all her wits about her. I'd ask her where she was going, and she'd always tell me she was just going out to clear her head. Didn't think anything was amiss," he said, his gaze drifting to the window for a moment before returning to meet hers. "But one doesn't go out to clear their head until the sun comes up."

"Did you follow her?"

He laughed. A hollow laugh. Bitter.

"I did. Followed her to the old temple once. But then she just vanished. Like a ghost."

"Where is she now?" Ciri asked.

"Sleeping. But she does seem happier. Healthier... more alive."

"I suppose you tried asking her where she was going. And I suppose asking her directly myself won't help much, either."

Ciri turned to face the window, thinking, watching the people move outside.

"No," Raymond said. "She won't speak of it. None of them do."

He knew there were others, his words confirmed. The barkeep hadn't lied. This succubus was casting a wide net, and many women were getting caught in it. Succubi typically acted alone, but this hinted at either a group of them or at a particularly powerful specimen.

"When next she leaves during the night, don't try to stop her. I need to see where she goes. Also, do not tell her I was here."

"What will you do? If you find..." he asked, a flash of worry crossing his eyes.

"I don't harm innocents, and no harm will come to your wife. As for payment, whatever you can spare will suffice."

⚜️ ⚜️ ⚜️

For three nights, Ciri watched.

She took a room at the

Mast,

and each evening, she would position herself in the shadows near Raymond's home. Waiting. Every morning, she would come back to Grita's affections. The room she'd taken, coincidentally, was also the owner's.

The arrangement suited her, for the powerful woman was a fantastic lover, and those hands were suited to more than pouring pints of ale.

The dreams never came to her as they did with the other women. She suspected Witchers such as herself might have had an innate resistance to such enchantments.

Whatever it was, she was glad of it.

On the fourth night, Millie emerged, cloaked. Ciri followed.

She wore perfume, that much was clear, for the scent of lavender and verbena wafted behind her. The kind of scent a woman would save for special occasions. That perfume made it easier for Ciri to follow the woman.

The town was mostly empty at such an hour, and few people paid much heed to a cloaked figure scurrying about.

As they neared the old temple, Millie made a sharp left turn into a darkened alley. Not the kind one would make when they suspected they were being followed. Rather, it seemed as though she'd just remembered

where

she should have turned. A course correction of sorts.

Millie lowered her hood, revealing a head of fair hair. Even from a distance, her beauty left Ciri breathless.

The woman looked around until she spotted something upon the wall. Immediately, she placed her hand to it and vanished.

Ciri ran up to the spot where she'd stood moments ago. The symbol was still there on the wall, the three circles of Melitele. For a moment, Ciri stood, waiting. Hesitating.

If she put her hand to the wall immediately, she might end up appearing right behind Millie, and this was not a situation where she wished to bring undue attention to herself. The woman was likely in no grave danger.

She freed from the cover of her cloak her swords, wrapping her fingers around the grip, ready to strike should the need arise.

Silver? Or steel?

If she were to face a succubus... Her hand chose silver. Zireael would remain sheathed, for the time being.

When enough time had passed, Ciri pressed her palm to the symbol, expecting the familiar - and incredibly unpleasant - lurch of teleportation. Instead, she felt a soft hum vibrate through her arm, and the world blurred for an instant before snapping back into focus.

She stood now in a forest, moonglow filtering through the branches above. Soft flowers bloomed all about her, and their gentle scent nearly sufficed to calm the pounding in her chest. Despite the season, the trees still bore leaves of green, and there was not a soul to be seen.

As Ciri's eyes scanned her surroundings, the faint sound of laughter drifted through the trees, combined with the occasional soft moan.

The noises were distant, but unmistakable - playful, even

erotic

in their nature.

As silently as she could, she moved forward, pressing towards the pleasured gasps and whispers beyond the tree line. When those sounds got loud enough, she crouched low, a thick carpet of moss cushioning her steps.

Those sounds grew clearer now, and she could now confirm her suspicions.

There, bathed in the silver light of the moon, was the succubus. Her skin was of a warm bronze, marked by intricate white tattoos that swirled across her arms and torso. From the waist down, her legs were like a goat's, ending in cloven hooves, while her head sported the curled horns of a ram.

Simple burgundy cloth covered her breasts, wrapped in an

X

across them, and she wore a similarly hued skirt that was open at the front, revealing... Ciri's eyes widened. Such a thing should not have been possible. She'd never heard of succubi having

those

before.

From between the succubus's legs stood a gigantic cock, easily longer than the Witcher's arm, and undeniably thicker. A deep, angry crimson, it pressed against the human's stomach at an angle, poking at the underside of her breasts. Had she wished to, she would have likely been able to titfuck the woman from such a standing position.

Before the succubus stood Millie, moaning in delight as the succubus kissed and worshipped her flesh, slowly unfastening her dress. Millie's hands were both upon the succubus's massive cock, slowly stroking the obscene thing. Even two hands could not fully grasp the thing's immense girth.

Most surprisingly of all, however, the two of them were alone. Given how many women had been touched by the succubus's dreams, Ciri half-expected there to be at least a few women more.

The Witcher watched, waiting for a sign that she should intervene... Part of her, however, enjoyed the show. She could feel herself growing hot as she watched the scene unfolding before her. She could not tear her eyes away from the two lovers as Millie's tits were freed, each orb huge and round, capped with a soft pink nipple.

Wasting no time, the succubus cupped the married woman's hefty breasts, squeezing and kissing them. The monster's mouth latched upon a nipple, teasing the nub with tongue and teeth, eliciting soft moans from her partner.

There was no malice in the succubus's actions, no threat.

Millie's dress soon slipped fully off her curvaceous form, falling to the forest floor. It pooled around her feet, and the succubus let out a low, appreciative hum as she took in the sight of the woman's curves.

"Oh, it has been too long, my sweet," came the creature's voice, hands wandering gently across the woman's form.

A soft shiver ran up Millie's spine at the touch, and she sighed with pleasure. "It has," she agreed. "Dear, dear Salma..." she said, cupping the succubus's head, cradling the other woman against her chest with one hand as the other continued stroking that obscene pillar of flesh.

Ciri couldn't help but wonder if they'd gone further in their interactions. Surely no woman could take such a beast.

Perhaps she could take it... The thought of being stretched by that colossal slab of veiny fuckmeat made Ciri lose all focus, a blush blooming across her cheeks.

That lapse in focus would betray her, as the rustle of leaves beneath her shifting weight, subtle thought it was, pierced the stillness of the forest as a scream might. Her breath caught as the succubus snapped her head toward the sound.

Millie froze, hands still wrapped around the succubus's gigantic fuckpole of a dick, wide eyes darting toward the shadows where Ciri remained crouched.

"Who's there?" the succubus would ask, curiosity tinting her words, rather than anger.

Ciri cursed inwardly. She'd been sloppy, distracted. Perhaps it did not have to come to blows.

"I mean no harm," Ciri said as she rose, raising her hands.

Her cheeks were red, still, and the succubus took note of that fact.

"Ah, we have a voyeur! I do enjoy the kinky ones," the succubus said, before her eyes darted to the two blades at Ciri's back. "A Witcher."

Ciri nodded slowly. "Indeed."

"Have you come to slay me? Take my head? My path met that of a Witcher, long ago. He had hair much like yours."

Millie shifted uneasily, pulling up her dress. "Salma, she -"

"Hush, dear. She's not here to hurt us, is she?"

"That always depends." Ciri tried to make herself as unthreatening as she could, walking out into the open.

"On?" Salma smirked, her gigantic she-cock throbbing before her, hard as steel. Its head glistened in the moonlight, coated with precum.

Ciri's eyes looked down at the colossal phallus, keeping her cool as best she could in the face of such an imposing tool. "On whether you deserve it."

Salma rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Do you think I'd let

you

be the judge of that?"

"I'm not here to pass judgment without cause." Her gaze met the succubus's as Millie stood behind the horned monster.

Cloven hooves pressed into the soft grass below as Salma took a step forward. Her massive cock still throbbed in the moonlight, unashamed,

calling

to Ciri. "The men of Rinde are getting suspicious. Raymond misses his wife. He's worried."

At the mention of her husband's name, Millie tensed. "You've spoken with him?"

"I could have spoken to a hundred other men whose wives keep leaving in the night. Someone's going to get hurt, Salma," Ciri replied calmly, gaze moving back to Salma. "And if it isn't one of these women by a jealous husband, it'll be you once they find you. A succubus. Casting spells in Rinde, seducing the womenfolk... Why so many?"

"I came here because I simply could not find any satisfaction in small villages of the region. The folk there are... weak. Tired. Rinde offers variety. Choice... I need not slake my thirst on a woman too deeply. And as years turned to decades, dear Witcher, I have found myself needing

more.

"

Ciri's brow furrowed as Salma's gaze wandered across Ciri's body. Despite being well-armored, it felt as though the creature could see through that armor. She felt herself grow hot at the thought.

"If I don't kill you, they will. Believe me, you

don't

want to face a mob of husbands furious that you undermined their virility."