The Witcheress & the Queen (Witcher 3)

The Witcheress & the Queen (Witcher 3)

A/N: The Witcheress and the Queen was a commissioned one shot originally written back in November of 2021. Posting it up here and now for people to enjoy!

Summary: The Witcheress Ciri and the Queen of Skellige, Cerys an Craite. Two of the strongest, most badass women in the region. Or so everyone thinks.

Themes: Instant Loss, Bad End, BreedingGét latest novel chapters on nov(e)lbj/n(.)c/om

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"I'm tellin' ya, the Queen will want to see us!"

"Ehehe, yeah she will! Eh, Queenie! Tell em to let us in!"

Down below, at the gates of the Castle, two drunken brigands make a nuisance of themselves, whooping and hollering as the Skellige Guards barring their entry get closer and closer to drawing their blades. Meanwhile, up on the ramparts stand two of the strongest, most independent women in all the region.

"I can't believe they have the nerve to just walk up to our gates and demand to talk to us after everything..."

As the young new Queen of Skellige, Cerys an Craite, daughter to Crach an Craite, had proven herself to her people with the help of Geralt of Rivia. With the Wolf School Witcher's backing, she had freed clan Brokvar's head from a spirit demon that had tormented him for years and years. Following that up by unmasking Birna's plot and cleansing the shame from her clan's name, Cerys had shown she deserved the title Sparrowhawk for her cunning and strategic mind. After all of that, it only made sense to the people of Skellige to name her their Queen.

Meanwhile, stood beside her on the ramparts, silent and ready, is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, or Ciri for short. The first and likely only Witcheress to ever live, the young white-haired woman was trained in the Witcher Arts by the very same man who helped Cerys rise so far, Geralt of Rivia. Not only was Ciri technically heiress to the Empire of Nilfgaard as well as the defunct throne of Cintra, but she was also the heroine who had staved off the threat of the White Frost and halted it's advance towards their world once and for all.

Two stronger women could not be said to exist in all of Skellige, and indeed could be argued not to exist in the world beyond the Isles either. It only made sense that they would make for fast friends when Ciri visited the area on a Monster Hunt. They were connected, not just by Geralt, but by their shared experiences in making sure the men of their world did not underestimate them and disrespect them for what lay between their legs.

Unfortunately, that hadn't quite worked out for them so far. After finishing up her latest hunt, Ciri had been invited by Cerys for a day out in the wilds. The two of them had hunted wild game, skinned and cooked it, and altogether enjoyed each other's company from sunrise all the way to midday. Then, they'd made the... regrettable decision to go and take a bath in the nearby river, wanting to wash away the first half of the day's sweat and grime before they continued on with the latter half of their day.

Alas, while the crystal clear river had been fine, the bath relaxing and cleansing just as they'd hoped, it had been what transpired afterwards that sent them back to the Castle with their metaphorical tails between their legs. For when they'd tried to leave the river and retrieve their belongings and clothes, they'd found two Skellige men armed with swords standing over them, lecherous grins on their faces.

As the men proclaimed it, they had stumbled across Cerys and Ciri's belongings and decided to 'guard' them until the two women could retrieve them. Considering how close to the river their camp was, it was incredibly obvious to both beauties that the men had undoubtedly been watching them bathe. Unfortunately, with the armed brigands between them and their equipment, putting them in their place was... out of the question.

It had still been a near thing, with Ciri being tempted to use her powers to blink behind them over to her sword when the men demanded satisfaction for their 'help'. But it wasn't a sure thing, and neither woman was used to fighting in the buff. Indeed, in the end all the brigands demanded of them, with wicked leers on their matching bearded faces, was to prostrate themselves and thank the men for 'watching over their belongings'.

With no other choice in the matter, the two independent women had been forced down onto their knees, pressing their faces into the tops of their hands and their palms down into the ground as they bitingly 'thanked' the two brigands through gritted teeth.

Laughing somewhat drunkenly, the two men had been happy enough with that and finally left them alone... but the experience had left its mark on Cerys and Ciri all the same. There was no talk of staying out any later than that. They'd gathered their clothing, gathered their belongings, and fled back to Cerys' castle with all due haste.

The only silver lining to the whole humiliating experience had to be that the drunken warriors hadn't recognized Cerys for who she really was, somehow. Their inebriated states had left them incapable of registering that the naked red head submitting herself before them was actually their Queen.

Unfortunately, that was no longer the case. Clearly at some point in the last several hours, the drunken louts had realized who Cerys was and had arrived at the castle in order to make demands of her. Back in the present once more, standing on the ramparts with Ciri at her side, the Queen of Skellige looks down at the two drunken brigands, knowing she only has one option, lest humiliating rumors begin to spread.

"... Let's hear them out anyways, but keep that sword of yours close, Witcheress. Who knows how things could go with these two brigands."

Ciri nods in response, a single sharp motion that speaks to the Witcheress' self-confidence in her own abilities.

"Right. We won't let them get the better of us again, Your Majesty."

"You thinking what I'm thinking, brother?"

"Oh? Really? Them? Heh, sure why not."

Both lost in the throes of reluctant lust and pleasure, too busy whining and moaning and mewling like a pair of barmaids rather than the strong, independent warrior women they were supposed to be, neither Ciri nor Cerys quite understand what the two brothers are saying to one another. All they really notice is the speed with which they're being fucked suddenly being picked up. Cocks spear in and out of their cunts harsher and faster than before, until finally...

Their eyes widen in shock and horror at the same time, and a strangled 'No!' even spills forth from Ciri's lips, while Cerys just lets out a keening wail. But it's much too late. The two brothers begin to cum, and once they start, they don't stop until they're finished. Thick, hot, sticky seed, the essence of life, spills out into Ciri and Cerys' cunts. And not just their cunts. Both of the brigands are well-endowed, the two brothers having matching thick fat cocks that have been reaching DEEP inside of their respective woman all this time. Now, they use that size and length to thrust forward all the way, planting their cockheads against Ciri and Cerys' cervixes like debauched rough kisses.

The seed, therefore, spills out directly into the Witcheress and Queen's fertile wombs, pumping them full to the brim with virile cum as they cling to their pillows and whine and whimper like a pair of harlots, rather than acting anything close to the way they should, to the way they've built up their outward facing personas.

As the brothers finish inside of the two women, they lean forward and hug Ciri and Cerys from behind, a possessive and clingy sort of hug as they all but drape themselves over the panting, whimpering girls and grin wickedly at each other.

"Think we'll be sticking around for a while, Queenie. Only right that you and your friend pay us back for our service down by the river, don'tcha think?"

"That's right... don't you two worry... we'll be SURE to make it worth your time, heh."

Neither Ciri nor Cerys look to one another. They don't dare look each other in the eye. Instead, with their heads hanging low, they know its far too late to do anything about the situation. They're stuck for the foreseeable future, until another solution presents itself...

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Several months later, and not much has changed at Kaer Trolde, at least outwardly. There have been a couple of interesting developments though that have the region abuzz with speculation. For one, Queen Cerys' Witcheress friend stuck around long past the completion of her last successful hunt but wasn't apparently available to take on any future jobs, causing some furrowed brows and frowns from the Skellige populace.

For two, both Queen Cerys and her Witcheress friend were undeniably pregnant according to the gossip coming out of the castle, and though nobody knew who the fathers were, there were rumors about a pair of men who'd come up on Kaer Trolde and made quite the nuisance of themselves one evening, only to become Queen Cerys' 'personal guards' the very next day.

Deep within the castle itself, there were four people who knew EXACTLY what was going on. In the Queen's Chambers, two brothers sit at the edge of the large bed, grinning and enjoying two mugs of mead. Neither of them could have ever seen this coming, when they'd been told by that wandering traveler that he could give them something called Blessing of the Incubus.

Kneeling before them, meanwhile, are the naked and pregnant forms of the two women they've somehow conquered.

Unthinkable it might be, Ciri and Cerys have completely succumbed to their new lives as the brothers' bedmates. As evidenced by their mouths currently wrapped around the brigands' thick fat cocks. Bobbing up and down their dicks, slurping and sucking away, the women's hands wander up and down their softened bodies. Gone are the warrior physiques, all these months later. Their breasts have filled in as their bodies have prepared to give birth, and their bellies have distended with the size of their respective pregnancies.

Their figures are the definition of femininity at this point, as are their actions. They pleasure the men who have knocked them up with their mouths, and they pleasure themselves with their hands, fingering their respective cunts, toying with their increasingly sensitive breasts.

One might ask how it could have come to this... but in the end, the sad simple truth was that neither the Witcheress nor the Queen were made for anything else. This was where they belonged, this was their place, ... and they occupied it happily, now.

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