#dark!witcher x reader

By the end of the night, the tip of his cock was on the tip of your tongue. You choked on the repercussions of your teasing.

His rough palms were a vice around your cheeks, thick fingers anchoring the back of your neck. 

Fragile, he thought, forcing himself further down your throat. Breakable. 

“Look up,” Geralt commanded. 

But you concentrated on his medallion instead, unprepared to face the consequences of your actions. Your fists crumpled the expensive material of your birthday gown as your misplaced confidence slipped and mixed down your throat with his precum. 

A grunt with every thrust, the wolf medallion swung against his chest. He praised a husky, solemn 'fuck' when your tears dropped, wetting the backs of his palms. 

Your knees, sore with embarrassment, ached from the stone floor as he speared himself deeper down your throat. His pubic bone smashed your nose- soap, salt- your eyes widened when his cock twitched above your tongue. 

His balls tightened and rubbed your chin before he pushed your mouth away. Cementing his hand around your wrist, he pulled your arm up to cup his sac. Knocking you with his thigh, he signaled for you to squeeze. 

Freeing the wolf medallion from his neck, he gestured for your other hand and pressed it in your open palm. Stroking himself above the silver disc, he jerked faster as you fondled him. 

His thighs flexed and shook at his release. Deep groans filled the room, causing you to drop your head. Streams of warmth covered your skin- the wolf medallion coated in white. 

With a sag of your shoulders, your arms dropped while you convinced yourself this would be over soon. White stains on rich fabric, the silver chain pooled in your lap. 

The witcher watched the tension slowly leave your body, and a smug lesson clawed to the front of his mind. A pretty doe still too naive before the tip of a hunter’s sword. 

“Listen, then do,” Geralt bowed down to your ear, taking back his medallion. “It might be your birthday but it’s my celebration.” 

Your body stilled at his tone, deeper and more devious than before. 

“Open your mouth,” he instructed loudly, the heavy chain hitting your chin. "Wider."

Trembling lips parted, allowing him to place the warm, salted metal in your mouth. Dirty actions doubled the weight on your tongue.

Silently pleased, Geralt ran his fingers over the corners of your mouth, painfully tracing the thin connection of your lips before slipping his thumb harshly inside. Humming at the promise of seeing you stretch elsewhere, he felt you struggle back a cough when forcing the stained medallion onto your tongue. 

"Don't move."

More pressure. Another gag. 

He pictured your taste buds holding the impression of his wolf on your tongue and relished how the chain dangled from your strained mouth.