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Geralt was stuffed full, writhing on the thick cock impaling his lose hole. They’d been fucking him for hours, the other witchers all lost in the haze of a curse that hadn’t affected him. Maybe it was his mutations, maybe it was where he was standing in the room when the goddess had appeared and angrily threw out her wrath. Geralt was just glad Vesemir hadn’t been in the hall, off somewhere else in Kaer Morhen.
“That’s it, that’s it,” Leo panted over him, hips slapping into his thighs with the kind of force that’d break a whore. Unlike a whore Geralt could take it and take it he did as the hard length slammed into him. Then Leo’s hips rolled against Geralt’s and the wet hot feel of another load filled him joining others. Geralt's stomach was distended, full to the brim with the come of nineteen virile men and as Leo dragged his dick out of Geralt’s hole it sloshed out oozing down his hairy thighs and onto the floor below the dining table.
“Ready for more?” Eskel asked excitedly, but he didn’t wait for Geralt’s reply, jamming his cock into the lose sopping space they’d already rammed into him. Hours it had been going now, hours of relentless fucking. There’d been a few minutes at one point where none of them had been hard again yet and Geralt had been able to breath and try and think. There was a goddess angry with them, but Geralt certainly hadn’t upset a goddess recently. It was possible one of the other wolves had, but in their current state it was impossible to tell who. The only chance of ending this was to wait out the curse or have Vesemir wake up and put an end to it.
His body jostled as he was mounted again, a hand reaching for his cock and Geralt let out the first sound of protest he’d made since the first six rounds when his body was still tight and resistant and they’d had to hunker over him, using the other side of the table as leverage to bully themselves into him. It had hurt, and strained and he was not unused to pain, but not inflicted by his friends and not like this. He’d tried to struggle, punched several of them in the face until his hands had been bound to the table legs, and his legs and had been pried apart and chained down.
Now though he resisted not because of pain, it was background noise he’d learnt to deal with, but because of the pleasure. Lambert had woken up from where he’d been napping on one of the other tables, his pants missing and shirt hanging open, and he’d walked right up to Geralt’s side cock in hand and instead of just stroking himself off and adding to the sticky mess matting the hair of Geralt’s chest, he’d reached for Geralt’s neglected dick.
“Don’t,” Geralt growled, but Lambert wasn’t listening, eyes glazed like the rest of them as he took what he wanted from Geralt’s messy body. His hand was rough, it shouldn’t have felt good, but with each tug and pull Geralt responded, grunting and groaning as he was brought to life and forced to enjoy his own rape. His body was a traitorous thing. The orgasm washed over him, body tightening around Eskel’s intrusion, muscles straining so tight that it pushed Eskel over the edge into another messy orgasm. This time instead of fucking his seed into Geralt’s dripping hole he pulled out mid burst and let the last pulses dribble out over the hand still furiously pumping Geralt’s sensitive dick.
“So fucken tight when his whore hole comes, you got to try it,” Eskel told the witchers lazing about the room fuck drunk and high on a goddess’s whims.
“Stop,” Geralt ordered futilely straining against the restraints, and none of the witchers listened to him, three of them stepping forward eagerly in light of this new news, and before Lambert had even let go of him there was another hand working him over with the help of the sticky come Eskel had left there. Geralt thought it wouldn’t affect him, thought he’d be tapped out for good, but instead his mutant body betrayed him and he began to harden again.
He opened his mouth to protest, to shout, anything, and seeing his open mouth Lambert eagerly climbed up onto the table, straddling his damp chest before squeezing an orgasm out across Geralt’s face and mouth. Beads of it landed in his eyelashes, up his nose, and the taste on his tongue was bitter and vile.
He soon learnt however to get used to it as his brothers in arms continued to fuck him, use him, and wring pleasure out of his abused body until he couldn’t think, couldn’t resist, couldn’t tense his muscles because they’d grown limp with strain. Even then, trying to breathe through the constant intrusions, trying to push the mouth loads of come out of his mouth with an exhausted tongue, trying to hold on, Geralt could feel the pleasure they were forcing into his body.
And then the sun crested the horizon and the room became light.
He felt it, as the spell lifted, like a wash of calm over the other witchers, and then saw the awareness come back to them eyes taking in each other, taking in his body tied down and open, sodden and sticky from the night of debauchery, and glaring at them furiously. Eskel, blinked down at where he disappeared into Geralt’s fucked out hole and quickly pulled out, unplugging him and letting the loads of come in him begin to leak out again.
“Just fucken untie me,” he growled when none of them moved to do so, as if they were afraid to be the first to approach him. Instantly Lambert was there checking the bindings around Geralt’s wrists, and Geralt used every bit of his training not to flinch when those fingers touched him determined not to let this separate them further. Instead he breathed, tried not to think about the way his ass leaked and the slosh of come in his abdomen as his brothers unbound him. Tried not to think as the chains fell away.
“Geralt-“ one began, looking panicked when Geralt sat up testing the injuries to his wrists by rotating them this way and that. There were bruises on both of them, his skin cut where he’d strained at the start when he thought he could get out.
“I need a bath,” Geralt said instead of letting them talk, “we’ve got a goddess to sort out.” Not kill, because you couldn’t kill a goddess, but it was hard to accept that as he limped his way out of the hall, dick rubbed raw, and a sticky mess, come seeping out of him leaving a wet trail in his wake. In one night he’d taken more dicks than a seasoned whore, and all he needed -all he wanted- was to wash it all away.