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“…I just want to submerge myself in hot water and stretch my legs! Not in some pathetic bucket so that my knees touch my ears, and not in the ice-cold river that will make me lose my voice for a week, and not in those dreadful village summer showers or what do they call them? I once got inside one and when I got out some scoundrel was running away with all my nether garments! I had gold there, mind you, and he took only my nether garments… What a strange world we live in… And you know what is the most offensive in all this? I can’t even write about it. Unless I replace underpants with something more… romantic and that dirty thief… with a lovely maiden. Yes, yes, I see it now! Alright! What else? What else?...” the horse snorted as if answering the bard's question.
“You’re right, Roach! I want some nice food too. Like baked ribs and onion soup from that little tavern. You do remember the one, don’t you, Geralt? Oh, those ribs! And the owner's daughter was quite good as well. Too bad I can’t go back anytime soon. How could I know that virginity’s still this important in those parts? No matter what the father says though - I was not the first one to roll in the hay with that lass... So, what does the famous witcher want the most, now that he’s riding with his bosom friend on the most magnificent steed – yes, you are, Roach! - through this impassable thicket?”
“A little silence maybe.”
“Oh, you’re so right! Those pesky birds never shut up and I can swear on my newest poem I heard wolves howling at night…”
“Jaskier.”
“What?”
“Get down, we’ll stay for the night here.”
***
“Couldn’t you choose any better place?” whined the bard returning to the camp with a bunch of brushwood and dumping it next to a blazing fire. His fancy amaranthine jacket and a hat with a feather were hanging on a nearby tree’s branch so as not to get them dirty.
“This one is no worse than all the others.” The witcher said throwing some cut mushrooms and herbs in a sooty pot.
“This forest makes me uneasy. It’s like something is lurking in the shadows…”
“Like any other forest. There’s always something in the shadows.”
“I’ll trust your witcher senses, just know that I feel… odd.”
“Just like when someone stole your knickers?”
“Shut up!” said Jaskier resentfully and turned away. Geralt chuckled and fixed the pot with the stew over the fire.
***
“What are you cooking?” the bard asked when the savory smell reached him.
“Baked ribs and onion soup” answered the witcher. “You’re so stupid, Jaskier.” He added when noticed how the man pouted. “Go get bowls and give Roach an apple.”
“I’ll do it just for Roach because I like her a lot. And because I’m hungry. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even talk to you after all the offense…”
“Jaskier, the stew is getting cold.”
“I’m on my way, good gracious!” he exclaimed, getting up and heading to the horse.
“Grab a cauldron while you’re there!” Geralt said to the back of the leaving bard, and then, when he turned his head to him not understanding, added “so you can take a bath in it.”
***
Jaskier, much to Geralt’s delight, didn’t talk to him till the night. He did heat up some water in the cauldron though to wash himself thoroughly next to a roaring freezing river below the camp.
“You think we’ll reach Vizima by Tuesday morning?” the bard asked, getting under the thin blanket on the mossy ground in the arm's reach of the witcher. He was still a little upset with Geralt’s mockery of his troubles, but smart enough not to sleep too far from his only chance of survival in case of some gruesome tree monster attack.
“Hmm.” Geralt answered sleepily.
***
Jaskier woke up in the middle of the night. He couldn’t make a sound, something was covering his mouth, and that something was dragging him away from the camp and into the dark forest. He panicked, tried to grab sleeping Geralt’s arm, but couldn’t reach it. He noticed in the corner of his eye that the witcher’s medallion pulsed slightly. Then the thing that caught him was magical. And he was helpless against magical creatures. It was too dark to know what exactly was there but he could feel multiple snake-like limbs wrapped around his ankles, slithering around his waist, holding his jaw tightly shut. He was scared.
The creature stopped when Jaskier could no longer see the dim yellow light of the dying campfire behind the densely growing trees. No way would Geralt hear him now, even if he was able to scream. He looked around and found himself on the small moonlit clearing. He could discern the monster that got him now. What was it exactly – just a bunch of octopi tentacles growing right from the ground. They grew in patches like weeds all around him and squirmed slightly, shiny black in the moonlight.
The tentacle that was holding his ankles started to slowly raise him from the ground. The bard froze in horror. That wasn’t the way he wanted to go. Mucus did not appear in the frequent dreams and poems of his, no doubt, fabulous heroic death. More tentacles joined the one raising him and held him gently about two meters above the ground. Then even more of them appeared sliding across his body, covering him in a sticky substance. Then they awkwardly clung to the buttons on his shirt and pants, opening, revealing his bare skin. Jaskier shuddered at the touch of a slimy limb on his chest. His nipples perked in the chilly night air and the creature took interest in this by attaching to them with tentacle suckers. The bard breathed out sharply through his nose, cold sweat broke out on his forehead and back. The other tentacles, meanwhile, freed him from high boots and pants, wrapped around his thighs, spreading his legs. Completely defenseless now, he was given to the will of the elements and the monster.
He suddenly heard a deep purring sound from the ground itself and then saw a big tube-like thing rising in between his legs. It got close to his soft cock and he jerked so sharply that the tentacles holding him almost dropped him on the ground. I swear if this thing bites off my manhood, he thought bitterly, and by some mean god’s joke I won’t die on the spot, I’ll fall on Geralt’s blade first thing I see him again. He saw the tube end opening like flower petals and closed his eyes not to see his demise. And then he felt it slipping onto his cock, wrapping around it wetly and tightly like the most elite whore’s mouth. The tube was almost see-through as if filled with muddy water, Jaskier could see himself getting hard inside of it, it was pulsating, changing pressure, milking him. He lost himself in the sensation, mucus-covered suckers attached to his nipples and thighs started to feel like kisses given simultaneously by multiple skilled lovers. It felt too much, simple humans shouldn’t be able to feel so much. He muffledly whined, the tentacles that held his mouth shut weakened their hold and moved onto his neck.
“What… are you?” Jaskier exhaled, looking at the ground where tentacles grew. Two more muddy tubes appeared, one of them joining the first one, moving lower to take in his balls, the other one coming a little too close to his face. He choked on the sob. It was getting painful, he wanted to come but the monster wasn’t letting him. “Stop… please!” he pleaded. The tube that was smearing mucus on his right cheek as if getting tired of the sound of his voice slipped into his mouth. Jaskier bit into it but to no avail – it pushed deeper into his throat causing him to spasm, making his eyes watery.
His heart was about to stop. He twitched in convulsions and didn’t even notice how the tube moved from his balls and right in between his spread buttocks. No way , he thought, a little too late. The slick tube abruptly entered him, immediately hitting the spot. He arched his back at an unnatural angle. The tube in his mouth slipped in a little too far. Tears gushed from his eyes. Too much. The tube inside him started to move up and down, grazing his prostate each time. It changed in size, growing dramatically thicker while it was inside of him. It was either coming out of him entirely to then sharply enter him again, either driving into him uncontrollably at a frantic pace. Jaskier made sounds he never knew he was capable of making.
He didn’t know how long it lasted. Every time he thought he would die for sure, another minute was beginning. And then it ended abruptly and without any warning. The tubes popped out of him all at once and he came like never before, screaming from the long-awaited denouement. The tentacles gently lowered him onto the dew-drenched grass and collected the sperm splashed on his stomach. He laid on his back for a while, too tired to move. And when he got up there was nothing, not even holes in the ground from where tentacle patches grew. He looked like a lunatic, who, in a fit of delirium, ran away from the camp, took off all of his clothes, and scattered them around in the middle of the wild forest’s clearing. But he knew all that happened to him was true. His aching backside and nipples said so.
***
Jaskier was unusually short-spoken that morning. He was deep in thought, imagining a new kind of monster bearing his face on the octopus body or maybe tentacles in the shape of his cock.
Geralt didn’t complain about the lack of conversation though. He had his peace and quiet at last.