Work Text:
<> <> <> <> <>
The bell tower in Rhinde strikes ten, and it is on the tenth clang that Yennefer feels the soft echo of chaos, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, and the candles shift and flicker, signaling that she is no longer alone.
“How is Aretuza?” she asks, setting her comb down on the dresser.
“Relatively unchanged since your visit last month, Yennefer.”
“Wonderful,” Yennefer says, without meaning it.
It is curiously mirrored, this meeting, to their previous one ten years earlier. Yennefer, sitting at the trousseau, with a cascade of dark curls hanging over one shoulder, a dark robe of translucent silk tied loosely around the waist. Her visitor - slightly built, with a sharply angled face and smooth brown hair pinned back - stands primly in the middle of the room, gloved hands clasped neatly at her front.
“What do you think of my new home? I enjoyed it the first time I stayed here, of course, and the man’s brother gave it to me for a song - he had debts, and considered the house cursed. I cannot imagine why."
Tissaia, predictably, does not respond to this, though there is the faint whisper of fabric and leather as she moves. Yennefer sets her comb back on the top of the table, and looks up at the approaching reflection of Tissaia behind her, violet eyes wary.
"I confess that I was surprised by the offer within your last letter. I thought it to be a prank from one of my sisters. My wishes are well known, after all.”
"I was quite sincere." Tissaia leans forward to place a small leather pouch by Yennefer’s elbow, the contents clinking delicately as it is set on the table. “Open it, and I shall explain.”
Yennefer keeps her eyes on the smaller woman's reflection, watching as she turns in a slow circle to inspect the rest of the room. The bedroom is nearly identical to the way it had been when she had last visited a decade earlier, through great cost and effort on Yennefer’s part, no less. The same silvered mirror rests on the dresser, there is a feather mattress, and the bed with its silk drapes. The additions are simple ones: a scattering of candles around the room, giving warm flickering light despite the cool evening air - and a small fire of glowing embers.
Tissaia proves to be unreadable, as usual, so Yennefer turns her attention to the plain pouch that conceals the promised if unknown quantity and tries not to shiver at the thought of this being possible. The woman had been vague in her letter, only to say that she had found a solution to Yennefer’s wish, and that she would meet her here.
Slipping out the strap holding the pouch together, Yennefer lifts the flap and looks inside, brow furrowing at the contents. Inside are a matched pair of glass potion vials, identical to those stocked in the Aretuza laboratory - barely two mouthfuls of liquid to the brim - and identical in packaging. They do differ in colour - one an opalescent pale green, and the other clear, both stoppered with cork, humble looking, belying the potential contained within their contents.
"And what can I expect?" Yennefer asks, plucking one of the bottles up and swirling it gently, eyeing the pearlescence within. Her focus shifts up to look at the reflection of the other woman in the mirror, who’s finished her inspection of the room and returned to stand at her shoulder.
"Restoration, temporarily.” She carefully plucks the small vial from Yennefer’s hand, lifting it so it shifts and glimmers in the glow of the candlelight. “It should predispose your body to replacing uterine tissue." Tissaia frowns, lowering the vial to inspect it closer. "I confess that I can’t be certain of the specifics. The mutagens within the text came from a sorcerer who was working on Witcher fertility experiments many hundreds of years ago."
Yennefer has picked up the second vial, absentmindedly running a well-manicured finger along its length.
"And this?"
Tissaia’s lips thin momentarily. "The elixir should make it possible to…impregnate a woman who is physically infertile."
Dead silence greets this news, save for the clink of a log shifting in the fire.
Yennefer’s heart is suddenly beating very fast. Her mouth opens soundlessly, before closing again; she feels like a fool. She’d thought…
"I cannot have heard you correctly."
The words hang in the air, heavy with anticipation. A pregnant pause, as it were.
"As it sounds, Yennefer. The spell comes from the works of a mage by the name of Moreau who wished to streamline the making of Witchers. By sparking fertility in them, correcting their universal sterility, he hoped to breed them naturally without the risk or inefficiency and significant loss of life with introduced mutagens."
"He failed, as we both know." Yennefer has spent enough time in the company of a certain Witcher to know that they are just as likely to produce a child as she is.
Tissaia nods. "He was unsuccessful, but not deterred. Looking for another method, expanding his search, he turned to other mages, hoping to induce fecundity where chaos had eaten it away, theorising that same chaos might recreate life. His journal was frustratingly vague on the details, much of his troubles related to the male sex chromosome, but he did have one notable success, pairing the genetic material of two sorceresses together to induce a viable pregnancy.”
Yennefer is having a hard time believing her ears.
A child. A sorceress has carried a child in the past. And not only had Tissaia found this spell, but she had brought Yennefer the potions to do so…
…and the unreadable expression on Tissaia's face suddenly makes perfect sense.
This is not a gift for Yennefer to use with the first woman who will agree. This is for...
"And you brought this to me…willingly?" she asks haltingly. "Forgive me, but your views on the breeding of sorceresses are well-published after all, Tissaia. Am I to infer that you…?"
Tissaia has turned to face the warmth of the hearth, and that is all the answer she needs.
"I could just as easily go to a whorehouse and…"
"It would not work," Tissaia cuts her off, hands spread out to absorb some of the heat from the glowing fire. "Not with a man, or sorcerer, and not with a woman who did not have exceptional magical abilities and the training to use them.”
Yennefer has failed to keep the skeptical expression off her features. Tissaia clasps her hands in front of her bodice.
"The potion needs shaping," she explains. "Continued application of chaos to stop the potion from degrading prior to transfer to the other woman’s womb. The participant providing the genetic material must be of sufficient capability in chaos so as to direct the effects of the potion during the act of copulation - one might compare it to keeping a boiling pot on the fire from overflowing. This role may also only be filled by a sorceress who has never undergone Enchantment, since the tissue must exist - even in the withered state - for that potion to temporarily change to a compatible anatomy."
Yennefer’s expression falls when she realises who meets these requirements.
"You are, of course, welcome to go look for an elven sorceress of suitable power, though you are likely to find them understandably resistant to undergoing such an act, particularly with a sorceress who carries human blood."
Oh.
There had been three sorceresses old enough to have been elevated prior to the invention of Enchantment. Sodden had killed two of them a year earlier, leaving only...
Tissaia.
The only remaining sorceress of an age that predates the procedure.
The only one powerful enough to warrant the title of arch-mistress.
(The only one Yennefer has ever...)
There is a hint of uncertainty in the way Tissaia holds herself as she waits for Yennefer to speak. Firm jaw. Rigid posture.
"I see our predicament." Yennefer says, setting the vial back down on the top of the trousseau.
"As to my objections on the matter," Tissaia continues quietly. "The unnatural nature of the potion nullifies any magical aptitude a fetus might possess. Any child that is carried to term would be healthy, and unmarked by chaos." She shifts the clear bottle a centimeter to the left, correcting the position so that it falls into line with the corner of the table, and its green-coloured partner. Her voice is softer when she continues, almost regretful.
"And after you...saved me, I wish to repay the debt. A life for a life. I felt...that this would be of comparable value to you."
Yennefer wants to tell Tissaia then, that no, that there is no debt, no expectation of such a thing. She had not saved the woman from the Nilfgaardians, or from her own fire, because she wanted anything in return, she had protected her from the fire because… Because… There is no simple answer that she is willing to voice, not without certainty that she will not be scoffed at, or pitied. They’ve not spoken about it in the year since the battle, though her relationship with Tissaia has changed to something that is not friendship, but something with a pleasant thrum of tension, like a string on a lute, that resonates in her chest whenever she looks at the woman before her. But Yennefer knows she will not turn down Tissaia's offer - even if it is from a sense of duty on the other woman’s part. Her heart is already set on the very real possibility of a child of her own, finally, within her grasp, finally . For decades she has searched for clues and concoctions, and now, after all this time, if it means trampling all over the curious connection with Tissaia, then it will be worth it.
(The dragon had been wrong, Yennefer thinks to herself with grim satisfaction. She would have what she deserved in the end.)
Tissaia has started speaking again, as if she is conducting one of her lectures at the front of the class.
"While the child you bore would share our genetic material, I would take no ownership of it, not require contact with them. You could consider her solely your own."
Yennefer blinks for a moment, puzzled.
"It shall be a female child, Yennefer,” Tissaia explains. “Moreau's notes were quite clear on the matter of chromosomal limitations. The temporary anatomical changes to allow the transfer do not change the heart of the genetic material, and it is still two females involved in the creation." Her grey eyes flicker across Yennefer’s features. "Would that be suitable?"
"Yes."
She watches as Tissaia blinks - is it relief? Disappointment? Before she can study it further, the woman picks up the clear potion vial from the set.
"Very well. Prepare yourself as you need before taking the other vial. I shall be in the next chamber, and will return shortly.”
<> <> <> <> <>
It takes little time for Yennefer to clean herself. She’d prepared for Tissaia's visit, selecting a sheer gown of suitable weight, and adding this dimension to her evening requires only some extra trimming and a fresh clean. Yennefer finishes drying off before she drinks the potion, grimacing as the pain immediately settles into her lower abdomen, leaving her skin flushed and her face freshly damp. it's a cramping discomfort, specific and sharp at times, radiating deep in her pelvis to her back. She moves to the mattress, dragging herself to curl in the middle of the bed, grimacing as the pain is unrelieved. It will be the growth of new tissue where hers was taken from her, and while she trusts that Tissaia has done the research on the spells, Yennefer can’t stop the lingering misgivings about the artifice of it all.
Lying on her side, curled in a fetal position, she shuts her eyes tightly, trying not to break, to not make a sound that might give her pain a voice. The silk coverlet is smooth against her cheek, whispering as she blinks, staring at the row of candlesticks on the wall.
She should tell Tissaia that she would not object to her being part of the child’s life. That she would welcome it, even.
She should tell Tissaia that the scorn and misery she’d associated with the woman for much of her life has somersaulted into what can only be described as the opposite feeling.
She should tell her that she…
A rustle and then a creak of hinges, as Tissaia moves through the open door. She’s changed into a soft grey-green gown, with a light robe of stormy blue tied loosely around her waist to cut the chill. Her brown hair is still pinned up, neat and tidy, and Yennefer cannot stop the thought that the woman looks as though she is going to sit down beside the fire for an evening cup of tea. It is a disarming, almost domestic, choice of clothing, nothing like the stark silk gowns the woman prefers.
Yennefer is so distracted by this softer version of Tissaia that she misses the first words when she speaks.
"Are you well?" Tissaia repeats with a faint frown, eyeing the dampness on Yennefer's face and neck with clear concern. "The discomfort should pass soon.”
Yennefer presses herself to her elbows, and grimaces as her abdominal muscles engage. "It is only pain, and the reverse of the injury done to me at the tender age of nineteen. My sympathies to every woman of child bearing age for enduring this every moon. I’m ready when you are, Arch-mistress.”
“There is no point in starting until the process is completed."
"Only keen to do this once?"
Tissaia ignores her, making her way up to the edge of the bed. "I would prefer to complete it the first time. My own changes are temporary, yours shall persist for the full year, provided you do not use excess amounts of magic. The withering effects of chaos would risk the child.” Yennefer blinks as Tissaia's left hand alights on her forehead, and the right rests low on her belly. A momentary pause, then she steps away again, looking vaguely relieved.
"Fortuitous timing. I did not know whether your body would be in the cycle."
"You can tell without magic?"
"I do not need chaos for that. I know you well enough, Yennefer. Your process is slowing, we may begin when you are ready"
Yennefer shifts on the coverlet, realizing that the pain deep in her belly is easing. She pushes the rest of the way up to sitting, and eyes the woman’s pelvis, concealed by layers of fabric.
"No discomfort for you? The growth of two inches of flesh - surely there’s some pain receptors that will protest?"
Grey eyes flicker up to hers, and Tissaia's square jaw clenches briefly. "The potion appears to have been effective, and should be sufficient for your needs."
"Sufficient." Yennefer snorts. "Such a delicate choice of word, dear Rectoress. I don't expect pleasure - just for the potion to work well enough to let you have your way with me."
Tissaia's nostrils flare as she begins parting the loose tie of her gown. "I hope the product isn't too surprising for you, Yennefer."
"I've dealt with men with small packages before, I suspect I can work with…"
Yennefer trails off into silence when Tissaia's outer gown parts in the middle, revealing the thinner nightgown underneath, and…
…where there should be a gentle slope, there is now a pronounced bulge at the woman's groin, pressing from underneath the soft fabric, shadowed in the candlelight surrounding them.
"What is that?"
"Surely you've seen one before?” Tissaia murmurs.
"But…it's…" She almost says massive, but catches herself, swallowing once, cheeks pinking, immediately feels foolish.
"How flattering to be capable of rendering you mute, Yennefer. Would that I had possessed this ability when you were still a student - you might have paid more attention to lessons."
Her immediate thought is that this must be a practical joke, played for the amusement of others, at her expense. But as Tissaia moves languidly towards her, enviably serene, the bulge shifting slightly at her pelvis as she walks, Yennefer knows that it is genuine.
(Judging by the shadow it casts through the gown, Yennefer is not sure whether the creation between the woman's legs is going to fit.)
Her excitement is obvious, she knows, and it is no surprise when Tissaia comes closer, that her grey eyes are dark in the half-light of the candles scattered about the room.
"If you are quite convinced?”
A jerk of her head is the only answer Yennefer can give, still trying to piece together the connection between her mouth and her brain.
“Are you certain this is what you want?" Tissaia asks quietly.
Yes, Yennefer thinks, knowing she has never been more certain of anything in her life.
She nods.
"Well then. If you wish to see it, go ahead."
Not breaking eye contact with the smaller woman, Yennefer slides herself fully to the end of the bed, hanging her legs over the edge, so that she is within arm’s reach. She is intimately familiar both with the art of foreplay and the particular neuroses of the woman standing before her, however this is a new and unexpected dynamic.
She secretly suspects it's not an unwelcome one for either of them.
Yennefer's first touch is tentative, her hand landing just below the woman’s waist, slowly sliding down towards the tempting bulge in front of her. The first thing she feels through the soft silk is the half-hard firmness, the significant heat underneath her hand, a twitching lift to it that shows her Tissaia's new equipment is not yet fully firm, nor even full-sized. Yennefer cannot help but wonder how large it will be fully erect.
Tissaia makes an impatient noise.
"I've met more boldness in virgins, Yennefer. The clock is ticking."
"You’re gigantic. Did you choose…"
She finds she cannot make herself finish the question. Thankfully the other woman takes pity on her.
"I did not. I was…surprised…by the growth, although given that the potion was made by a man, the size shouldn’t have been such a shock. The testicles are heavier than I’d expected."
Yennefer feels a sudden familiar surge of wet warmth between her legs.
"The potion…made you complete?" she asks breathlessly.
Tissaia's expression makes it clear that this is a redundant question - and isn't that just like the woman, to take issue with minutiae - but Yennefer is already running her hands up along either side of Tissaia's thighs, lifting the skirt of her nightgown higher and higher.
She freezes when she's brought the hem of the gown barely above Tissaia's knees, and her jaw drops the further she raises it, as the full result of Tissaia's potion is revealed to her eyes.
"Not quite as you expected, I take it?"
Yennefer doesn’t answer, temporarily struck mute by the newest discovery of the night.
The cock between Tissaia's thighs is the largest Yennefer has ever seen, and the small frame of its owner makes the contrast of size even greater. Not only is it firmer than it had been when Yen had first placed her hand on Tissaia's gown, and warm with the influx of blood, but it is also thick enough that she will barely be able to wrap her fingers around the girth. She looks up at Tissia, who looks faintly amused.
"I've brought oil. I suspect it shall be necessary."
The practicality shakes Yennefer out of her absorption. She might laugh at the absurdity of it all were she not somewhat indignant at the offer. After all, she's already wet and slick between her own thighs, and experienced in these matters.
(Evidently her rebellious streak of independence hasn’t quite been tempered in the intervening years.)
"The oil might interact with the transfer of seed. I just need some time.”
She ignores the arched eyebrows at this clear excuse, and instead whispers her fingers down the shaft. Tissaia makes an odd tremble with her hips in response.
"You've gained full sensation.”
Tissaia nods.
“Does it feel like the touch does as a woman?"
"More sensitive." There is a delicious strain to Tissaia's voice that makes Yennefer's own heart speed up. "Particularly around the head."
Yennefer trails the pad of her thumb across the area in question, tickling the end of the shaft, and delights at the flutter of Tissaia's eyelids, the slight inhale through her delicate nose.
Well. She's quite aware of what to do with a cock. Tissaia's body is stiff, and it is certainly not just because her new anatomical addition is being stroked. Yennefer pushes herself back onto the bed slightly, shifting her weight so that she's more centered.
"It will not fit in without oil, Yennefer, not unless…"
"I suppose we shall need to do it the natural way, then," Yennefer murmurs, full lips curling upwards. "If you've no objection to some intimacy before the act, as it were?"
The woman's grey eyes soften for a moment.
"Are you certain?"
Yennefer hums deep in her throat. "I certainly plan to enjoy this, Rectoress, and your reticence will not be a barrier if you are willing."
Warm fingers alight on her neck, the feathering touch skimming upwards as Tissaia cups Yennefer's jaw lightly between her hands.
"I would satisfy the debt."
"Then I suppose you must satisfy me first," Yennefer breathes, gaze flickering down to Tissaia's lips. She tugs Tissaia closer, wrapping her hands around the slender waist, the soft fabric of the gown bunching at the woman's hips. It’s odd, being the larger of the pair, and it has been a long time, years, since Yennefer last had a woman in her arms.
What do you like, she wants to ask Tissaia. How do I please you, where should I touch you if you didn't have this? And the mere idea of wanting to please Tissaia de Vries, when it hadn't been an interest for the half-century, not since she was a young woman in school, falling over herself to impress the unimpressible woman.
A nudge of Tissaia's nose to the space under her jawline sends a pleasurable jolt to her nipples, only to have hands rise up to cup under her breasts, thumbs brushing against them through the fabric of her gown. Yennefer's breath catches, pressing her chest up into the touch, arching her back at the delicious contact, the practiced hands.
"When did you last bed another woman, Rectoress? I’m clearly not your first.”
“How do you know I am not extrapolating from self-study, Yennefer?”
“You've lived too many centuries to limit yourself to men."
A light kiss to the place where her neck and shoulder meet, with another teasing touch to her nipples.
"And your surprise at the weight was genuine,’ Yennefer continues, feeling the small electric shocks of pleasure from the continued contact against her breasts. “You've never had one attached to you that wasn’t in a harness around your hips, have you?"
Her partner does not dispute this, but Yennefer expects nothing more in detail, and twists her ribcage up as she leans forward to press them closer together. Tissaia smells of some floral concoction, subtle, that Yennefer follows to her neck. The oils used for her hair, perhaps. Impulsively, she reaches up and presses her fingers into the woman's coiled bun.
A squeeze, to the point of pain, to Yennefer's breasts, as a warning, but she's already found the first pin - and tosses it to the rug. The second and third follow shortly, and it's a simple matter to tug the twist out, unraveling it into a single long braid. The scent is stronger with the woman's hair out of the twist - something about it that reminds Yennefer of warm gardens. Lily-of-the-Valley perhaps? Magnolia? A musky scent too.
Tissaia's insistent hands move down to her front, gathering the silk dress before pulling it up and off her shoulders, leaving Yennefer's torso bare. Lips trace the path her fingers had taken minutes earlier, pressing light kisses down her throat towards her clavicles. Yennefer tilts her head, granting easier access, and entangles her fingers into Tissaia's hair.
She luxuriates in the sensation of lips replacing the hands over her breasts, kissing and sucking at her nipples, a warm tongue wonderfully wet against her skin. A tug on the braid caught in her fist and she feels the woman's body shift under her direction, and a hot weighty firmness bump into the inside of her thigh, a reminder of what is to come. If Yennefer was wet before, she's soaking now. She'll have stained the coverlet.
"Not yet," Tissaia murmurs, plucking Yennefer's thoughts out of her head as deftly as Yennefer had done to her hairpins.
"Get out of my head,” Yennefer growls.
"You moaned," comes the whisper, lips grazing her breastbone. "There was no mind-reading involved. I never need to with you, Yennefer."
Snatching up Tissaia's hand, Yennefer presses it down between her legs, against the wet warmth.
"Tell me I’m not ready."
Obligingly, nimble fingers slip into her folds, pressing up into the hot damp with an ease born of practice. Two fingers, then three, enter her vagina. The fourth does not fit easily, the passage still tight despite the firm attention Tissaia is applying to her neck and nipples.
Yennefer groans, her head dropping forward, sliding her hand back up Tissaia's arm, conceding that more work is to be done.
"You’re impatient. Nothing has changed about that I see."
"I clearly have a reason to be." Yennefer grumbles as she nudges Tissaia's forehead with the tip of her nose. The symmetry of this position is familiar, though the bed is not earth destined to be scorched only minutes later by the storm Yennefer summoned. She closes her eyes, taking in a slow breath, the scent of Tissaia in her nostrils, the woman's warm body pressed against her own, the slow stroking touch between her legs.
"Mmm. Well, some things are worth waiting for, Yennefer."
"I take it the spell shall be ruined if you come first?"
A hum. A kiss.
"A pity,” Yennefer grumbles. “I’d quite like to spend some time with it."
Again, she feels Tissaia's rib muscles pull, straining at this thought. Smirking, Yennefer catches underneath the woman's cock, lifting up the heavy warmth so that it rests in her grip and presses against her palm. Using it to direct the woman’s hips, she tugs Tissaia closer, shifting her weight so as to move them in a half circle.
"I suspect that it would be best if I ride you? You might do your back in trying to stuff this monster inside of me."
Tissaia's nostrils flare, and Yennefer's smile widens. "I knew you’d think it practical. Gown off, I think, I want to see those wonderful breasts of yours. They look impressive under your wretched gowns, and I've been ever so curious since I was a student…”
It’s an awkward thing, removing a gown that can only be brought over one’s head and shoulders. Tissaia, to her credit, does it smoothly, eyes leaving Yennefer's face only when the dress is lifted free. The motion of undressing does spoil the woman's hair somewhat, leaving her with new strands hanging on either side of her face, and this amuses Yennefer to no end. Unclothed, Tissaia sits back on the covers, cock bobbing slightly as she shifts onto the mattress. It’s almost comical, this slender woman with an attribute normally reserved for the well-paid, pampered men scattered across the kingdoms’ best brothels, the size of their members the prize of noblewomen and other wealthy patrons.
Drawing attention away from the cock are Tissaia's breasts, heavy, larger than Yennefer's own, with pink nipples pebbled hard. The pale skin of her neck and breasts is flushed slightly, and Yennefer's gaze trails down from the woman's chest to her narrow waist, the faint suggestion of muscle as she stretches backwards on her hands, the shallow recess of her navel a temptation. The swell of her hips leading to shapely thighs and…that unignorable addition between them.
"No enchantment. You were simply blessed with this body from the start. How decidedly unfair."
Tissaia looks up at her from under her lowered lashes, and Yennefer is suddenly struck by the echo from the last time she’d seen the woman on the bed like this.
"Do not be tricked, Yennefer. I am the product of potions and magics. While the enchantments did not exist as such when I was in training, we were subject to the shaping of our lives in other ways. None of us are immune to the needs of our order, for a beautiful woman has a much easier time obtaining what she needs from men than a homely one does."
(Is that sadness? Resignation, in her tone?)
“Seduction is our greatest weapon?”
“It can be more powerful than chaos for some.”
“Before. The first time you visited me here. You wanted me back.”
The sharp chin nods once.
A truth crosses Yennefer’s lips, unbidden. "I wanted to pin you to the mattress when you sat on this bed. I didn’t know whether it was to hurt you or to kiss you."
“I had thought it to be the only way to entice you back.”
Yennefer presses down the sharp pang in her heart with these words. “I wanted everything.”
"I know,” Tissaia says gently, lifting her hand up to cup Yennefer’s cheek. “And I was not in the position to give it to you then.”
“And now?”
Grey eyes meet lilac, the flickers of light from the surrounding candles sparkling.
"Perhaps as an alternative,” Yennefer murmurs, relieving Tissaia of the challenge of that question. “Some pleasurable punishment for sparking such confusion?"
With this pretense, Yennefer climbs further onto the bed and kisses Tissaia, using the motion to nudge her back onto the bed until she is resting against the pillows. The languid kisses are scattered down the smaller woman's neck, as Yennefer moves down her slender body, paying special attention to her magnificent breasts, nuzzling the peaks with her nose, laving them with her tongue. She continues in an attentive path down the length of her abdomen, and hears the sound of Tissaia inhaling sharply as she realises where Yennefer intends to go.
"Yennefer, if you…"
"I suppose you'll simply need to exert some of your famed control on yourself, dear Rectoress," Yennefer husks, stroking her length. "And believe me, this will get me wet enough to take you fully in - well, as much as physically possible."
While it has been some time since Yennefer did this, it's a skill she's experienced in, and used hundreds, perhaps thousands, of times in her time on this earth. Licking her lips with her tongue to gather enough saliva, she lowers herself to the woman's cock.
She begins gently, sucking the tip while her hand traces light patterns down the shaft, before grasping it firmly, nudging Tissaia's thighs apart. She kisses the tip of the head, lapping up from the bottom of the v-shaped ridge with light flicks of her tongue, feeling the organ jump slightly as her other hand moves to cup the heavy sack. The bare thighs on either side of her head are taut, and Yennefer can only picture what their owner’s expression looks like. She suspects Tissaia will be able to take some edging, without risking the loss of the cock, and her hopes for tonight.
Yennefer moves her mouth to the base of the still-swelling cock, casting a glance up at Tissaia as she licks from base to tip. Tissaia, eyes closed, has taken up a handful of Yennefer's hair, as if to control her from overenthusiasm. Smirking, she takes the head into her mouth - an almost impossible fit - lightly sucking on it with the scant room she has left, simultaneously using her fingers to tickle a line down to the underside of the shaft to the testes and then back. Tissaia's hips lift fully off the mattress, and Yennefer is delighted by the soft gasp above her in time to the abrupt tug on her hair.
‘Yennefer,’ comes the warning.
Her own thighs are wet with arousal. She adjusts, taking a suck of air, doing her best to avoid bumping it with her front teeth, and gently sliding her hand up the shaft. Experimentally, she wraps her mouth around the tip, taking in as much as she can. Tissaia's thighs twitch and spasm beneath her, but Yennefer pins her down with her weight. It's difficult to breathe with the size of the cock, and the experimental advance towards the back of her throat shows her just how impossible it may be to take in any more than the head. Yennefer however, has never been one to back down from a challenge, and just as Tissaia raises her head to look down at the woman buried between her thighs, takes in a full two inches, her jaw stretching to a burning limit as she slides down the hard length of Tissaia's cock.
Tissaia lets out a noise somewhere between a moan and a gasp, and Yennefer only has a moment to revel in the powerful feeling of being the cause of it before she is suddenly pulled up by a firm grip of a second hand on her hair. She cannot help the unexpected moan that escapes her saliva coated lips, from the interruption or from the thrill of pain to her scalp, she is unsure. A gentler thrill makes her eyelids flutter when one of the hands in her hair moves to caress her jaw. Soft fingers land precisely where her mandible had been reshaped and rub soothingly, as though Tissaia knows the strain that last burst of stubborn, burning, desire had caused. Before she can give the tugging under her breastbone any more thought, Yennefer twists her neck and takes Tissaia’s fingers between her teeth. Nips once then whispers hoarsely,
“Inside me. Now.”
Yennefer and Tissaia, both breathing heavily, eye each other hungrily through lowered lashes. A bead of sweat is making a trail down the side of Tissaia’s brow, and the intensity in her expression makes Yennefer’s heart beat even faster. They waste no time, Tissaia tugging Yennefer towards her for a heated kiss, the roughness of her movement making Yennefer even wetter. Her chaos is churning, colliding and coalescing with Tissaia's own, wordlessly communicating her need. She shifts, rising to her knees, getting a firm grip on the shaft of the cock, before skimming it against her vulva, lubricating her passage with her own arousal. Tissaia's hands come to rest on Yennefer's bare hips, and her lips part when she sees just how ready Yennefer is.
Yennefer lowers herself onto the head, feeling the pressure immediately as it pushes against her slit, stretching her uncomfortably. Not to be deterred, and knowing that she is close, she uses her other hand to wipe more of her wetness onto the tip, adding more slickness to drip down the length, and tries again, feeling the tell-tale slide of the cock as it moves deeper…
…before slipping into her with a sudden satisfying ease.
The pressure, the fullness, is divine, and Yennefer's unable to keep the undulating sigh from escaping her throat as she takes in the first few inches before rising again. She delights in the soft noise Tissaia makes before, she slides herself down the shaft with deliberate effort, watching the other woman through half-lidded eyes.
"I can understand why women seek these out,” she sighs, unable to contain her grin, or the half-giggle that follows it.
“You like the size?”
Tissaia’s voice is deliciously strained.
"Mmm, you feel wonderful inside of me. The girth, it's…like nothing I have ever felt," Yennefer purrs. “The brothels in the South have men for hire - and size is particularly prized by their patrons. The best boast to be as big as stallions, and ask for princely sums of month for the pleasure of their company for an evening. I enjoyed the few I met, but you…you might be even larger.”
She moans as she lowers even further onto Tissaia’s member.
“Perhaps the Council would be less obstinate if you kept it - I expect your fellow mages would stop arguing with you on the grounds of you being a woman."
Tissaia opens her mouth to reply, but her words are swallowed by a muffled groan when Yennefer rocks her hips.
"Quite sensitive, I see," Yennefer purrs out. "Despite the brutish appearance of your addition."
The woman she's straddled is clearly too occupied to answer back.
“Warm? Wet? Does it feel as good as they say?”
“The pressure is…” Another thrust, as Tissaia drops her head back, the tendons of her neck straining. “...perfect.”
"And it’s all you. Shall I tell you what I thought when I saw it for the first time, Tissaia?"
Tissaia's eyelashes flutter closed as Yennefer sinks back down onto her, clenching her inner walls around the giant cock. Her lips are pursed firmly together, and it's all Yennefer can do to not bend down and kiss her frown away.
"I thought…I need to ride you." She rises, and then sinks down deliberately. "And here we are."
Tissaia. This is *Tissaia* inside of me.
"Slower, Yennefer." Fine lines between narrowed brows indicate that the woman is having some difficulty maintaining her composure, she's closer to the edge than her manner would indicate.
Yennefer slows her hips, the rocking easing, and then she shivers when she hears the murmured words of approval.
She is used to taking the lead, she thinks, taking great delight in commanding her previous lovers, and even now thinking she had the upper hand being on top. But something about the formidable presence of Tissaia de Vries, Arch-mistress of Aretuza, lingers between them, even in this strange and decidedly pleasurable situation, and Yennefer finds herself demuring into a rare submission.
"Another,’ the woman instructs, “Just like that."
The bed is shaking now, the wooden headboard clattering against the stone walls, as Yennefer rides Tissaia with clear intent, rhythmically thrusting her pelvis, feeling the massive girth inside of her slide against the front wall of her passage, sending sparks of glorious pleasure tingling from her pelvis to her tits. Tissaia seems to sense what she’ll need, and her hand has moved to Yennefer’s clit to offer wonderful friction. Both women are glistening with sweat, the open windows doing nothing to cool the room.
Yennefer begins to feel breathless as her muscles begin to shiver and quake behind her navel, and all it takes is for the soft utterance of an achingly tender whispered 'Yennefer' along with a slick rub of Tissaia's finger just so, to send her toppling over the edge, the orgasm hitting her harder than she ever has before, tearing a gasping noise from her lungs and sparkling ecstasy from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. She loses control of herself and thinks she might slump forward were it not for Tissaia's firm hands on her, pulling her hips down hard to meet her own frantic thrusts.
Her skin is flushed, and the space between her thighs is slippery as she pushes against Tissaia in a rush, sliding up and down the thick shaft, her body almost boneless in the after-shocks, but knowing that the other woman is very close, and then…
…Tissaia, in an uncharacteristic loss of control, bucks wildly against her, pressing into her before impaling her fully and holding her there with a stuttered moan. She feels a rush of warmth in her lower belly as Tissaia's heat fills her, and she can’t help herself from tumbling over the edge for a second time.
Yennefer's eyes are closed tightly, stars dancing across her vision, savoring the moment. She gasps, a heavy press of air expelled from her lungs, as she falls forwards slightly, bracing her elbows on either side of the woman’s shoulders, slick bodies pressed together.
Tissaia's fingers are still wrapped around her pelvis, a loose hold, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Murmuring fondly, feeling sated and full, Yennefer nuzzles the softness of her cheek, brushing her lips against her jaw, before finding herself being shifted sideways, off of Tissaia, the slick fullness sliding out of her, until she is lying on her back, boneless, and happy.
"Stunning," she hears in a soft murmur near her ear.
Yennefer looks back over at her, feeling the stretch to the back of her neck, feeling more alive than she has in…she doesn’t know how long. The strands of hair plastered across Tissaia’s forehead, and the fluttering breaths, show that the woman is still recovering. And between her legs…
Yennefer reaches down and strokes her hand down her pelvis, lowering down to gently cup the sack underneath.
"Your cock is still with us, I notice.”
"I shall be rid of it soon,” Tissaia murmurs, eyebrows knitting together at the touch. “Now, stay as you are, this will have the best chance of working as intended if you…remain on your back for a few minutes."
Yennefer considers for a moment.
"Might it be prudent to have a go again? Just to make sure of course, these ancient spells are always so vague, and it would be a shame to waste this gift of yours."
"Attached already?" Tissaia’s voice holds vague amusement.
Yennefer hums contentedly, her hand trailing over the woman’s member, which has softened somewhat in the intervening minutes. “It suits me. And you, as it turns out. Your breasts are outsized, so it stands to reason that your hypothetical cock would be too.”
“Hypothetical?”
“You’re over-complicating things,” Yennefer grumbles, moving her hand to Tissaia’s hip and pushing herself into a more comfortable position on the pillows so as to lie on her side. “I’ve had two orgasms in the span of a minute, and cannot be blamed for what comes out of my mouth.”
They drowse in satisfied silence, reveling in the afterglow, at the faint sound of the glowing fire in the hearth, Tissaia tracing gentle patterns on Yennefer's back. Beneath the serene expression, Yennefer can feel the disquiet.
"What is it?"
"Simply considering the fleeting nature of life, even lives as long as ours. Reflecting on how little lasting impact I appear to have had on the world. Regretting… "
Yennefer does not learn what Tissaia regrets, because the woman’s soft voice lapses into silence. They lie there for a time, facing one another, Tissaia looking past Yennefer to the candles beyond her, the stars through the lead-paned glass, Yennefer searching the woman’s face. Finally deciding, she moves her hand up the woman’s body to trace her index down Tissaia's pale breastbone in a slow pattern.
"I've often found that such regrets are remedied by returning to the last place or thing where you felt fulfilled."
Grey eyes lift to hers. Yennefer shifts herself above Tissaia to look at the woman directly, choosing her words carefully.
"While I had told you all those years ago that I wanted everything,” she says quietly, “I was mistaken. I didn’t know what I wanted, it turns out, and tore through the land trying to find my purpose. Chasing wishes.”
Tissaia searches her face.
"And did you find what you were looking for, Yennefer?" she asks quietly.
Yennefer’s lips curl into a small smile as she shifts even closer to the woman. "As in all good stories, the thing that I wanted was already within my grasp.”
Her kiss is gentle, and she lingers, hovering close enough to the woman that when she next speaks, their lips brush.
“Though it may be difficult for you to believe, I do not expect you to drag that thick cock of yours anywhere after tonight, for it is the woman to whom it belongs who brings me the greatest of pleasures."
"Only for special occasions, then?"
Yennefer considers this. "I should like to spend some more time examining…the capabilities of this temporary gift."
“Such demands.”
“Mmm. On the chance that your ancient fertility recipe works, I shall expect you to do your part as the child’s mother.”
Tissaia looks at her in clear confusion, as if she refuses to believe the inference, and Yennefer’s face falls a bit.
“If you would be interested in continuing…this?” she says tentatively. “I understand this is a sudden thing to spring upon you…”
“I…would not object to such an arrangement.” Tissaia ducks her head, and her pale hand makes a careless trace against the copper skin of Yennefer’s outer silky thigh. Yennefer closes her eyes, feeling the warmth rise in her belly again.
“I didn’t get the chance to enjoy all of you earlier, Yennefer, since my addition was demanding too much attention. Would you object to us rectifying this lapse?
Yennefer feels her heart skip a beat. The woman had met the conditions of her self-imposed debt, and yet still wished to do this for her?
“I would not abuse your good will. What else do you feel you owe me?”
Dark eyelashes flutter like a moth’s wing. “Attention. Trust.” A hesitation. A pause.
“Something more?” Yennefer prompts, hoping against hope that this is the confession she thinks it might be.
Tissaia’s pink tongue slips out from her small mouth to moisten her own lips. “If that is what you would wish for, then yes.”
Yennefer hums, pleased, as she presses herself up onto the cushions, bending her knees. “You seem uncertain, Rectoress. Perhaps some time between my thighs will clear your head. No hands - your cock is mine - I won’t have you wasting its potential before I’m through with it.”
Tissaia’s mouth shifts into a quicksilver, all-too-knowing smirk, even as she moves down to Yennefer’s pelvis. The subtle lift to the cock between her legs - it won’t be long before she’s hard again.
“After you’ve made me come a third time, you can fuck me from behind like a…”
The rest of her words are bitten off in a gasp because Tissaia’s warm tongue has lapped at her slit, a flat, firm pressure. She’s still slick from before, and her hands come down to grab Tissaia’s wrist.
She makes a noise of displeasure as she watches Tissaia rub her cock against the smooth sheets, thrusting as she sucks gently on Yennefer’s clit with perfect pressure. The woman’s perfect bottom is thrust in the air, and Yennefer can’t help but stare at the sight even as she chides,
“The eminent sorceress of the age, rutting against the covers, licking my slit. What would your precious peers think?”
Tissaia thrusts her pelvis forward again, licking another broad stroke with wonderful firmness between her folds. Yennefer pushes back her stifled moan to grab hold of the woman’s hair and tug firmly in admonishment.
“I shall whip you if you do that again, Rectoress.”
The woman stills her movements, and the pressure lessens as she laps up the slickness from Yennefer’s slit. Every stroke is perfectly placed, as if she can sense from Yennefer’s twitches and shivers what will be most pleasurable. It’s thrilling to be , to be the focus of such caring attentiveness.
Teeth brush against her, and Yennefer tightens her grip on the woman’s silky mane.
Pain and pleasure, in equal measure, as she lets out a stuttered sigh and presses up into Tissaia’s mouth, urging her to continue.
Another soothing suckle before the lapping licks resume in a scattered rhythm.
Yennefer’s quips and the planned admonishments are all slipping away, the waves fast-approaching.
The muscles of her abdomen tense, the heat rising within.
(She could love this woman. She does love this woman, who she thought she’d hated for so long, with the single-minded stubbornness that she knows is one of her faults).
A firm pressure of tongue pressed over her clit, unrelieved, and Yennefer’s warbling moan of want is almost embarrassing in volume. She keeps her hand wrapped in the woman’s hair, taking some satisfaction in the fact that Tissaia will be irritated by the messiness.
No, that’s it, she doesn’t want to wait. She wants the fullness back, wants Tissaia to be even closer than she is now, wants her before she changes her mind.
“Tissaia.”
Releasing her hold on the woman’s hair, Yennefer pushes herself towards the headboard, flipping over to press herself up onto all fours. She casts a look over her shoulder with absolute want at Tissaia, taking in her flushed face, her disheveled hair, and the clear desire in her eyes. The woman’s member is firm, and decidedly ready for what she wants.
“Take me from behind,” she demands hotly, knowing that it won’t take long, that Tissaia has brought her most of the way there already with her lips and tongue.
Very obligingly, Tissaia mounts her with a grace that she shouldn’t in any fairness possess.
It is both easier, and more challenging in this position, but neither are deterred. Yennefer braces herself on the mattress, spreading her knees a little wider so as to better support them both. Tissaia’s hands are on Yennefer’s bare hips, holding her in place, letting go only to direct the tip of her cock to the opening of her entrance.
It’s a slow push, a steady pressure, until the broad head slides past her entrance and into her with that same ease as before, fitting her, filling her up. Yennefer clenches her inner muscles, balancing herself with more weight on her hands, preparing for the next moment.
Tissaia’s grip on her pelvis firms, holding her in place as she makes the first thrust, pressing into the silky tightness beyond.
A second push follows, then a third, slow and deliciously deep, stretching her to the brink. Yennefer curls her neck forwards, chin to chest, wishing for this moment to last forever, wracked with passion and feeling and want.
It is after several more slow thrusts that she feels her mind opening, her chaos reaching out to Tissaia instinctively before she can claw it back.
Love. Warmth. Acceptance. Pleasure. Stay.
It's a primal stream of consciousness that she cannot control, not in this state. It has happened between them only once before, when they were on the cold field of the burnt battleground, joined together by touch, foreheads pressed together.
There is no scorn, no stern answer, only a gentle soothing stroke down her flank as the woman withdraws a little, before rolling her hips towards Yennefer’s again in time to the echo that arrives in her mind…
…only it’s not her own thoughts, but rather Tissaia’s, with the same wordless emotions contained within the flow, unabashedly honest in their simplicity.
Love. Warmth. Acceptance. Pleasure. Always.
And the tingling that has started up Yennefer’s spine is not only from the girth pressing inside of her, or the hands at her hips, or the soft skin against her own.
She means something to someone.
She is not alone.
She is loved.
And it is this glorious knowledge that tips her over the edge for the third time that evening, in shocks of pleasure that make her gasp out Tissaia’s name from a place deep inside of her.
(She has everything).