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At first, Ciri doesn’t really think of the wolf pack as an option.
She’s been without contracts for over a week now, edging uncomfortably close to two, and while money isn’t much of a worry – basic hedgewitchery and the ability to use portals could set her for life, if she wanted to let it – the lack of contracts is…disappointing.
No contracts means no monsters, obviously, and no monsters means she’s not getting fucked out of her head.
And she desperately needs to be fucked out of her head.
But…no contracts. Not even any rumors of anything lurking in the hills and mountains. She’d assume another Witcher had been through recently, but it’s not likely that she’d have gone this long in one area, obviously looking for hunts, and not heard mention of them. People are often eager to tell her about the other Witchers they’ve met, but not a single person has mentioned seeing a Witcher before her, so. She’s leaning toward the other explanation for the lack of contracts, and that’s just that she’s supremely unlucky.
But despite nearly crawling out of her skin with unfulfilled need, she barely even considers the wolf pack in the mountains past acknowledging their existence and planning her campsites a little more carefully.
Usually, she goes for were wolves – preferably the kind she can talk to in their human form, flirt and play with before convincing them to turn for her, or letting her stick around for the right moon phase. Mind, one that’s already turned isn’t a dealbreaker; Axii works just as well on them as it would their other mind, and it’s easier anyway, once they’re more animal than man, to get what she wants from them, which is mostly to be knotted til she cries.
Despite having a preference, though, she’ll usually take just about anything she can charm or Axii into submission. As long as it has a cock large enough to make her belly bulge, she’ll even go for the more questionable options, like drowners and nekkers and rock trolls, if those are the monsters available.
So actual wolves, still wild for all their familiarity with the people all over these hills, don’t really cross her mind.
Except, of course, until it’s the full moon, nearly two and a half weeks since she’s had what she craves, and there’s the sound of snuffling pants and sharp claws in the dirt near her camp.
– – – – –
The first of them is easy to coax forward; all she has to do is toss a little bit of meat just outside the ring of light her dying fire provides, and it nudges right up to the edge of that glow to snatch it up. It’s hardly skinny, but it doesn’t have the savage strength she’s seen in the wolves around Kaer Morhen, the sturdy body and obviously banked muscle.
She wonders, briefly, if its this pack’s proximity to humans that makes them so different; they’re more or less left alone as long as no more than one or two sheep go missing a season, but the villagers make use of them as a sort of waste disposal, leaving offal and corpses out in the woods. Or maybe it’s just a species difference – certainly, there are different wolves just like there are different dogs, or even horses.
It’s not much more than a passing thought, though.
A touch of Axii makes the wolf stay where it is, instead of backing away with his prize, and she grins when it tilts its head, ears back but not pinned, teeth covered except for where he’s still drooling over the meat she offered. When those ears relax, she allows it to finish snapping up the treat, then coaxes it a little forward.
Not quite into the light, but closer than it would ever get naturally. It seems amenable, though, lips only pulling back a little when an ember cracks and throws sparks before its settling again. For a long moment, she does that; coaxes it a little closer and then lets it stop, inching slowly toward her in such a way that it seems natural.
When it’s close enough, she recasts Axii, feeling the tug of the control in the back of her mind – not as strong as it can get, certainly, but noticeable, all the same. And if she focuses, she can feel the shape of the wolf’s mind there, too, something entirely foreign but still familiar in the animal simplicity of it.
Different than the mind of a monster, but not… terribly different, really.
“C’mere,” she whispers, and the wolf gives a confused little whimper, but trots up to her, until its massive front paws are basically in her lap. She reaches out slowly and buries her hands in its fur, feeling how coarse the outer coat is before it gives to the soft undercoat, almost unnaturally warm against her chilled hands.
It gives that same confused whimper again, but doesn’t move, doesn’t snap at her or try to get away, so she lets her hands wander a bit. Just along its sides, at first, and then back to its neck and chest, and then, yes, lower, until she can just stretch her fingertips and feel the top of a sheath.
“Good boy,” she breathes, and realizes that she…might have considered this more than she’d allowed herself to realize. She puts that thought aside for examination later, though, instead focusing on letting the wolf adjust to her touch, her proximity, by petting up and down its sides a few more times, then along its front legs and back legs, then its neck and scruff.
After a few minutes of that, it starts to sort of wriggle, and she realizes that its tail is thumping slightly against the ground, making its body sway where it’s sitting a little unnaturally still in front of her.
She grins. “Good boy,” she says again, and she knows that it probably can’t understand the words, but it likely understands the positive tone – either from familiarity with humans or her Axii.
Here, though, is where she has to start guessing on how to proceed. The wolf seemingly trusting her – for a certain definition thereof, considering the mild mind control – is the same first step as with monsters, but….
Well, monsters are typically pretty single-minded, and most of them, once the switch gets flipped from fight to eliminate the threat, tend to immediately go to more carnal ideas. She thinks it has to do with how she smells, when she does this – the pheromones that go hand-in-hand with her need, that most humans can never actually smell, at least not in a fashion that registers as a scent.
And while that’s definitely in play here, she has no idea if the wolf would react the same to it as a turned werewolf or a fiend. They’re smarter than most monsters, that much she knows, but they also have better noses than a lot of monsters too, so she’s…a bit at a loss.
She recasts Axii, just for safety, and continues scratching at the wolf’s neck and ears while she considers.
Thought transfer with Axii is – inexact, to say the least, but it works a bit better with monsters and animals. And between species, thoughts are fairly untranslatable, anyway, but something about imagining, thinking of an image, tends to be easier to sort of…implant.
So she gives it a shot, thinking about the times she’s seen wolves mounting one another during their season – which, having spent enough time at Kaer Morhen, where if one is careful enough in the woods, you’re nearly guaranteed to spot one of the several packs living in the mountains, she’s seen plenty of.
The wolf, for its part, makes a confused little whimpering noise, tilting its head, and then, after a moment, starts to pant. She keeps it up, and, still petting around its ears with one hand, slides the other back down its side and in, to where she could feel the sheath.
This time, her fingertips find the familiarly-shaped tip of a cock. There’s thin, watery precum dribbling from the tip, even, and the wolf makes another sound when she touches it, not a whimper or a growl but a sort of mix of both.
Its cock jerks and slips further out of the sheath, though, so she takes it as a good sign.
And after that, it doesn’t take long at all for the wolf to be clearly needy for it, and, apparently, to realize that she is, too. It starts sniffing at her hair, and then her throat, and with a little shove that nearly knocks her back because she wasn’t expecting it, her chest and thighs.
She wiggles back a little, giving up her ability to touch its cock so she can instead start tugging at her breeches. She doesn’t much mind getting them dirty, but she’d rather prefer they don’t get torn, and she can’t guarantee that the wolf wouldn’t give it a shot with its teeth or claws.
“Good boy,” she repeats, and sees how its tail wags properly, now, because it’s no longer sitting but standing, still pressing its cold, wet nose to her hands and belly and thighs as it sniffs at her. She giggles and manages to get them undone and pushed down to her knees, which is good enough for now.
The wolf growls a little when she pulls away again, but then makes a pleased little huffing noise when she just turns around and goes to her hands, leaving her on all fours. That cold nose rubs across her back, then, and then shoves between her asscheeks, making her shout with the suddenness of the sensation.
It doesn’t seem to notice her noises, though, too busy sniffing between her legs with a thoroughness that…probably shouldn’t be doing it for her, but gods, it absolutely is. Before very long, she’s practically dripping, thighs already starting to tremble with the tease of its snout between her legs and anticipation.
And apparently, it notices that, because the next thing she feels is its tongue, long and wet and rough, licking her from her pubis up through the folds of her cunt and to her asshole.
She whines, and fumbles down onto one elbow so she can recast Axii. When it takes hold, she thinks about the sight of a male wolf mounting a female again, focusing on it as hard as she can.
The wolf whimpers, then growls, and then its snout disappears from between her legs just for it to drive all of the air out of her as its paws land on her shoulderblades.
She wheezes, but just shifts her stance to lift her ass higher, ignoring the sting from its claws in her skin. The wolf is heavy, but not heavy enough she can’t breathe, and after a beat she gets her breath back and can keep thinking of that image, until the wolf growls again and starts to rut against her ass.
It takes a few minutes for its cock to catch at her cunt – there’s no tail to stop it sliding up and through her asscrack, no fur to increase the friction and naturally guide. But a few minutes is nothing, really, especially not when it finally does catch.
She screams.
It’s so much, almost too much, after so long without, but it’s good, too, heat pouring down her spine and making her clench around the wolf’s pistoning thrusts. She knows, since it’s a normal wolf, that this won’t last long, so she tries to savor every moment she can, squirming to get one hand underneath her so she can rub at her clit.
Maybe it’s the newness of this, the feeling of the wolf’s paws and claws in her back, or maybe it’s that she’s so desperate that she is fucking a wolf, or maybe it’s the absolutely punishing thrusts that take no heed to what noises she’s making, but she’s close so quickly she goes dizzy, dropping her head to the dirt just to try and stay up on her knees. The wolf is panting harder, now, those relentless thrusts starting to stutter, and she whines like a wounded thing when its knot pushes into her and then pops back out on one of them.
“Fuck, fuck,” she mutters, and she can’t recast Axii, she doesn’t have the coordination, but maybe it’ll still work – she thinks about it knotting her, the way she’s seen the wolves at Kaer Morhen will growl and yelp and push before they tie and turn around.
Apparently, the tide of her luck has turned, because it does work. The wolf makes a very familiar sound, a sort of swallowed yelp, and the next time it pushes its knot inside of her it flares large enough to stick.
She comes so hard she thinks she cracked one of her teeth.
When she swims back up from the pleasure-haze, the wolf has put them ass-to-ass, still panting, and she groans, levering herself back up onto her hands. Her cunt is still clenching spasmodically around the knot buried in it, and each time it does she shivers, entirely involuntary.
Unlike the length of the fuck, though, she knows the knot will last for at least half an hour, so once she’s got better control of her limbs, she shifts to a more comfortable position, one she knows she can hold for that long, and then settles back down onto her elbows to savor the experience and wait.
– – – – –
She sort of expects that to be it, really, that only one of the wolves would have come close enough, but just when she feels the knot starting to deflate, she hears more snuffling. She looks up from where she’d been not-quite-dozing, and in the darkness and occasional flares of flame from her sputtering campfire, she sees nearly half a dozen eyes flash at her.
She sucks in a breath. The wolf she’s pressed against finally slips out of her with a grumbling sound and steps away.
One of the others steps closer, then, nearly close enough to touch, and even with the shadows and its dark fur, she can spot the red of its cock swaying out of its sheath.
She swallows, and carefully levers herself up to cast Axii.
“Go on,” she says, even though she knows it’s more the things she’s imagining, and the way she sways her hips in the air, that make the wolf approach closer. It sniffs at her for a while first, taking basically the same path the other had – hair and neck, then down her back, and then finally it circles around to continue at her thighs and between her legs.
She’s started to leak the first one’s cum, by now, and she worries, for a split second, how this one might react to that, but she only gets that split second to even think it before this one is mounting her, too.
She whimpers at the feeling of its rough paws on her already-scratched shoulders, but keeping imagining the wolves in her head, and where she’s so slick and open from the first, this one’s rutting is successful much faster.
This one’s cock is also bigger. She swears a blue streak and then, seeing how it startles the others that are still watching from the dark, bites her own arm bloody to keep herself quieter.
Being fucked so viciously hurts, but the wolf’s cock is so big it doesn’t even matter; there’s no way it can’t hit her sweet spots, and each time she feels the tip of it bump into her cervix the flare of ache just makes her want more, more, more. Before long, she’s whining and drooling on her arm as she shivers, near to coming just from this, and she doesn’t even have to think about the knotting for this one to do it.
It follows logically, but somehow, she didn’t expect the knot to be bigger, too.
This time, she’s fairly certain she actually blacks out for a handful of minutes.
– – – – –
After the second wolf’s knot has gone down and it’s left her with an affectionate lick to her cheek, a third steps forward.
This one is bigger than the other two, by a not-inconsiderable margin. In fact, if she wasn’t intimately aware of what shape werewolves tend to take, she’d almost wonder if this was one, just because it seems near monstrous compared to a normal wolf.
It’s also pure white – not a light grey, like she has seen before, and not mostly-white but speckled with brown or black, like she’d expect. Pure, new-snow white, all over, white enough that when the clouds shift to show the moon, it practically glows. Its eyes are odd, too, also nearly luminous and an unsettling yellow that she’s never seen on an animal before – at least, not one that wasn’t in the throes of fever and near death.
This wolf doesn’t look sick, though, and when it ducks its colossal head down to sniff at her, it smells like a wolf should – the woods and damp and animal, a musk that’s not pleasant but not un pleasant, either, just is. She’s too distracted to try and catch Axii, as it moves, smooth and sinuous, almost more like a big cat than any canine she’s ever encountered. Its noses over her shoulder and down her back, almost gentle if it weren’t for the fact that it’s panting, and she can feel the phantom pass of those massive, sharp teeth hovering bare hairsbreadths away from her skin.
The sensation makes her shiver. The wolf makes a low sound, something she swears is a question, but that’s got to be impossible – dogs and other animals can express confusion in a way humans understand, and in reaction to human actions, but those are the domesticated ones, the ones that are familiarly ingrained into human life and nuance.
Wolves – even a pack like this, close to human settlements and on a tenuous sort of two-way agreement about agreeing to remain that way – aren’t anything like that.
It cannot be asking why she’s shivering. But it sounds like it was.
She takes a deep breath, then, and remembers herself, trying to lever herself up and twist – the wolf has made its way to her lower back and ass, now, not quite between her legs but clearly headed there – hand forming Axii.
Before she can even manage it, there’s a growl and a large pay in the center of her back, pressing her down. She only barely keeps herself from eating dirt, and then she’s registering just how fast the wolf moved, and how it was clearly interaction to the Sign she was about to cast.
Can it know? Or does it just understand, having probably been watching for a while, that her lifting her hand like that has made the other wolves obey?
But if it is the latter, she wonders how. Certainly, they can communicate with one another, but that’s through noises – even ones she can’t hear – and body language. How could a wolf ever communicate that it’s not in total control of itself?
Quandaries about wolf communication and intelligence aside, though, she’s currently face-down in the dirt, rather more literally than before, and with the weight of that paw on her back she can’t do anything about it.
A thrill rolls down her spine to settle as a pulse in her cunt.
“Fuck.”
If the wolf hears her, it doesn’t give any indication of it. After a long, drawn out moment of the wolf’s weight pressing her down into the ground, though, it lifts, and though she considers shooting up, she thinks better of it.
She…kind of wants to see where this is going.
There’s soft padding footsteps as the wolf moves, soft panting and the tingling sensation of something not touching her skin but so close it might as well be dragging over her hip, around her asscheek.
And then, just as shocking as the first time, there’s a rough, hot tongue sliding between her thighs, lapping up the mess between them. She squeals a little, jerking, when the tip of it flattens over her clit on the way up, but she doesn’t even have time to process it, or recover, because then the tongue is sinking inside her.
She chokes on a bastard of a gasp and a wail, nails digging furrows into the ground as she inhales dust. The wolf’s tongue is long, longer than it has any right to be, but all the same, the beast’s maws are open around her tender parts, teeth occasionally scratching over her ass, her inner thighs. Despite that, despite the threat, the fact that she should – and does – feel like particularly foolish prey, she can’t help the way her hips jerk back to follow its tongue when it pulls out.
There’s no reason for it to understand what she wants, but understand it does; after a few more panting breaths and a low, rumbling growl, that tongue is back and properly fucking her now, in and out. The roughness hurts, of course it does, but the nearly-alien sensation of something so long and wet and entirely prehensile wriggling around inside her is just good enough that she can’t think about the hurt.
In fact, all she can really manage to do is drool into the dirt and clench tight around the push of it, whining at how filthy-wet she is, thighs slick with a mix of her own arousal, the other wolves’ cum, and this wolf’s copious saliva.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she’s gasping it, voice stuttering out in the middle of words and pitching oddly, and she can’t get her arms and hands to work and obey her, but she wants to come. Wants to come on the wolf’s tongue and then find some way to convince it, without Axii, to fuck her like the others, stuff her with its likely-monstrous knot.
Apparently, though, just thinking about that, how its cock will probably break her clean in half, paired with the way the wolf’s tongue is flickering against her cervix and g-spot both, somehow, is enough. She jolts and swears in a language she doesn’t even think she knows and definitely cracks a tooth this time, entire body convulsing through it to the point of ache.
When she finally stops tensing and losing her breath, the wolf backs up, tongue and hot, dangerous mouth disappearing.
Despite her worries, it seems the animal is on her side, because the next thing she feels is the thing’s paws landing not on her shoulders but just past them, caging in her head and her splayed arms, its cock slotting neatly between her thighs with its own weight pulling it down.
…what she does is definitely called a gulp. All the same, she can still feel her heartbeat in her cunt, and she’s warm and almost comfortable, practically blanketed by the massive thing, and well.
She’s taken more than this, and she’s already been fucked open by two knots, and…she wants.
“Go on, take what you want,” she breathes, and she thinks she must be going crazy, talking to this one like it understands her, but…. It seems significantly less unlikely, considering the evidence of how different this one is from the rest of the pack shifting around in the dark.
It growls, low and rumbling and she can feel it, moving through its chest and vibrating up her back. She shudders and cants her hips up higher, digging her sore elbows into the ground to compensate for the awkward balance.
The wolf licks the nape of her neck, and then its shifting again, and its cock is grinding over her cunt for a split second before that tapered tip is spearing her open, and she’s fairly certain the ground shakes when she screams.
It’s so much, so much, too much, and she’s trying to squirm and scramble away, but she can’t get a grip and the wolf is caging her in so effectively, and her cunt is wrapped so tightly around its searing-hot cock that her heartbeat is hammering to match the pulse she can feel in it. But then it sinks deeper, and she can feel the way her belly pushes out, and suddenly all of the fight drains out of her, replaced instead with hyper awareness of the bone-deep ache, how even though it hurts it feels good, better than anything she thinks she’s ever felt.
She thinks she’s speaking, babbling and moaning, but none of it filters through her own ears, everything taken over by the rush of blood and two heartbeats radiating through her pelvis, the pleasure and pain making her blood boil in her veins. The wolf, for its part, is stunningly quiet, or maybe everything is just too loud, but it fucks her slow and steady – nothing like the rapid, desperate pistoning of the others, of any other wolf in rut.
Because of that pace, unhurried and almost hedonistic, she can feel the minute twitching of its knot starting to swell, pressing up against her cunt each time it sinks inside. Before long, she’s panting, harsh and ragged, jerking her hips back against each inward thrust, trying to force the knot into herself, to get what she wants – to be stuffed so full she’ll choke on it, so full and plugged tight she’ll gush when the wolf eventually pulls away.
“Please, please, please, fuck,” she’s begging, once again as if the wolf can understand. And, almost in response, it growls, soft and low, and the next thrust is harder, and the one after that even more so.
That continues until it nearly is fucking her like the others, hard and fast and desperate, making her feel like her belly is dropping out each time she’s empty, but something about that, the speed or the force, it starts to force the knot into her stretched-sore cunt.
It takes fumbling for several minutes, but she manages to get one hand between her legs, using her fingers to pry her labia apart, holding herself open so there’s less friction with each push, and just like that, it works – that knot presses inside her, large enough to nearly blind her with the pressure on her g-spot, and locks.
It only takes the sensation of the wolf rocking, grinding forward, the tip of its buried cock pressing so viciously against her cervix that for an insane moment, she thinks it might force her womb open, and she’s coming so hard the world goes stunningly white, and then pitch black.
– – – – –
She doesn’t know how long it’s been, when she finally swims back to consciousness, groggy and feeling raw just…everywhere – throat, elbows and knees, her cunt and ass and thighs.
But she does know that instead of being alone, or laying with – or maybe even still tied to – a wolf, like she expects, she feels…skin. Pressed to hers, and arms wrapped tight around her waist, and…. A voice.
A very, very familiar voice, murmuring a mix of…assurances and other sweet nonsense into her shoulder, the curve of her neck.
She tries to speak, and finds her voice sticks viciously in her dry throat. She swallows a few times, not enough to really fix the dryness, but enough to unstick her words.
Heart hammering, she licks her lips, and without daring to turn around, murmurs, “...Geralt?”