An Empress' Needs (Witcher 3)

A/N: An Empress' Needs was a P atreon Poll Winner originally written back in 2020. Posting it up here and now for people to enjoy!

Themes: Dom/Sub, Fucked Silly, Rough Sex

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"As you've no doubt heard, Your Grace, the unrest in the vassal state of Redania is reaching a fever pitch. I would never presume to believe I alone have the answers, but my recommendations are as follows…"

As the pompous court official prattles on, Geralt of Rivia valiantly resists the urge to roll his eyes. However, he doesn't pull himself out of his slouch, even as he leans back against a nearby wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his entire form screaming to anyone with half a brain for combat that he really doesn't want to be here. Not for the first time, Geralt has regrets about agreeing to become Court Witcher.

But then, as always, his eyes flicker over to the woman sat upon the Nilfgaardian Throne, the Empress of not just Nilfgaard but much more… and his regrets vanish quite swiftly as a soft, tender smile finds its way onto his face. Empress Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, better known to her loved ones as just Ciri, sits upon the throne with her back straight and her head high.

She doesn't look bored, she doesn't look inattentive… at least, if you didn't know her like he knew her. As it stands, while Ciri's form is impeccable and her gaze as sharp as ever, Geralt can tell that Ciri is just as exasperated with all of this as he is. She's bored, even if she's doing a great job of not showing it, and she's uncomfortable in that official attire of hers, even if she wears it like the Empress she now is.

When Ciri had come back from the near-end of the world, having beaten whatever it was that was coming for them, her sense of duty and responsibility, as well as her blood father's hounding, resulted in her taking up her position as Heir Apparent of the Nilfgaardian Empire. It wasn't something that pleased Geralt, by any stretch of the imagination… but he'd understood all the same. Duty, responsibility… these were concepts he understood quite well, even if he'd both ran from and towards both all of his life.

In the end, he'd checked in on Ciri once in a while, but knowing what Emhyr thought of him, he'd stayed away most of the time. And then, about a decade after Ciri had been named heir, the White Flame had died, seemingly of natural causes. When Ciri's letter had reached him, begging him to come to her side and help her through everything, Geralt had been more than willing to drop what he'd currently been doing and make his way to her.

It was only after he arrived that he found out Emhyr had committed suicide. It was all very hush hush, the Emperor had made sure of that before he'd done the deed, even sourcing an incredibly rare poison from another part of the world that Geralt had never even seen before, only read of one single time in an old musty tome deep in Kaer Morhen.

Apparently, the Emperor had had his own demons, and in the letter that he'd left to Ciri, the letter she'd then shared with Geralt, he'd confessed many of the things he regretted most in his life. With Ciri now not only a full grown woman, but also a fully trained Empress with a proper, strong Empire to back her up and keep her safe, the White Flame had apparently decided it was time for him to face the afterlife and his punishment for what he'd done… mostly to her mother.

In the end, when Ciri had asked Geralt to become her Court Witcher, he didn't consider 'no' to be an option. He would stand at Ciri's side for the rest of his days, he would-

"Enough."

Blinking, pulled out of his thoughts, Geralt looks to the Empress… or realizes, belatedly, that he was actually staring at her that entire time, gazing up at her as he'd considered everything that had led them to this point.

"I've heard enough for the day. We will discuss further what to do about Redania on the morrow. For now, my Court Witcher has a private report for me."

There's some waffling about at that, some whinging and whining from the others in the throne room, but Ciri silences them all with a sharp gesture and a glare she learned from her birth father.

"Leave."

No one argues further at that, departing from the throne room, leaving Geralt to push off of the wall he'd been leaning on and make his way to stand in front of her. He's a bit confused… what report was she talking about? But then he sees the look on Ciri's face, the rising flush and the way she licks her lips now that they're alone… and he understands.

With a chuckle, Geralt reaches down and unties his britches, even as he saunters forward, his gait confident as ever. Ciri does not rebuke him, even as he ascends the stairs to the dais upon which her throne sits. She does pout a little bit, even biting her lower lip as those gorgeous green eyes of hers zero in on the cock he's pulling free of its confines.

"If it were Emhyr, they would not have argued."

Geralt snorts, and lifts a foot into the air, planting it on one arm of Ciri's throne as he looms over her.

"If it were Emhyr, he would have come to a final decision about Redania BEFORE arranging for a private rendezvous with his lover. Said decision would likely have been quite final indeed… and led to the suffering of many."

Ciri's eyes dart up from the cock hovering inches from her lips to Geralt's face at that, even as he grins down at her. Reaching up, the Empress takes hold of her Court Witcher's member, stroking it quite greedily.

"I don't know what you expect me to do when I look over to find my Court Witcher giving me such smoldering looks. Honestly, I thought you were asking for some alone time with me, in your own way."

Was that what had prompted this? Huh, then it was Geralt's fault… ah well, such was life. Reaching up, careful not to dislodge Ciri's crown from atop her brow, Geralt grasps hold of the bun her hair is in and guides her lips down to his member. Her green eyes remain on his face the entire time, even as she kisses his cockhead… and waits.

"Suck it."

Upon hearing the order, Ciri's eyes sparkle with excitement, her lips curling into a lewd smile as she speaks but two words before taking him into her mouth.

"Yes, sir~"

And then she's sucking his cock while sat upon the throne of Nilfgaard, and Geralt is left to throw his head back, a loud groan leaving his throat as he tightens his grip on the young Empress' hair. This was what form their relationship took these days. This was how it had been since Geralt had raced to be at Ciri's side in the aftermath of her ascension to the throne.

She'd come on to him, that day… and he hadn't stopped her. In all fairness, it was hard to see this vivacious Empress as the surrogate daughter he'd raised. Yes, he understood that they were the same person, yes, Ciri would always be his Ciri… but there was no denying that their relationship had evolved quite magnificently in the years they'd spent apart from one another. The decade in which Ciri had learned to be Empress while Geralt had continued to hunt monsters… anything could have happened to either of them in that time.

In the end, Ciri had needed what only Geralt could provide her. A man who would never seek to overthrow her, but that would give her the structure and domination she needed. Sometimes Geralt wondered if Emhyr had even an inkling of who Ciri would turn to once he died… but in the end, it mattered little.

"Gagkh! Gagkh! Gagkh!"

Geralt doesn't even have to prompt it. Ciri, as always the eager to please young woman, is soon deep-throating his member all on her own. His hand is still holding her by the hair, of course, but he's not the one forcing her to choke on his cock. That's all the Empress, and as she sits there on her throne, drool and saliva flow down her chin and onto her regal garments, making an utter mess of her.

It's a glorious sight to be sure… and it's not long before Geralt feels himself nearing the edge. With a lustful growl, the old Witcher yanks his cock free of Ciri's lips mere moments before he's about to cum, tightening his grip on her hair and holding her head steady, tilting it back as he strokes his length the rest of the way to release. Well aware of what's about to come, the Empress of Nilfgaard happily opens her mouth and lolls out her tongue, just as he finally cums, all over her face and chest.

For a moment, the throne room is filled with the sounds of their breathing as they look at one another, Geralt staring down at Ciri's face, coated in his essence, and Ciri in turn looking back up at him, those emerald eyes of hers as gorgeous as ever, framed in his spunk. Then, they're both moving, eager to escalate things further.

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Ciri groans and moans as Geralt enters her from behind, slamming his entire length into her sopping wet cunt with little fanfare and zero hesitation. The Empress of Nilfgaard is now kneeling upon the cushioned seat of her throne, clutching at the back of the ornate chair, even as her Court Witcher takes her from behind, positively railing into her as he begins to thrust away with wild abandon and no reservation whatsoever.

Not that she wanted him to go slowly anyways. She liked it this way, always had. She liked it rough, she liked being dominated… but unfortunately for a girl such as herself, raised as she'd been with the principles, she'd been taught… she couldn't afford to indulge in her lurid fantasies with anyone but those she could trust implicitly.

Ciri had no remained virginal during her youthful travels. The adventures that had landed her with a title like Lady of Space and Time had not always been the most innocent, to say the least. She was a woman who had faced hardship and danger, but also found love and affection in both men and women in her travels. Unfortunately, more often than not, most only wanted her for her power… or as was the case with the elves, the power her blood could grant them.

Perhaps if Ciri were a lesser woman she would have stayed in Aen Elle and submitted to Eredin's desires after Auberdon's demise. But even if deep down, all Ciri wanted was to give up control and submit… she simply couldn't afford to do so in the vast majority of cases. Not when she was who she was, not when she was WHAT she was.

In the end, Ciri had been raised by Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg. She'd been trained as both a Witcher and a Sorceress, and she'd absorbed her surrogate parents' lessons perhaps a bit too well. Emhyr had spent a lot of the ten years she'd been his heir having to show her how an Empress might do things differently then a Sorceress or Witcher, but at the same time he'd begrudgingly admitted more than once that her previous training was a strong foundation for her eventual reign.

All of this was to say, Ciri was who she was, and in the end, there was only one man who she could possibly trust with her true self. Geralt of Rivia had become her lover and routinely gave her what she needed… a rough, dominating pounding in which he controlled the pace, in which he controlled what they did. She was little more than his toy, or rather that was how she saw herself, even knowing that his love ran so deeply for her that he could never see her as anything less than the most perfect woman in the world.

Still, he gave her what she needed and in turn, Ciri liked to think she gave him pleasure right back. Certainly, as she cries out lustfully and orgasms for the umpteenth time around Geralt's cock, she's quite pleased when he lets out a loud grunt and proceeds to unload inside of her. His second load of white, hot seed goes right into her womb, even though she knows he's sterile and nothing can cum of him spilling his essence in her quim.

All the same, it doesn't stop Ciri from feeling absolutely electrified by Geralt's release, a wide, dopy smile spreading across the Empress' face from ear to ear as she slumps forward into the back of her throne, well aware that she's coated the chair in the cum that Geralt left allover her face, meaning she'll have to clean it herself when all is said and done.

She half-expects that will be what she does next, but when Geralt pulls his messy cock out of her cunt, he doesn't immediately let go of her hips. Instead, he holds her kneeling form steady as she clings to the back of her throne, and Ciri finds herself looking back over her shoulder at her Court Witcher and lover, watching as he slides the tip of his utterly dripping member up betwixt her pale butt cheeks, towards her always-cleaned sphincter.

There's a reason she keeps that place impeccable, and it's exactly for something like this, though Ciri still makes a show of gasping and flushing in faux panic and fear as she bites her lower lip and looks up at Geralt questioningly. He just smirks, easily able to see through her, before pulling a hand back and bringing it down to deliver a stinging smack to her backside.

"An Empress should not ignore matters of court just so she can fuck her Witcher, Ciri. For that… you'll have to be punished."

Ciri shudders at those words, spoken in Geralt's usual gravelly, growling tone. And then he's pushing into her ass from behind, claiming her last orifice, though certainly not for the first time, and the Empress of Nilfgaard, who among other lewd things, is actually a bit of a slut for anal, moans throatily, her lashes fluttering and her eyes near rolling back in her head as she takes her punishment with all the grace and dignity that a monarch is supposed to show.

As Geralt begins to pound into her ass, however, that grace and dignity is soon tossed to the wayside as Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon squeals and shrieks and cries out in ecstasy all over again, taking her Court Witcher's punishment without an ounce of pride in her entire being. She'll put back on that cloak of grace, dignity, and pride when they're done here. For now, she's right where she should be… stuck between her throne and her Witcher, as she's been all her life.

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