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The Royal Barbier

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Geralt of Rivia was a man who, undoubtedly, had seen far more of this world than most could ever hope to. This was in no small part owed to his extraordinary life span that extended multiple times over that of any human. Therefor, it was no surprise that his skin would tell many, so many silent tales of heroic deeds and brutal fights, all edged into his flesh for him to carry around as a reminder how the hardness of this world.

This was closely observed by Caetvenn, groomer at the Nilfgaardian court and most humble servant of his excelleny Emhyr var Emreis. Well, at least that he was supposed to be. But right now, as he was damned to watching from the sidelines, he would have gladly sold out his ruler and the whole entire country on top of it, just to have a taste at the gorgeous specimen of a man in front of him:

Geralt sat in the tin tub, surrounded by three palace maidens that were all fussing and giggling over the chance to groom and fondle him. They splashed warm, soapy water over his strong muscles and ran their slender hands over his glistening skin. And the man seemed to love being the object of their affection, grinning up at them and grazing all three in turns with a glance of his twinkling golden eyes.

Caetvenn was fuming for a number of reasons. First, he cursed his male form, one that was plain enough to be overlooked and so clearly not able to catch the witcher's attention even for a moment. Had he been a maiden young and fair, surely he would also bee allowed to pamper this lovely man and rub him with a soapy sponge. And surely, the man would also look at Caetvenn if only he had ample breasts and as soft smile - but such thoughts were pointless, since he did not truly desire to become female and such a thing was impossible in the first place. He might as well wish for the witcher to mount him on the emperor's throne.

That led Caetvenn to curse himself a second time, this one aimed at his own needy lust. He hadn't been skin to skin with anyone in far too long as such opportunities were rare and even dangerous as he stood quite literally on royal grounds. Yes, he's taken whereever and whenever he's been offered - a stable boy here, a general there and the royal tailor, while busy, had not once been opposed to his affections - but all these lads were not true man, in the way he craved, and not even worth compaing to the one in front of his very eyes by a long shot.

Caetvenn could hardly believe that such a God-like man was right there in front of him, yet the way Geralt completely ignored him in favour of the girls pulled him right back into the present moment. He cast out a third, silent curse, this time at the witcher himself, for not realising the obvious. He was willing to do so much more than anyone else for this man, he'd let him do anything really, just to be engraved into the mind of Geralt the Rivian for all eternity.

The chamber master stepped into the dim room and walked straight towards where Caedvenn was hiding in the shadows of a heavy curtain, watching from the sidelines. He gestured for the maidens to leave the visitor alone and the three of them up and left, at last. Geralt looked over to them with annoyance - at least that meant he hadn't noticed someone watching him intently. The chamber master took a whip at Geralt with one sharp finger.

"Mmh, it must suffice," he said, all dry tone and pointed words.

He turned away at once and Caetvenn knew his moment had come. And oh glory, he was right. The witcher grimaced once more, as if in pain, and stood up from the tub. Water dripped from his nude body, yet not once did his movements hold even a slight hint of shame. His pride made him all the more alluring. And, thought Caedvenn, as he presented the man with a towel while stealing a glance at every part of him, especially his manhood, he most certainly had nothing to be ashamed of.

"Think Emhyr cares if I'm clean," he snarled.

Gods, even his voice was truly erotic. Caedvenn managed to step away without tumbling over his own feet.

"The gentleman will refer to His Emperial Majesty by his full title or not at all," said the chamber master. "The gentleman will be seated on the pergier."

"The what now?" said Geralt.

"In that... ah, chair," sighed the chamber master. Then, "Caetvenn, please shave the gentleman's sideburns to half an inch."

Finally, the main event had come. Geralt took a seat and the chamber master thankfully left to continue his lecturing of the witcher at a later time. It would be rather difficult for him to answer with a blade on his face, after all. He left and the door closed. They were alone together.

"So," began the witcher, "you're Kaedwin? Do Nilfgaardians name their souvenirs after the place they got them?"

A hot surge went through Caedvenn at hearing that deep, rich voice again. There was no one else here so he realised the man was indeed speaking to him - he almost dropped the freshly sharpened blade.

"I- Well, of course not," he stammered.

His hands were shaking, his entire being aimed to touch Geralt in places he wasn't supposed to. He busied himself by applying the shaving cream. And even like this, of course, Geralt was stunning.

"What's that then?" he asked and Caedvenn swallowed before answering.

"In fact, it's cat-when. I was born in the empire, by the Alba," he answered.

"Interesting," said Geralt.

"Tilt your head back, please. And sit still," he replied.

Gods, Caedvenn wanted to slap himself. Why, oh why was he so unattractive, so crass, without meaning to be? No, there was not a chance in the world this little situation would play out like his fantasies. But he could still enjoy what the fates had gifted him with. He dragged the blade over the witcher's skin, exposing a smooth, clean face under his beard. He admired Geralt's defined jaw and fair complexion, lighter than any of the man at court could ever hope to achieve even with powder and whatnot. Like this, he was close enough to see the individual scares framing Geralt's strong chest and watch the lean muscles in his neck and shoulders as he turned his head this way and that. He was no doubt the most beautiful man Caedvenn had ever seen. With that thought in his mind and his heart heavy with longing, he whiped off the last bit of soap from Geralt's face, only to realise the man was looking right at him. Something was unleashed.

"Uhm, I- can I blow you?"

The witcher smiled at him and said, "I thought you'd never asked. Been eyeing me this whole time, havn't you?"

Caedvenn was too stunned to answer as his eyes followed Geralt's hands lower and lower still, down to where his lenght was already pushing up the towel. Oh graces, he already looked huge. Caedvenn sank down on his knees as if to worship a God as Geralt undid the towel from around his waist. He revealed the largest cock Caedvenn had ever seen, let alone tasted, and it made his mouth water. Even after a bath, Geralt's own musky smell was clear beneath the scent of soap. His cock was fully erect and Caedvenn, as he lowered his mouth onto it, felt his young life flash before his eyes.

Geralt tasted the delicious as he licked across the head and he felt amazing as he pulled back the foreskin further and he sounded wonderful as he groaned, all beastial and deep in his chest. Caedvenn hummed too and wrapped his lips around the cock. He mouthed down on one side, all the way into Geralt's curly pubes, then licked up the other side in a long stripe with the flat of his tounge. He swirrled it all around the head and tasted precum, rupped it against the glands, used the very tip to feel the pulsing vain on the underside.

"Yes, like that," sighed Geralt.

Caedvenn felt his heart leap into his throat. Gods, did he want this. He wrapped his lips around that cock and took it slow, deeper and deeper into his mouth, sucking and slurping it in. When he first felt himself choke, he pulled back and began bobbing his head while sucking in earnest. Soon, his face was practically bouncing on the witcher's lap as he used his lips to massage the cock and his tounge to lap at the head. He sucked like this cock was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted, like it was the very life source sustaining him. He was fully hard in his trousers, leaking at the pleasure it brought him to suck Geralt off. He was almost ashamed - almost, but still undid the lacing and pulled himself out. He used his tounge to play with the head again and begin to pump himself, then went back to sucking Geralt in the same rythm.

Until Geralt interrupted him, by gripping two fistfulls of Caedvenn's hair and slamming himself all the way in. His feelings were of no concern to the witcher of course, yet he couldn't help himself but be overwhelmed at the feeling of a cock sliding in and out of his throat. Surprisingly, his body offered no resistance, aroused as he was, and the sliding went easy. He didn't have to do anything, just relax and let the witcher fuck his windpipe. And pump his own cock that twitched every time he felt the head slip so deeply into his throat. He was basically having sex with the witcher using his asophagus. He couldn't breathe, he was choking on his own spit, and it was the most erotic thing he had ever done.

"Ah yes, suck it, AH!" yelled Geralt.

The cock in his throat twitched and throbed violently and his eyes widened when hot cum streamed into him. He swallowed it all, greedy as a starving man. When Geralt's cock was soft enough, he let it slide out of his mouth and looked up at the man. They were both panting and Geralt grinned at him. He grinned back.

"I-" began Caedvinn, in a weak and worn out voice.

Just then, the door in the other room that lead to the hallway opened. They both scrambeled to assume their destined positions. In stepped not the chamber master but general Voorhis who promptly began interrogating Geralt. He was then followed by the chamber master who all but ordered Geralt to pick out suitable clothing while lecturing him further on court etiquette. All the while, Caedvenn was still peeking through the curtains to have another look at Geralt's handsome face. He pulled his cock back out and stroked himself as he watched the man get dressed. Just when the last button was closed up and it seemed to be the last of Geralt, the man turned around, somehow knowing where Caedvenn was hiding and- Gods, he winked at him!

Caedvenn came right then and there with a silent scream, mouth open as if waiting to have it filled with the witcher's cock once more. Witch a violent shudder seizing him, he spilled all over his hand and watched as a few droblets of cum hit the floor.

"And they say, clothes do not make the man," noted the chamber master with great satisfaction. "Does the outfit satisfy the gentleman?"

"A studded doublet and a sword on my back - that's what would satisfy me," answered the witcher.

Now dressed and proper, his usual gruff demeanor had returned. As he left the room, followed by the still talking chamber master, Caedvenn sank down on the floor and looked at his soiled hand. He had really just pleasured Geralt of Rivia. It wasn't a dream, all of that had actually happened. That wonderful cock had entered his throat deeper than should even be possible and he'd just let it happen. Good Gods.

Perhaps fate was smiling down on him after all.