Ever since that night, you felt a strange sense of curiosity towards witchers. One in particular always held your interest, but you found yourself wanting to know more in general. Of course, witchers were still frightening. Any nonhuman was. But his reactions and treatment of you in the brothel ignited the flame and you thirsted for knowledge. You wanted to know more about him. To partake in what was admittedly a short and basic sex act, and to then deny the option for more? Strange indeed.
There were a few theories as to why. You had dealt with enough men to recognize signs of insecurity. Perhaps his want of the cover of darkness, coupled with his hesitation to take full advantage of what he paid for, were due to some underlying issues? You couldn't quite understand. And you pondered for a month over it, tackling every possible angle you could think of. What was his reasoning? Was it something incapable for a human to understand? Did he simply want to receive oral sex? Was it just another difference between him and a normal man? It didn't matter what conclusion you would come to, for you'd never see him again.
Until you did.
Ban Gleán's alderman put out a contract for what was thought to be a mucknixer, an extremely dangerous variant of drowner. News of the contract was spread throughout town as well as on the road, for the reward was quite lofty. The monster had been rumored to have killed over a score of humans already, and many of the townspeople were starting to succumb to the stress. Every trek to the river was a danger.
And then word passed that a witcher had arrived. He stayed long enough to dispatch of the mucknixer a day ago, easily and without trouble. You asked some of the townspeople as well as the other whores, trying to discern if this was the same witcher who had come last month. Most shrugged and said that they never really paid much attention to how a witcher looked. Monstrous, nonhuman. Like any other creature close enough to be mistaken for a person at first glance but still animalistic. Your brow furrowed at the words. There was a time where you were of a similar opinion towards witchers, if not quite so vitriolic. But now that you had spent that single night with one, not even a full night, you felt as if there was more there than what was spoken by your fellow humans.
It was late in the night when the door to The Midnight Lantern opened, perhaps crossing over into the wee hours of the morning even. You had entertained a client a few hours prior, and were lounging in a bath in order to clean yourself when Madame Detlira burst into the communal bathing room that the whores shared.
"Can you take another patron tonight?" She asked, glancing back down the hallway. "He's asked for you specifically."
"Who do you think? The damned witcher." The other girls looked at you with barely contained shock. They knew you had lain with the witcher, and would often attempt to wheedle out details. You didn't give them an inch, especially considering that none of them knew you had only been able to use your mouth before he withdrew and left. "He's to be in the Burdock suite. Hurry up, he's paid in advance again and I don't want to test his patience." You got up from your bath slowly, attempting to stay composed around the other women. They would think you to be mad, rushing off to the witcher. "Don't bother with your usual garb," the Madame said, tossing a thin dressing robe at you as you passed by. "All men are the same, mutated or no."
The material was sheer and quite gorgeous, falling to just below your knees. The gown had a tie in the front that you knotted as you stalked down the hallway to the Burdock suite. If only you had the time to dry your hair properly, for it was limp and wet from the bath water. You stopped in front of the door to the Burdock suite and ran a few nervous fingers through it, trying to brush it out of your eyes. Hopefully he would find you presentable. Swallowing and taking a deep breath, you turned the knob and opened the door. It was dark in the room, but the light from the hallway cast a soft glow onto the bed where the witcher sat. His gaze snapped up to you when you crossed the threshold, and he made to stand.
"No need, Master Witcher," you smiled, shutting the door behind you and once more plunging the room into darkness. As you made your way towards him, careful to not trip over the carpet, you contemplated whether or not to start talking. Any word said to him was a gamble, just as likely to close him off as to get him going. "I wanted to see you again." Fuck it. You decided to just go for it and tell him the truth. The light of his golden eyes guided you until you stood in front of him, planting a knee on the bed next to the outside of his thigh. You couldn't see his expression, but you imagined that he perhaps was a bit surprised at your admission.
"You did?" He asked. And so you were right.
"Of course I did." Your other knee rose to his opposite side, seating yourself on his lap. "I didn't get to finish my job the last time we saw one another," you whispered, drawing yourself close to his ear. You were careful to stay on his left, the side that wasn't marred by the scarring. It was entirely possible that they were a very sore subject, and you didn't want to cause him any undue stress. "I certainly hope that you will allow me to service you fully this time." Your hands trailed down his chest, feeling the cold metal studs on his jerkin. You pressed yourself further against him and tilted your head to the side, baring the side of your neck. "You can still touch. In fact, I encourage you to."
His arms slowly reached up to frame your hips, fingers sliding back and forth across the fabric of your dressing gown. He leaned into your shoulder and drew in a deep breath, soft exhalations fanning across your skin. You bit your lower lip and anchored your knees, rolling your hips against him. He rumbled lowly in his throat, pushing you back in order to reach for the ties to your gown. You smirked to yourself; this was already progressing faster than last time. He hadn't even made moves to undress you then. And yet here he was, undoing the ribbon and pushing the fabric off of your shoulders. You arched your back as one of his hands moved to cup your left breast. A soft moan escaped your lips when his thumb brushed against your nipple. Your hands grasped at his shoulders, mindful of the studded spikes driven into his pauldrons. You pulled back and attempted to get another glimpse of his golden eyes. But he ducked his head away from your gaze.
Disappointment clouded your thoughts at the order. He would be one of those patrons then? Very well. You tried to not let the displeasure color your expression or actions as you stood and spun on your heel, planting yourself firmly back down on his lap once your back was to him. You began rolling your hips more resolutely, at least taking some solace in the fact that he was being a bit more expressive than last time. His hands wandered more as well. They roamed the soft skin of your stomach, reached up to palm at your breasts, even dipped down occasionally between your legs. It was still so dark that you could barely see a thing, so you tried to focus on the silhouette of a painting on the wall in front of you. It was of burdock flowers, that much you could remember from the last time you had been in this room.
The witcher lifted his hips and scooted back on the mattress, lying down and resting his head on one of the many pillows adorning the head of the bed. He took you with him, grip secure on your waist. You moved up his body, enough to get a grip on the laces to his trousers and his belt buckle. You deftly undid each and reached down his braies in order to fist your hand around his cock. He was harder than when you first had your hands on him, so that was another good sign. Hopefully. A low groan sounded out behind you as his grip tightened against your hips. Definitely a good sign. You sat back down on top of his lap where you were previously, letting the gown fall from your arms and pool at your waist as you began grinding your hips into his body.
"Enjoying the view?" You asked, slipping your hands from the sleeves of the gown and raising them above your head, arching your back.
"I am." You preened at the attention, wanting so desperately to turn around and plant a multitude of kisses down his neck and across his chest. But you stayed where you were, respecting his wishes to stay facing away from him. Even as you rolled your hips and felt the flushed head of his erection gliding across your cunt, you pondered. Why would he want it this way? Wouldn't he want to see a moaning woman, breasts heaving with the force of his thrusts? Your thoughts were cut short by his hands tightening around your waist, stopping your movements. "I..."
"What is it? What do you wish of me?" You ended your question with a breathy moan, trying to play up your reactions to compensate for the lack of other visuals. His breathing paused for a moment before continuing.
"I wish to have you tonight," he replied, hands sliding down from your waist to your thighs, spreading them further. You hummed at his words, reaching down to palm at him. He let out a low growl as you rose up on your thighs and guided him into your wet heat. Ohhh, he was glorious. Never let it be said that a witcher was left wanting in any physical department. You wiggled your hips and swiveled them on a pivot, taking him a few inches deeper. His hands tightened on your legs; they slid up and curled into the creases of your hips, pushing your thighs further apart in order to take him fully.
You groaned as you finally pressed yourself flush against him, leaning forwards and bracing your hands on his thighs. You narrowed your eyes at the clothing still dreadfully covering his undoubtedly gorgeous legs. Why he still insisted on staying almost fully dressed while partaking in a brothel was beyond you. You didn't stay still for very long, raising yourself up before dropping back down. The breath was punched out from your lungs and you did it again; you began to roll your hips at a steadily increasing pace. The witcher moved his hands up your back and traced the divots of your spine as it arched at his touch. His breathing was ragged, and his hips were making little abortive movements below you. Like he wanted to take charge and thrust with abandon, but still held himself back.
A smirk crossed your lips as you quickened the pace to a degree that would certainly be a hassle to keep up. But it was worth it, for this very well might be the most amazing cock that you had ever taken. And the noises he made as you rode him... Absolutely gorgeous. Every rock of your hips stoked a fire inside of you, fanning the flames of pleasure. He wasn't the largest you had ever taken. But he was the most comfortable fit you'd ever had in a long time. His legs parted below you, pushing your thighs to the side and spreading you open further to be fucked upon his cock even more thoroughly. A shuddering moan escaped you as you nearly fell forwards.
One of the witcher's hands snaked around your waist and down your abdomen, nestling two fingers between your folds. A sharp gasp as an inquisitive fingertip found your clit and began circling it. It wasn't often that a patron took special attention to your pleasure as well as his own. The witcher was indeed shaping up to be a fast favorite of your clients. The slight movements of his hips became stronger, more aimed and intense. He was undoubtedly close now; you had ridden enough men to know the tells. You bit down on your lip and leaned forwards a bit further, taking an extra bit of stability in order to truly guide him to orgasm. His heavy breathing synced up with the quickening pace of your movements. Melitele, how you wanted this last time. The wait had been worth it, though. He was very good, guiding you up to the precipice as well as himself.
Your thighs trembled with the strain, muscles aching. His other hand was a hot brand on the side of your hip, steadying you and grounding himself as he began to thrust. You moaned brokenly and leaned even further forwards. Your hand gripped his knee tightly and scrabbled for purchase against the cool metal poleyn. The witcher groaned and his finger pressed against you more firmly, making you curl your toes against the sheets. He stopped your movements completely and took control, fucking up into you even faster than before. You let out a high pitched whine and let him do what he wanted, too overcome with want at this point to do anything else.
His clothing muffled the noise of your bodies colliding, but there was a certain allure to the sound. Your breath came in short gasps as he thrust once, twice, a third time... A low cresting of pleasure washed through you as a low keening sound escaped your throat. Your vision whited out at the edges and you attempted to take in a few deep breaths to steady yourself against the tide. The witcher wasn't far behind you, slamming his hips against yours one final time before letting out a choked groan. He trembled below you as his cock pulsed heavily with his release. You hummed and blinked slowly, entire body relaxing against him. It wasn't often that a patron made it a point to try and get you to orgasm, much less for them to succeed.
This witcher was quite a rare find, indeed.
"I can't imagine it's that hard to find women who'll service this lovely cock. By Melitele's Three Faces, you were amazing. I think I nearly fainted. Anyone willing to lay with a witcher is in for a nice surprise," you said, trying to rile him up again with praises of his endowment. He didn't respond, however, growing almost unnervingly silent behind you. The curiosity finally overwhelmed you, and you made to turn your head back to look at him. You just had to know what he was thinking. A hand shot up and pressed against the back of your head, keeping you facing forwards.
"Don't--... Just, don't." His voice sounded unlike how you had ever heard it before. Still low and gravelly, like grinding rocks. But tinged with a desperation at the edges.
"Alright," you breathed, eyes wide and staring out in front of you. "I'm sorry, Master Witcher. What would you rather me say?" The hand on the back of your head softened, fingers carding through your hair before tracing down your spine.
"Not things like that, please..." He sat up behind you and pulled out with a slick noise. You nearly whimpered at the loss of fullness. "I... I no longer need your services for the night. Please spend it at your leisure, I will not demand your attention any longer." A bolt of recognition flashed through you. Suddenly his actions from before made sense. The lack of light, to obscure your vision. A witcher could see perfectly fine in the dark, so it wasn't for his own sake. Hair falling across a scarred countenance. Hands clenching in the sheets, staying themselves from touching you. Quiet sounds escaping from lips that tried so desperately to hold them back. A quick exit once he got what he wanted, unwilling to stay for the full night that he paid for.
"I'll not trouble you further."
"Extra for the trouble of servicing one such as I."
Your heart dropped into your stomach at the realization. Your hands fell to your sides and you sat back, swallowing. He stood and adjusted his trousers, fastening the laces and preparing himself to leave. Any lingering prejudices that you might've had towards witchers just completely dissipated. How had this poor man been treated, for him to close himself off like this? You furrowed your brow and made a decision just as he moved over to the door.
"Wait!" You called out, stretching a hand towards him before he could leave. He stopped, and you saw one eye look back at you as he turned his head to the side. "I wish you could've returned sooner. I wish that you would stay the entire night, both last time and now. I wish that I hadn't have said those things to you, knowing now how it causes you displeasure." His silhouette was still for a moment, before he nodded. "And I hope that you will deign to return one day."
You saw his head turn away from you, to face the door.
And with that, he left.