Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

Philippa's Grace	By : ArizonaIceT Category: +S through Z > Witcher 3: Wild Hunt Views: 8358 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Witcher, this is purely for fun, and not profit

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Philippa Eilhart.

One of the most powerful sorceresses of an age. Advisor of kings. Shadow ruler of Redania for years. Leader of the Lodge of Sorceresses That’s who she was.

Was.

She had everything planned out so well. Saskia, the charismatic young leader, on the surface, was the perfect face for the Lodge and their agenda. An independent state, one truly ruled by sorceresses and magic. One truly ruled by her. It would’ve all been so perfect. With Saskia under her spell as the head of state, Phillipa would’ve ruled better than any of those northern kings, and kept the Nilfgaardians at bay. She would’ve been the protector, and overseer, of the entire North, but that was not to be. Forces that she could not foresee. Cynthia. Her leashed sorceress. Her lover. The woman she thought was keeping her comfort as she planned the most important moment of her life, was none other than a spy for the Nilfgaardians. Philippa was always a slave to her own lust. A flaw that turned out to be catastrophic.

Then there was Triss. She was captured by the Nilfgaardians, in no small part to Cynthia, and had apparently told them everything she knew: The Lodge. Their involvement in the deaths of kings Vizimir and Demavend. Phillipa didn’t blame her however. She knew the Nilfgaardians could be cruel, and knew they spared her no mercy getting the information out of her.

Then there was Radovid.

Her roles, her achievements, her title, all gone in an instant. Dashed and taken away from her. 380 years alive, decades of influence of kings and countries, all unraveled and undone in the span of one event. Loc Muinne. What an absolute disaster. Pure and simple. Radovid, a boy not of 18 years, had captured her. Imprisoned her and tortured her. A boy she’s known his whole life. She didn’t foresee the animosity he had for her. The hatred. In that sense, she was truly blind.

Her eyes.

In a fit of rage that would soon show to be his normality, the king of Redania gouged out her eyes. The pain was indescribable. The darkness was worse. For the first time ever, she felt truly, TRULY helpless. Left to rot in a crumbling cell, wounds festering in the dust and dirt.

That cell in that dead city would’ve likely been her grave, if it weren’t for The Witcher who seemed to never been able to keep his white head out of other’s affairs. Though she supposed she should’ve been thankful for it this time. Geralt led her out of the dungeons of Loc Muinne and saved her life. She knew it was not out of the sheer kindness of her heart; he NEEDED her alive to free Saskia, but the result was all the same. She was freed from her confines, and was able to make her escape from Loc Muinne and Radovid’s purge. So many mages and sorceress, her peers died that day.
Her skill as a polymorph also saved her. She transformed into her owl form and flew as far and fast as she could. She likely flew for 5 hours before finally passing out. When she awoke, she was in a field somewhere. She didn’t know where, or how long she was out, but for the moment she was seemingly safe, or at least not at the threat of the wrath of Radovid. It took several more hours before Philippa could will a spell that could simulate her eyesight. It was tricky magic, but possible. Phillipa had read about a magical cult that removed their eyes in ceremony, but still functioned as if all was normal . When she finally succeeded, she was able to get her bearings. She took note of her dire state. Her skin was pale, even paler than her usual complexion; blood loss and exhaustion. She needed to get somewhere safe and secure, quickly.

She summoned a portal using the last of her energy. She ran the risk of cutting herself in half if she didn’t maintain the energy to keep the portal active. She shuffled through the portal, coming out the other end in a small house. Philippa was no fool. While she had not expected things to go wrong so quickly, she did always know that it was a possibility that her ambitions would lead to her safety being compromised. A safe house; a small house in southern Redania. She never thought she’d have to use it, but she was glad she had it. She felt a wave of relief wash over as the portal closed behind her; and then a wave of darkness as she collapsed on the cold stone floor, blacking out once again.
____________________________________________________________________________

Phillipa awoke sometime later in blistering pain. She managed to get to her feet, and stumble to the lab she had in her safe house. She moved toward a cabinet and threw open its doors. It had a large variety of potions in stock. She rifled around until she found a dark orange potion in a slim glass bottle. She brought it to her lips and threw her head back, downing it’s contents in one swallow. It didn’t taste very good; it was bitter and thick, but the intended effects were felt immediately. The pain dulled, and the bleeding around her eyes slowed to a stop. She then drank a blood replenishing potion, to get her strength back, and to avoid blacking out again. She ate, cleaned herself, and made sure her surroundings were still secure. Nobody knew about the house; shenhad even wiped the minds of the men who built it for her. When she decided all was clear, she sat down, and placed her head in her hands.

‘So what now?’ She thought.

What now indeed?

She couldn’t stay at this safehouse. Despite it’s security, it was too close to Novigrad, and no doubt Radovid would have soldiers and mercenaries swarming the area looking for her. She could only imagine what he was doing to the magic users who currently resided there.
Once she regained her strength, she’d have to move quickly.

Then of course, there was the issue of her eyes.

She had been maimed, made unwhole. Though she found a temporary solution for her sight, she could feel her magical core diminished. A mage’s eyes were as integral to magic as their hands. Philippa summoned a piece of fabric, and wrapped it around her head, covering her wounds. She enchanted it to stay in place unless she was the one to touch it. Regenerating one’s body parts was almost completely unheard of. Curing blindness, and reattaching limbs after a short period of time, sure, those were possible at high levels of magic. But to regrow body parts, well it was nearly impossible.

Nearly.

Though she loathed to admit it, the only mage to ever successfully do it was the dark mage, Viglefortz. She had hoped to never have to think of that horrible man again after his death; he had caused havoc all throughout the continent for years, but she couldn’t deny that he was likely the most powerful mage in hundreds of years, despite his young age. The madman had successfully regrown his lost eye, and while it wasn’t perfect, it showed that the magic was in fact theoretically possible. The process was extremely complicated: it required the user to cultivate the tissue on precious, rare stones. It was a long, difficult, and EXPENSIVE process, but it was the only known way. It would take time, which was something Philippa didn’t have much of.
____________________________________________________________________________

“Is this the place?”

“This is where we were told to go, so it must be.”

Philippa shot up from her bed. Someone was in her house.

Philippa managed to actually get some sleep after hours of aching and contemplating her next move. It wasn’t very restful sleep, but it was needed. But seeing as her life had turned to shit in the recent days, she couldn’t even enjoy that. Cautiously, She got out of bed, and moved toward the wall she heard the voices coming from.

“There’s a lab here. Some magic user was here, recently.” Said one voice.

“Do you know what this means” She heard the other voice say excitedly. “If we’re the ones who catch Philippa bitch-hart, we’ll be legends. The King would give us anything we wanted!”

Shit. Witch Hunters. How had they found her so fast. No one knew of this place. Only she-

Wait.

Cynthia.

It had been such a small comment, afterall Philippa had various homes all over the continent, she told Cynthia about a small villa she had in the south, she didn’t even give any specifics, just someplace they could go for holiday once the peace talks were over. She supposed Cynthia’s quick mind was what attracted Philippa to her in the first place.

Her safehouse was compromised, and she needed to get out of there. She had to summon a portal, quickly. Problem was, summoning portals was not a quiet process, especially when one had to concentrate to transport to a specific location.

“Quick, let’s search all the rooms and see if anyone’s still here.”

She had to hurry. Silently, Philippa said the spell and stretched her hands out. Slowly, a bright orange portal began to open in front of her. She was still quite weak, so it was taking her longer than usual.

“Did you hear that?”

“I think it came from that room. Look, there’s a glow!”

Time was up. Philippa concentrated and grew the portal. Just as the portal grew large enough to fit a person, her bedroom door was kicked open.

“She’s in here! We got her!” Yelled the witch hunter, as he lunged for Philippa. She dove through the portal, but not before the witch hunter grabbed onto one of her signature pigtails.

“Let go!” She screamed, closing the portal behind her. The portal snapped out of existence, dropping Philippa in a grassy field, taking the witch hunter’s arm with her. She landed on her back, and the arm landed on her chest. She screamed, and pushed the severed arm away from her. She stood quickly and looked around. She had no idea where she was. She cast a quick location spell. As it turned out, she was somewhere in Temaria. That was good. Farther from Redania, the safer she was. She transformed into her owl form so she could get some altitude and get some perspective on the area she was in. She saw a small village to the south, and decided that’s where she was headed next. She flew right to the edge of town, before descending. She landed in a tree and watched the goings on in the village. Nothing spectacular. Just people going about their country business. It was perfect.

She needed a place to lay low properly, and it was apparent that any of her known properties were likely not an option. This small, unspectacular village was the perfect place to go unseen while she attempted to heal herself. However, Philippa’s face wasn’t exactly unknown, she was known throughout the Northern Kingdoms, Luckily, she had something up her sleeve that no one knew of. As a polymorph, Philippa was known for her owl form; Polymorphy was so rare and difficult in mages, that it was assumed that those who could achieve it, only had one form, and for most of history, that assumption would be correct, but Philippa was ever ambitious. It may have taken a few decades, but she had managed to achieve a second polymorphic form, one that was human no less.

Tomira, she called her.

Philippa had managed to transform into this form sometime in the late 12th century. She had wanted something to be antithetical to her appearance, so she rounded her face, disappeared her freckles, and shifted the mass of her naturally large breasts to her ass and hips. No one would suspect that this woman could possibly be Philippa Eilhart, and that was the point. She used the form for….clandestine activities. It was extremely useful when Philippa got an urge, and found herself slipping to the local whorehouses to see a lady of the night. It was especially useful to use during her “relationship” with the spymaster Dijsktra, where she could sneak off and lay with someone she could actually stomach. Beyond that, she used it sparingly, but now, she didn’t have much choice. She took the form of Tomira and made her way to the village center. She entered the inn, and walked to the inkeep. All eyes were on her. She was easily the most attractive woman that they had seen in a long time.

The innkeeper, and older woman, looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“H-”

“Not from round’ here, are you?” The inkeep interrupted.

‘God, am I that obvious?’

“How can you tell?” Philppa asked, putting on a smile. The inkeep just shrugged.

“Well you just don’t seem the type to be from the countryside.”

“You’re right. I just moved to the area. Looking for a new lease on life.”

“Oh! Well if that’s the case, welcome to White Orchard.”

Philippa talked to the inkeep for a bit, gathering what information she could about the area. After that, she went out and explored, getting the lay of the land. She needed a place to stay, and she didn’t have any money for the in; she walked around until she found an abandoned looking hut right outside the village. Looked as if no one had been there in years. It was hardly a villa, but beggars couldn’t be choosers at the moment.

This would only be temporary she thought. She’d begin her work cultivating her eyes, and contact members of the Lodge who got away. They’d help her. This was all just temporary.

That was 6 months ago.

Philippa had been in White Orchard for 6 months. She had attempted to make contact with the remaining Lodge members with no success. First she attempted Margarita Laux-Antille, who she considered her closest confidant in the group. When she got no response, she tried Sile, who was one Philippa considered to be second only to her when it came to having a political mind. No response. Philippa was getting desperate now, desperate enough to try for Kiera Metz. She knew that Kiera barely cared about the agenda of the Lodge, she saw it as a side project, one that she didn’t take too seriously, but Philippa was running out of options. Nothing. Philippa nearly reached out to Triss, but even in her desperate state, she had some dignity left; as far as she was concerned, Triss had lost the faith of the Lodge. Honestly, Philippa wasn’t even sure if she made it out of Loc Muinne alive.

There was also the process of cultivating her eyes. Suffice it to say, White Orchard didn’t have an abundance of precious stones to use for the ritual, and she couldn’t risk leaving her safe haven, so she’d have to rely on adventures and prospector to find them for her, and that was something that required money. The innkeeper had offered her a job to help at the inn, but Philippa would be damned if she did manual labor for a bunch of drunkards who’d like nothing more than to bend her over one of the tables. She noticed that the village didn’t have a proper herbalist, and figured she could fill that market. She wasn't a particularly skilled herbalist, the prospect of rooting around in the dirt for ingredients didn’t entice her, but what she did know was more advanced than any of the locals were used to. She saved and scraped what she could.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. 6 months had passed, and finally, she felt as if she could move forward with her plans. Finally.

And then the Nilfgaardians attacked.

Ever the expansionists, Nilfgaard had been making moves through the north since the winter of 1271 and 1272. They were decimating the North, but Philippa never thought they’d be interested in such a small village like White Orchard, but like many other things recently, she miscalculated.

The Battle of White Orchard came out of nowhere. One day everything was fine and monotonous, the other, hundreds of soldiers of Nilfgaard and Temaria descended upon the small village. The battle was a flash of fire, quick and violent. Philippa thought about running again, but she had nowhere to go. She transformed into her owl form and waited out the fighting. She heard screams and cries all through the night. By morning, the cries had turned to groans of the mortally wounded. She flew above the village to see what had happened. The Nilfgaardians had won, razing much of the area surrounding the village to the ground. In a way, the Nilfgaard victory was a small blessing for Philippa. While she held no love for the invaders, their presence there added another layer of security. No northern soldiers or witch hunters would try and make it past them to look for her. But it was a double edged sword; movement in the area was heavily restricted. Very few outsiders were coming in, and it was hard to get out without being stopped and questioned. Once again, Philippa was stuck with no plan forward.
_________________________________________________________________________

Finally, a breakthrough.

With no way of getting the precious gems she needed, Philippa began to think of any possible alternatives to bring back her eyes. She wracked her mind for days, thinking of how to circumvent the lack of the gems. Suddenly, she remembered an essay by an alchemist she read 40 or so years ago.

As it turned out, the gems physically weren't what was needed, but the genetic and chemical makeup of them. If one was a skilled enough alchemist, could create a solution that mirrored the properties of the gems on a molecular level. Meaning she could in time, independently regrow her eyes.

Finally a step forward.
_________________________________________________________________________

‘Really?! A Griffin?’

It was always something, wasn’t it. Not only was her solution not coming along as quickly as she hopped, now she had to deal with a fucking Griffin flying around the area. The beast already attacked a poor girl, Lena. Philippa did what she could for her, but the girl was not long for this world.

Philippa wanted to get out of White Orchard soon. She needed to, she felt like she was losing her mind. Lena suddenly let out a croak of pain.

‘Girl must be in pain. Let me get her something to shut her up.’

Philippa rifles through her work station when she hears the door open.

‘Ugh. Must be another villager roughed up by the Nilfgaardians. Don’t they know how to kno-’

“Bad time?”

Wait. That voice. She knew that voice.

Philippa stood up straight and turned around quickly, and she was looking at none other than Geralt of Rivia. He stood there looking at her, face slightly confused.
‘Oh God, he’s here to kill me isn’t her? To turn me into Radovid? How did he track me down? I was so careful, I was so-’

“Ahem, I said is this a bad time?” Geralt asked again, raising an eyebrow. He wasn’t attacking her. He didn’t even look upset at her.

It suddenly dawned on Philippa that she was still in her Tomira form, and that by some wild coincidence of the universe, Geralt wasn’t there to see Philippa Eilhart, he was there to see Tomira. Philippa sometimes forgot what form she was in. She found herself switching back and forth so often these days.

“Not at all.” She said, recovering her composure. “Could you hand me the beggartick. It’s-”

Geralt cut her off by handing her the red plant.

Geralt explained that he was hunting the Griffin, and he needed buckthorn.

‘Of course. The Witcher is witchering. Let me get him what he needs so he’ll get out of here.’ She thought. But the Witcher didn’t seem to be in any big rush to leave. Philippa took note, at how the Witcher’s eyes roamed over her form, ever so subtly. Other men wouldn’t be as subtle with their stares, but the Witcher had the good grace to at least try to be covert. A small smile graced the sorceresses’ disguised face.

‘Well now, that’s interesting.’
_________________________________________________________________________

Unsurprisingly, the Witcher slayed the Griffin. Good, Philippa thought. One less thing she would have to worry about trying to kill her. Lena’s family had come and taken the girl. Wasn’t much Philippa could do for her, so no point in having her there taking up what little space she had. It was a dreadful affair, lots of crying and sobbing, nothing Philippa wanted to deal with.

For the first time in a while Philippa had some time to herself, where she wasn’t called upon by the villagers and their petty needs. She made herself a nice cup of tea, and tried to relax, transforming to her natural appearance.

Ping

Her proximity ward.

Philippa felt it was necessary to create one, since she didn’t want any silent footed Witcher’s catching her by surprise. Begrudgingly, Philippa took the form of Tomira again.

“Come in!” she yelled, as she knew the Witcher was approaching. Geralt walked into her hut, smiling slightly as he saw her. Philippa felt his eyes on her body once again, and in all honesty, she didn’t mind them being there.
“Well, well if it isn’t the intrepid Griffin slayer.” She said through a slight smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Came for that interesting conversation. Mind if I sit?”
“Not at all.”
_________________________________________________________________________
Phillipa found herself playing host to the white haired Witcher for several hours. Surprisingly, she found herself not minding it. Believe it or not, Philippa did not dislike Geralt, not really. Sure, she found him to be painfully small minded, and he has worked against her efforts at times, but he also was central to ridding the world of Vilgefortz, and did help aid her efforts to install Saskia as monarch, even if those efforts ultimately failed. Plus, Geralt, roughness aside, was a worldly man. He traveled all over the continent, and lived many years. Philippa barely spoke to the villagers of White Orchard. What could they possibly talk about, the weather? How well the fruit harvest came in? Geralt reminded her of what her life was just a few months ago. It was…..pleasant.

But more importantly, speaking to Geralt allowed for her to gather some information. Philippa had been blind (no pun intended) and deaf in White Orchard. Geralt was an opportunity to figure out what was happening behind the scenes of everything. For starters, Yennefer was allegedly in Vizima. It had been years since Philippa saw Yennefer last. In fact, it had been years since anyone had seen her, outside of scattered and vague reports. There were rumors that she was dead. What was the raven Sorceress suddenly doing back, and so close no less. She would have to investigate somehow.

Philippa was pulled from her thought by Geralt standing. “Bout’ time I head back to the inn. Thank you for your hospitality.” He said politely.

“Think nothing of it. Your is the most interesting thing to happen in ages that didn’t include someone dying horribly.” She said honestly. “Come see me again maybe?”

Philippa wanted to see if she could squeeze any more useful information out of the witcher before he left for Vizima. Heaven knew when she’d come across something like this again. But also, on a baser level, she just wanted to see him again. Philippa was not what anyone would describe as sentimental, but 6 months of near isolation would make anyone lonely.
“I’m sure I can make the time." He said.

‘Got ya’ She thought
_________________________________________________________________________

Well, this was an interesting development. Philippa had been working on her concoction for 12 hours straight, she didn’t even sleep. The formula was meant to mirror the makeup of precious gemstones, but something strange was happening. Based on what she remembered from the text she read, the mixture should be a dull blue.

But her mixture was light blue...and glowing. Philippa had an excellent memory, but this process was much more difficult without the actual tome in hand. She’d have to run some more tests later. This wasn’t something she could mess up, it could prove harmful to her.

“What are you brewing there?” Came Geralt’s voice from behind her. He startled her, nearly making her knock over her solution. She had thought she heard the proximity ward go off, but she was so invested in her work, that she didn’t notice. All the same, she was glad he was there.

“Witcher! You scared me. These are much too tumultuous of times for you to be sneaking up on poor young women living alone.” She chided.

“My apologies. Figured you wouldn’t mind me coming in without knocking. Though you didn’t answer my question.” He responded, trying to get a better look at her cauldron.

“Just a small experiment I’m working on.” She stated. “Something I’ve been working on for a while

“Having any luck?”

‘I haven't had LUCK in months’ She thought woefully.

“No, not really,” She admitted. “But I have nothing but time on my hands to perfect it.”

“What is it supposed to do?” He asked. Philippa frowned slightly. Geralt always did have a problem with sticking his nose in other people’s business.

“Is there something you need Geralt?”

Sorry, didn’t mean to interrogate you.” He reassured her. “Just that me and my companion are likely leaving tomorrow.”

“And you felt the need to come see me, the humble little herbalist. I’m honored.” She said, stepping toward Geralt. She placed a light hand on his chest. “Though I doubt you just want to bid me farewell.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Come now Witcher. Coy doesn’t suit you well.” She drawled, as she ran her hand in circles over his chest. “You think I didn’t notice, you looking at me? You basically were staring holes in my ass.”

Normally, Philippa wouldn’t give the Witcher a second glance. She was a very sought after woman who had free reign to any person would have wanted. But these weren’t normal circumstances. She wasn’t in her castle in Montecalvo, she was in a small hut in the middle of nowhere. Her options in partners weren’t exactly vast. Sure there were some beautiful girls, but she doubted this rural area was enlightened enough not to frown on same sex relationships, too much risk for trouble. And she would be damned if her first return to men in years, would be with some dirty footed yokel. Geralt was not an ugly man, in fact he was strikingly handsome, aside from the scar on his face, but even that had its own grizzled charm to it. Maybe she was just horny and desperate. Regardless, he’d have to do. Afterall he somehow managed to get in the beds of Yennefer, Trisss, AND the late Lytta Neyd, so he had to be doing something right.

Before she knew it, their lips crashed together, tongues diving into each other’s mouths. His hands naturally slid down to grab at her plump ass.

‘Hm, simple, just like all men.’ She thought wickedly ‘I’ll have him eating out the palm of my hand.’

(Several minutes later…..)

“Uhgn….Uhgn….Uhhhgn….UHHGN….” Philippa moaned as Geralt haad her bent over at the waist, and rammed into her savagely.

This was not how she expected this to go.

For starters, she did not expect him to pull a 12 inch bitchbreaker out of his pants, though the more she thought about it, it would explain his popularity with women. He was reaching places in her that haven't been touched in so long. Philippa couldn’t remember the last time a man brought her this much pleasure? Perhaps in the 10th century when she slutted around the coastline for a few years, fucking any man she saw fit.; she was still young and reckless back then.

Geralt gave Philippa’s as a hard *SMACK* causing the sorceress to moan wantonly.

“NYUUH! Again!” She practically begged.

‘Look at me, begging to have my ass slapped by a vagrant. It’s so low. So dirty’ She thought, mind in a haze as he rained down slaps to her fat ass. Her cunt dripped and gushed at the treatment. It certainly had been a long time, because Philippa already felt the familiar build up of her peak.

She felt Geralt snake his hand in her long hair, and give it a hard tug, and that was all she needed to send her over the edge.

“OhGodsOhGodsohyesohyes…..UNGHHH!!” She babbled as she came hard, legs shaking, cunt spasming. She was in heaven, after an extended period of being in hell.

She came down from her orgasm, breathing heavily. “Oh fuck me….I needed that.” She panted.

“What in the fuck?” Geralt suddenly exclaimed.

“Geralt? Is something the ma-” She began, before he suddenly yanked her head back by her hair, and brought his other hand to wrap around her throat.

“Geralt?! What are you-”

“Philippa-” He said, voice dripping with venom.

Phillpa’s mouth dropped open, at a loss for word. Her hands went to her face and felt around, and that’s when she realized she had inadvertently switched back to her true form during her orgasm. Geralt was staring down at her in silent fury, and tightening around her throat, finger gripping her hair like a vice, and cock still buried in her. Philippa swallowed, trying to think of a way out of this.

“Geralt….would you believe me if I said I had a good explanation for this.” She tried carefully. All that did was elicit a growl from him, and cause his hand to squeeze ever so harder around her neck, causing her to choke a little.

“Believe you? Don’t make me laugh.” He said bitterly “What is this, is this some sort of game? Are you after Yennefer?”

Philippa weighed her options. She was in a precarious position. She couldn’t very well go anywhere with his grip on her hand and throat, and cock still hilted in her. And something told her that he wouldn’t believe the, admittedly unbelievable, truth that her being there was a complete coincidence. When your back is against the wall, magic is sometimes the only way out.

“jesteś mój” She yells suddenly. Before The Witcher can react, a yellow mist envelopes him, and he goes still. His typically bright yellow eyes go dull, and his face slackens.

jesteś mój - ‘you’re mine’: an enchantment of the mind. Short term hypnotism spell. Lasts only a few hours, and useful to get out a spot of trouble in a hurry. Geralt was under her control. Or so she thought.

“Unhand me.” She commanded. Geralt didn’t move. “I said UNHAND-”

“I heard you the first time.” He said.

If Philippa had eyes, they would be as big as saucers. jesteś mój was a powerful spell. How could he have resisted it so easily?

Unbeknownst to her, Geralt had built up an immunity to mind altering spells over the years. Triss and Yennefer had been very liberal casting them upon him, to the point where he began to train his body and mind to resist the effects of them. Philippa’s little spell did nothing beyond annoying him further.

“W-wait” She tried. “We can talk about this. It’s not what you think. I’m”

“-fucked” He finished for her, before pulling his hips back, and driving them forward as hard as he could.

The sheer force of his thrust knocked the air out of her, causing her to gasp loudly. He began thrusting his hips, setting a hard, angry rhythm. Philippa’s hands went up to his forearm slapping and clawing at him.

“Stop….UNGH…..STOP….UNGH..UNGH...I COMMAND YOU TO STOP” She yelled as he rammed into her. Her haughty cries did nothing beside spur him to fuck her even harder out of spite.

He fucked her like that for a while, using her hair and the hand under her chin as levers to pull her back into him as he fucked forward. Philippa stopped struggling after a while, resigning to holding onto his forearm for dear life as her body betrayed her, and gushed around his member.

‘Goddman Witcher stamina. Doesn’t he ever get tired?’

Feeling her getting a little too complacent, Geralt decided to taunt her a bit.

“You know, I see why you gave yourself a nice ass as Tomira. Your real one isn’t anything to write home about.”

Almost as to defy his words, Philippa found herself thrusting back against him, meeting his thrusts.

‘My ass is perfect the way it is!’ She thought in indignation.

Geralt released the hold on her throat and hair without as much as slowing his fucking, and slid his hands down to cup her massive tits in his hands.

“These however….well they’re certainly better than your personality.”

Geralt pinched and teased her nipples over her bodice, causing Philippa to moan out. Her breast had always been sensitive. He gave them a sudden hard tug, causing her to gasp out in pain, and a bit of pleasure.

“Not so hard you brute!” She shot at him. Geralt just grunted in response.

“In fact-”

Geralt suddenly pulled out of Philippa, causing her to fall to her knees. Gripping the top of her hair, Geralt dragged her to the center of the room, and threw her on her back. He grabbed the collar of her bodice, and pulled, tearing it clear off of her, leaving her naked as the day she was born.

“Let's put those tits to some good use.” He growled, as he moved to straddle her chest. He let his cock fall between the cleavage of her breast. “Press them together.” he demanded.

Philippa looked at him with a defiant sneer, but obeyed nonetheless. She pressed her hands against the side of her breasts, wrapping them around his cock like two fleshy pillows. The Witcher began to rock his hips, fucking her tits, using them to essentially masturbate with. His cock slid through the top of her bust, hitting her nose every time he thrust his hips forwards, smearing his precum all over her pretty features.

“Is this what gets you off, you big cocked basterd?” Philippa panted as he continued to fuck her tits.

“I’m certainly trying to.” He responded. “You talking certainly doesn’t help.”

Philippa gritted her teeth at him as he continued to use her breasts for his own pleasure. She began to work her tits up and down along with his thrusts, and stuck out her tongue, allowing his cockhead to slip into her mouth, as she lavished his glands.

Fucked up as it was, Philippa found her body was responding to his rough, degrading treatment. She hated herself for it. She was used to being incontrol. She was MEANT to be incontrol, and here she was, tonguing his cock as he fucked her tits on the dirty floor of her hut.

With a sudden surge of strength, Philippa grabbed Geralt by his hips and rolled. Geralt was caught off guard, and thrown onto his back. Quickly, Philippa mounted him, placing her hands on his shoulders, and using her magic to keep him pinned to the ground.

“Look like the tables have turned, Withcer.” She said, a smile creeping on her face. Before he could respond, Philippa lined her cunt up with her cock, and sat, impaling herself onto him.

“Oh fuuuuuck…” She moaned as she shuddered around him. She began to bounce herself on his cock. “This is more like it, you in your proper place.” She said as she rode him like a horse. Geralt said nothing as he scowled at her, and watched her tits bounce in front of him. Philippa leaned forward, enough that her breasts dangled right in front of his face. Getting the meaning of the move, Geralt craned his neck upwards, and took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking on them hard.

“Good boy” She cooed. Geralt growled, and bit down on her nipple. Philippa yelped, and reeled back taking her hands off of his shoulders briefly . Geralt took the opportunity to grab her hands, and fold them behind her back. He then began to thrust upward rapidly, fucking her from below. She screamed and moaned as he fucked her hard. The sheer intensity and velocity of their fucking was causing the furniture to shake. Ingredients rolled off of shelves and fell off racks, but neither of them could care at this point; their unadulterated hate fuck was the only thing on either of their minds.

“Geralt….Geralt..Geralt-” Philippa moaned as he continued to bounce on his cock. She threw her head back in pleasure. When she did, she caught a glimpse of her cauldron sliding off of the table, right above Geralt.

“Geralt!” She yelled, but it was too late. The cauldron tipped over, dumping it’s contents directly onto his face. He spluttered, releasing his hold on Philippa, who immediately dismounted him. He sat up quickly in a coughing fit. Concerned more about her potion than Geralt’s well being, she pushed him out the way to assess the damage.

It was ruined. All ruined. Months of work, gone in an instant.

“Geralt!” She said angrily. “What have you done? Do you realize what you’ve done?!”

She got no response. How dare he ignore her.

She turned around to face him, ready to hex his balls off. She was shocked to see Geralt standing, now completely naked.

‘When the devil did he get undressed?’

Geralt was….glowing. Dull, but there. His yellow cat-like eyes were dilated, and his nostrils were flaring.

And his cock….Philippa could hardly believe it, but it looked as if his cock got even bigger, engorged and pulsating.

“Geralt..”She said nervously.

Suddenly, he lunged at her, grabbing her. This was different from before. She tried to struggle, but he was too strong and too fast. He maneuvered and manhandled her, until he slipped his arms under her knees, and locked them behind her head in a full nelson. He stood, pulling her clear off the ground.

“W-what are you doing?! Put me down this instant!” She tried feebly, face turning red from the degrading position he folded her into. Without a word, Geralt sank her onto his cock, and began to savagely fuck her.

Philippa let out a scream as she immediately came from being penetrated. This wasn’t normal. Her solution did something to him. He fucked her like a wild animal, using his hold on her in place as he ravaged her cunt.

“OhGodOhGodGeraltPLEASE...FUCK!!!!!” She moaned as she squirted around him. It was all too much for her, the intensity, the feeling shooting through her whole body. She went limp in his arms; if Geralt noticed, he didn’t care, continuing to thrust harshly into her dripping cunt.

His balls tightened, and with a roar, he came into her, flooding her cunt, filling her womb completely in just one massive shot. His other shots flooded out of her, dripping to the ground. Philippa’s mouth hung open in an ‘O’ shape, as a third and final orgams ripped through her. Her whole body shook and spasmed in his strong arms. Her mind went blank, as she passed out. Geralt released his hands, allowing Philippa to tumble to the ground. He stood there for a minute, breathing heavily, before following suit, and collapsing to the floor, unconscious.
____________________________________________________________________________

Geralt awoke a while later, head killing him.

“Hmm you’re awake.”

Geralt turned his head and saw Philippa sitting in front of him, staring at him with her cloth covered eyes.

He looked around, confused, before the memories came flooding back to him. All of them. The room smelled like sex and was in complete disaray. His dick was still wet from her juices, and she didn’t have a super happy look on her face either.

“Erm, how long have you been awake?” He asked suddenly sheepish. She arched an eyebrow at him.

“Oh not long. Long enough to contemplate turning you into a frog, but not long enough to go through with it.” She said tightly. He stood up, covering his privates. “Oh I think we’re well past the point of shyness, wouldn’t you say?”

Geralt frowned and rubbed the back of his neck, “Look, sorry about...that. It’s not like...I didn’t mean to lose control like that.” He said awkwardly. “But what the hell are you doing here?”

“Do you want the long or the short version?” She asked.

“Short” He answered.

“I needed a safe place away from Radovid’s wrath, and this wholly unspectacular village was the perfect place to hide. There? Are you happy?”

“Do you expect me to believe you being here has nothing to do with Yennefer?”

“I don’t very much care what you think. Believe it or not, I was here minding my business until you came and ruined all my work! Do you even know what you did? Do you-”

Suddenly Philippa fell silent, face going pale. She wrapped her hands around her stomach. And groaned in pain, her face creased in confusion, and worry. It reminded Geralt of when he last saw her, in Loc Muinne.

“The hell did you do to me Witcher?” She said in a pained voice.

“I didn’t do-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Philippa lurched over, and was sick all over his legs.

Geralt jumped back in confusion and worry.

“What did you do to me?!”
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Philippa's Grace