Patreon Compilation – Fic#206 – Geralt/OC; Geralt/Jaskier – Jaskier finding guys for Geralt to get coins – Toss A Coin (Patreon)

Geralt/OC; Geralt/Jaskier – There has not been much going on in terms of monster hunting so Jaskier found another way to get money and it works wonderfully.

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It’s not difficult to find buyers, not at all, but this time it’s especially easy to pull a nice sum of coins out of the guy’s pockets. As far as Jaskier has been able to surmise the fat guy across the table is what could be called a mayor in this tiny settlement out at the very outskirts of the city. He does seem to have some sway, at least, waving for more drinks in regular intervals while his eyes barely leave Geralt the whole evening.

He’s damn near salivating. Getting him to pay up a lot more than Jaskier usually charges for a night with Geralt is easier than swiping a few sweets from an unsuspecting child.

When monster hunting jobs are sparse, a Witcher has to come to money some other way. Jaskier is only too willing to be the spokesperson for him; Geralt couldn’t get his teeth to part long enough to even get the idea across that he’s amenable to spreading his legs for the highest bid.

It’s a good thing Jaskier is here to… oil the machine, so to speak. He’s good at talking. He’s even better at selling off Geralt, though, it turns out. There are just many people, men and women and everything in-between that are interested in spending a night with the grumpy bastard.

Not a few of them because they want revenge for one thing or another. Not that Geralt remembers them much; he has a tendency not to sweat the small things…

“Well then! That settles it,” Jaskier chirps once he has the coins in the purse all counted down. He gets up and jerks his head, satisfied when Geralt obediently starts to slip out behind him. The fat guy looks completely satisfied already, rubbing his heavily ringed hands together as he watches. He makes Geralt stop and turn around, surveying him right there in the tavern like a freshly bought horse.

Geralt, ever unbothered, does how he is told to do. He even bends over to let the mayor squeeze his ass with both hands.

They make their way into one of the tavern’s rooms. The mayor pauses for a second as he sees Jaskier slipping in with them but ultimately just shrugs his shoulders. Jaskier mimes locking his lips and makes his way over to a corner of the room to sit down and watch. He doesn’t know what the mayor thinks about his presence; maybe he thinks Jaskier just wants to make sure his merchandise isn’t hurt, which… is somewhat of a reason, but really he just gets off on watching Geralt getting fucked by all kinds of people.

The mayor’s breath is loud and labored in the room, his order’s short but precise: “Get naked, whore.”

Geralt grunts like he isn’t too happy about being called names but ultimately doesn’t care about it enough to do anything about it. It’s one of his best features in Jaskier’s opinion; he’s too much of a slut to really put up a fight with too many things.

Jaskier watches as they both undress. The sight of Geralt’s body has yet to become boring to him. There is just something intriguing about his body and the shadows that light throws on it. There always seem to be new scars popping up out of nowhere…

At first the mayor wants his cock sucked which interests Jaskier quite a bit. Not many have asked that of Geralt yet, more interested to make him spread his legs so they can ram into him in punishing thrusts that have his teeth clacking together… so seeing him get on his knees in front of the fat man is quite a treat.

The mayor brushes Geralt’s hair out of the way as someone would do for a lady, allowing the both of them to watch his face as he opens his mouth nice and wide to suck the swollen tip in. He has to push the mayor’s gut out of the way some to slide further down his shaft but from his posture Jaskier is pretty sure he is quite enjoying himself. There is an attentiveness in the lines of his body that he does not always display when working like this.

He makes it a point to be nice and loud as he sucks, though those sounds are almost drowned by the mayor’s low, throaty groans.

Before long the mayor is grabbing Geralt’s hair in a tight fist, using it to guide his head, making him bob harder up and down and forcing him to take him to the hilt, nose buried in the mayor’s wiry pubes and throat bulging around the meaty dick lodged inside.

Jaskier shifts a little. He’s never used Geralt like this. He hadn’t really thought that this was an option… but for this bastard he does it without a peep of protest, gurgling nice and wet whenever his throat is made to stretch open for the plump tip.

From where he’s sitting he can even see that Geralt is thoroughly enjoying himself, cock nice and erect, bobbing through the air with mindless excitement at both being choked by cock as well as by the fat belly pressing against his face.

The mayor is flushing a dark, rust red, plump cheeks trembling with excitement, especially as he throws his head back with a low groan toward the ceiling. Jaskier can practically see him nearing his climax fast and hard and is not surprised in the least when instead he pulls Geralt off his cock. It’s slapping wet and hard against the lower curve of his belly.

“Get on the bed, whore… I wish to partake in that cunt you got to offer.” He stands up with a bit of effort, waving impatiently toward the bed he just vacated.

Jaskier licks his lips. He never gets tired of watching others boss Geralt around. It is their helplessness that does it for him, he thinks; they would be powerless if Geralt decided to not listen… or even kill them. They didn’t stand chance – they knew it, Geralt knew it… and yet he ducks his head and does as told, crawling onto the bed and letting himself get harshly berated and put in his place.

This time on his back with his legs high up in the air. He has to hold them himself, his hands curled around the backs of his knees because the mayor has other things to concern himself with than making sure his whore of the night is staying nice and in place.

Jaskier has to pat himself on the back. He’s getting better and better in eying up the good customers. Those that not only will pay well but also fuck Geralt in a way that he thoroughly enjoys. For such a grumpy bastard he really does like getting used like a two cent whore; offering up his holes for usage and moaning all cute and breathy once they start pummeling his sweet spot.

He’s had often had half a mind to ask Geralt whether whoring oneself out was part of the Witcher training too but he’s got a feeling that he would just spout some cryptic nonsense and look mysterious and moody, leaving Jaskier just as wise in the end as he started.

The mayor didn’t have any trouble finding Geralt’s hole; it’s nice and soft after extensive usage and Jaskier had made sure to rub some oil in behind the tavern just before ushering Geralt in. He knows it feels good… and the mayor sounds like it too, chuffing within a few minutes and wheezing after a few more. He sounds like he’s really working it while Geralt lies there nice and still and starts to do those little grunting moans of his that tell Jaskier that he truly does enjoy himself.

The slut.

Jaskier leans back in his chair and carefully puts the coinpurse down on the table next to him. He opens the drawstrings to his own garments and slips his aching cock out silently. Not every one of Geralt’s patrons enjoys having him in the back and getting off on the show, so he has learned to remain as quiet as possible if the need arose to pump one out.

Half the time he can’t even tell whether he just gets off on the fact that he’s pimping out the Big Bad Witcher or whether he just enjoys the sight of Geralt getting railed and degraded.

He finds himself hoping that the dry spell will last a little longer. Maybe they’ve managed to eradicate all the monsters and the Witchers will become obsolete… pressured into selling their bodies to those with the most money just to stay somehow in the business.

Jaskier wants to be there for it every step of the way. He can’t get enough of the sight of Geralt being buried beneath some ugly bastard, his legs in the air like one of those cheap whores that are still down in the tavern, practically begging for someone to pay them a coin for their pussies.

And here they are… a nice purse bursting full with money and Geralt bursting full with cock.

Maybe this really is his true calling. Jaskier would not be surprised.