Lesson one

Tommon hurried after Ciri through the quiet streets. Soon, after passing squat houses, the village temple loomed ahead, the only prominent building in the entire village. At a small side door, Ciri produced a heavy iron key.

"The good folk decided to put me here, separate from everyone else," she said wryly. "Can't have a witcher too close to decent people. They figured Melitele could handle me."

Inside, they climbed a narrow stair to an expansive but impersonal room, a bed haphazardly set in one corner. Ciri lit candles with a wave of her hand, their golden glow softening her sharp edges.

She turned to find Tommon hovering uncertainly in the doorway, eyes wide.

"Come in," she said, lips curving. "I don't bite. Unless you ask nicely." She winked, and his feet carried him inside seemingly of their own volition.

Ciri poured each of them a cup of wine from the bottle on the washstand while Tommon perched gingerly on the edge of the bed. She bit her lip against a smile and sauntered over, handing him a cup before settling down. With one leg crossed over the other, she leaned forward, the position causing her shirt to gape.

Tommon took a large gulp of wine, eyes darting everywhere but the tantalizing view. Ciri hid a smirk behind her cup.

"So, Tommon, What occupies a strapping village lad when he's not dancing with strange women?"

"Nothing so interesting as being a witcher, I'm sure," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mostly help my mother with the farm. Tending the fields, repairing tools, minding the livestock. It's a simple life."

She tilted her head, studying him. "And is that enough for you? A simple life?"

He blinked at the question, considering. "I… No, it isn’t. It’s never felt right..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "Ignore me, I'm sure you don't want to hear a peasant whinging."

"On no," Ciri said, leaning forward, "What secret passions lurk beneath the dirt and sweat?"

“I love to sing," he admitted softly. "When I'm alone, out with the sheep. A man came through town once, and sang in the tavern. The place was packed full all night. It was like the whole town came out. I’ve never been so jealous of someone in my life."

Ciri's eyes widened, a delighted smile curving her lips. "Not Tommon the Tender, but Tommon the Bard! Sing something for me?"

He laughed, a nervous edge to it. "Ah, no, I couldn't. My voice is like a rusty saw." He took a gulp of wine for courage. "Besides, I'd much rather hear about you. About being a witcher. Is it true that you… did you get, well, kidnapped?"

Ciri's smile faded, gaze turning inward. She swirled the wine in her cup, watching the play of candlelight on the dark liquid. "Not exactly," she said finally, voice distant. "Fate chose this for me in a different way."

Tommon's heart ached at the shadow that passed over her face, the echo of old pain. He yearned to reach out, to smooth away the furrow between her brows, but sensed it wouldn't be welcome. Not yet.

"It sounds lonely," he said softly.

Ciri glanced at him, a wry twist to her lips. "It can be." She shook her head as if casting off dark thoughts. "But it has its moments. The freedom of the open road, the thrill of the hunt... and occasionally, unexpectedly pleasant company." Her gaze turned heated, raking over him.

Tommon felt himself flush, his pulse picking up. Ciri stretched languorously, the movement pulling her shirt taut in interesting ways. He dragged his eyes away, clearing his throat.

"And, well," Ciri purred, uncrossing her legs with deliberate slowness. "Our vigorous lifestyle does mean we're experts in all manner of... physical pursuits."

Tommon nearly choked on his wine. He set his cup aside, intensely aware of Ciri's eyes tracking his every move. "Such as?" he managed.

Ciri leaned forward, lips curled in a way that made his blood heat. "Swordplay. Alchemy. Tracking." Her voice lowered to a smoky murmur. "Grappling."

"Grappling?" Tommon echoed faintly.

"Oh yes. You never know when you'll need to... subdue someone." Her grin turned feral. "Or when you'll want to."

Tommon coughed.

“You know what it’s like to want to hold someone down, right?” Ciri said.

A thrill raced down Tommon's spine, an intoxicating mix of nerves and anticipation. "Is it true what they say about witcher strength?"

In response, Ciri rose to her feet in a single sinuous motion.

Tommon watched, transfixed, as she turned her back to him. Ever so slowly, she reached up and began to loosen her shirt laces. The fabric slipped, revealing an expanse of scarred, powerful muscle.

She glanced back at him over one shoulder, eyes molten in the candlelight. "Would you like a demonstration?"

Tommon swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in his throat. Arousal hummed through him, potent and heady. "Very much so," he whispered.

Ciri's smile widened. She turned to face him fully, one hand holding her shirt closed. With the other, she crooked a finger, beckoning him closer. "Then come here, Tommon the Bard. Let's see if all your time wrestling sheep has taught you anything useful."

As Tommon stood, Ciri's smile turned victorious, her eyes smoldering with dark promise. Without breaking his gaze, she removed her hand, letting her shirt fall open completely. Tommon's eyes landed on the curves of her breasts, bared to the flickering candlelight.

"Like what you see?" she purred, stalking closer with a mesmerizing grace.

Tommon's eyes snapped guiltily back to her face. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to stare, I just—"

"Tommon." His name on her lips silenced him instantly. She closed the remaining distance between them until he could feel the heat of her, could see the rise and fall of her chest with each breath.

"Have you ever known a woman?" Her words were barely above a whisper, but they seemed to echo in the charged air between them.

Mutely, face burning, Tommon shook his head. Ciri's expression gentled.

"Would you like to?"

The world narrowed to her eyes, her lips. "Yes," Tommon breathed. "Gods, yes."

A slow, feline smile curved Ciri's mouth. "Then let's make a wager." Her finger trailed down, skimming over his racing pulse, coming to rest in the hollow of his throat. "Best me in a wrestle, pin me to the ground..." She leaned in, her lips a hairsbreadth from his ear, her warm breath sending goosebumps cascading over his skin. "...and you can have me. Any way you desire."

Tommon's head reeled, his blood turning to liquid fire in his veins. She was so close, every one of his senses overwhelmed by her, the musk of leather and sword oil that clung to her, the wild, untamed gleam in her cat-eyes.

"And if I lose?" The words rasped from his throat, raw and unsteady.

Ciri drew back just enough to meet his eyes. Her smile widened, sharp and dangerous as a blade. "Oh, my sweet, innocent Tommon." Her thumb swept over his lower lip, a ghost of a touch that left him aching. "Then I get to have my wicked way with you."

Tommon's heart battered against his ribs like a wild thing. Holding her burning gaze, he drew in a shaking breath and nodded. "I accept," he whispered.

"Then come at me, my tender bard. Show me what you're made of."

They squared off, bare feet whispering over the rough floorboards. Ciri looked relaxed, a faint smile playing about her lips, but Tommon could see the coiled readiness in her stance, the way her eyes tracked his every move.

He moved in cautiously, trying to set up for a bear hug, to use his size to subdue her. Ciri slipped aside, lightning-quick, and suddenly she was behind him, arm snaking around his throat in a chokehold.

"You'll have to do better than that," she taunted, breath hot against his ear.

Tommon thrashed, trying to break free, but she only tightened her hold, riding out his struggles with contemptuous ease. Desperate, he flung himself backwards onto the bed, hoping to dislodge her.

They crashed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, the impact knocking the breath from Tommon's lungs. Ciri recovered first, trying to straddle him, but he bucked her off, rolling to pin her beneath his greater weight.

She twisted sinuously, slipping his hold, and then her legs were around his waist, squeezing with punishing force. Tommon gasped, spots dancing in his vision as he fought to break free.

Suddenly, his face was pressed into the heated hollow between her breasts, the salt-sweet taste of her skin flooding his senses. Stunned, Tommon went still, his struggles forgotten. Almost by instinct, he nuzzled into that lush softness, lips pressed against the delicate skin of her breasts.

Above him, Ciri's breath hitched. Her grip on him loosened, her hands rising to tangle in his hair. She pressed his face into her breasts. Tommon mouthed at her, tongue flicking out to taste salt and woman. He laved a path upwards, feeling her nipple draw tight against his lips. He lapped across it, and Ciri moaned, her grip on his hair turning painful.

For a suspended moment, there was only the hot silk of her skin against his lips, the thundering of his pulse in his ears. Then, suddenly, her thighs tightened around him again and she surged up, reversing their positions in a blur of movement.

Tommon found himself pinned beneath her, wrists captured in an iron grip above his head. He thrashed, trying to unseat her, but she rode him easily.

"Yield," Ciri commanded. She punctuated the word with a slow, deliberate grind against his straining cock.

He bucked helplessly, pinned and overpowered and achingly, desperately hard. "I yield," he managed to rasp. Holding down both his arms with one hand, she snagged a length of leather with the other and bound his arms. She took her time, letting him feel the weight and heat of her astride him as she worked. Tommon panted shallowly, wrists secured above his head, completely at her mercy.

Ciri sat back, admiring her handiwork. Slowly, she dragged a finger down the center of his chest, nail scraping lightly through the thin fabric.

"Look at you," she mused, voice husky. "All mine now, to do with as I please."

She rucked up his shirt, baring his stomach. Tommon sucked in a sharp breath as she dipped her head, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the trembling skin.

She worked the fabric higher, until it bunched under his armpits. With a deft motion, she tugged it over his head and looped it around his bound wrists, leaving him bare-chested, vulnerable. Exposed.

Ciri sat back, drinking in the sight of him. Tommon felt his face heat under her frank appraisal, a potent mix of embarrassment and arousal churning in his gut. He'd never imagined scenarios like this, in the dark solitude of his bedroll. This was more intense, more primal. Something he'd never known he craved.

"Ciri, I…” He licked suddenly dry lips, struggling to find the words. "I've never done this before. Any of it.”

Her expression softened. Leaning down, she cupped his face in her hands, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. "I know. We'll take it slow.” Her smile turned wicked. "Well, slowish.”

And then she was kissing him, her lips demanding against his. Tommon made a startled noise that melted into a moan as her tongue snaked into his mouth. He strained against his bonds, desperate to touch her, to sink his hands into her hair, but she kept him pinned with the weight of her body.

She kissed him until he was breathless and dizzy. When she finally pulled back, he chased after her blindly, a wordless protest on his tongue.

Ciri chuckled, low and warm. "Greedy boy.” She pecked him once more, a fleeting brush, before sitting up.

Her nimble fingers found the laces of his trousers, plucking at them. Tommon bit his lip hard as she grazed his straining length, hips bucking helplessly into her touch.

And then, moving with agonizing slowness, she peeled his trousers and smallclothes down his legs, baring him completely. Tommon couldn't hold back a moan as his erection sprang free, bobbing thick and flushed against his stomach. Ciri's eyes darkened, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

"All laid out for me like a feast,” Ciri purred, eyes raking over Tommon's quivering form. "I hardly know where to start.”

She stood over him, a goddess in the flickering candlelight. Holding his gaze, she pulled up her shirt, baring the lush curves of her breasts, the lean lines of her stomach.

She was exquisite - all lean muscle and soft curves, scars mapping her skin like constellations. Her breasts were perfect handfuls, already pebbled in the cool air.

Tommon swallowed thickly. He'd never been so aroused, every nerve alight, every sense heightened. His cock throbbed insistently against his stomach, flushed and aching for her touch.

Tommon's fingers flexed, yearning to touch. "You're so beautiful," he said, voice rough with sincerity. "I've never… I’ve never seen anyone like you before."

Ciri traced the line of his jaw tenderly. With a smile, she turned, presenting him with the curve of her ass as she bent to unlace her leathers. The breeches clung to her like a second skin as she shimmied them down her legs, bending at the waist to give him an unobstructed view of her pert backside.

Finally bare, she straightened, hands skimming over her body. Tommon's mouth went dry, following the path of her fingers as they trailed over her breasts, her stomach, the trimmed curls at the apex of her thighs.

Ciri noticed, her smile turning knowing. "Seeing you like this, spread out and straining for me... I’ll have you singing yet."

She crawled onto the bed, moving up his body with feline grace. Tommon's every muscle pulled taut with anticipation, but she bypassed where he throbbed for her. Instead, she ran deft hands along his sides, over his chest, leaving trails of tingling sensitivity in her wake. He shuddered, arching into her touch with a ragged groan.

"Ciri, please…”

"Shh, I've got you.” She cupped his face, nails rasping lightly over his stubble. "I'm going to take you apart, piece by piece, until pleasure is all you know.”

In one fluid motion, she turned and rose to her feet, her sex hovering just above his mouth. The scent of her desire was overwhelming this close, dizzying in its intensity. Tommon inhaled shakily, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"Ciri, let me taste you. If you untie me I…”

But Ciri held herself just out of reach, a breathy laugh escaping her as he strained upwards, seeking the heat of her.

"Patience, Tommon the Giving," she said, undulating her hips in a slow, tortuous grind. "You'll have me. But I'll decide when, and how. I want you a little more… unraveled, first."

Ciri settled between Tommon's thighs with feline grace, her hands skimming along the taut muscles, the quivering flesh. Her cheek brushed his cock and he jerked as if electrified, a broken moan punching out of him.

"How’s this?" The words came out hot, breathy. His cock pressed against her cheek, and his hips bucked, sliding his hardness through her fingers and along the soft skin of her face.

"It’s good," Tommon managed. His eyes were glued to the sight of her pressed up against his member. Ciri hummed approvingly, giving him a slow stroke from root to tip. He leaked over her fingers, easing the glide, and she spread the moisture with her thumb, swirling around the engorged head.

"That's it," she crooned, rubbing the velvet soft skin of his cockhead against her cheek. It left a smear of fluid in its wake, marking her. She rubbed her face along his length, soft skin and silky hair caressing him from all sides. "What do you want, Tommon? Is this what you fantasize about?"

Slowly, maintaining eye contact, she dragged him lower, rubbing him along her lips. Her pink tongue darted out, a tiny, maddening lick. Tommon twitched helplessly in her grip.

"I didn’t dream about anything like this," he rasped, voice scraped raw with need. "Please, just…"

Ciri’s smile up at him was warm, almost loving. "Well lucky you, then," she said, as she positioned him on her lips.

As Ciri's lips closed around him, Tommon's breath caught in his throat. The heat, the softness, the gentle suction... it was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. His eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the sheer intimacy of the act, the vulnerability of allowing someone to see him, to touch him like this.

Slowly, reverently, Ciri took him deeper, her tongue fluttering along the underside of his shaft, tracing patterns that made him gasp and twitch. She savored every inch, reveling in the weight of him on her tongue, the musky taste of his arousal, the way he trembled under her tongue.

Just as the coil in his belly pulled taut, threatening to snap, she pulled off with a pop. Tommon mewled at the loss, hips chasing her retreating mouth. But she merely smirked, holding him down easily with one slim hand.

She ducked back down, laving her tongue along the sensitive underside of his shaft, tracing the pulsing vein there from root to tip. She swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, dipping into the slit to chase the salty drops of pre-come beading there.

Tommon thrashed, every muscle pulled taut as a bowstring as he fought not to come. It was too much. He felt flayed open, stripped bare and raw and utterly at her mercy.

And then her hand was cupping his balls, rolling them gently as she sucked him back into her throat. He cried out brokenly, heels digging into the mattress as he fought the rising tide of his release. But Ciri was relentless, bobbing her head in a maddening rhythm, cheeks hollowing as she worked him deeper.

"Ciri, you’ll make me…" Tommon begged, voice cracking.

She hummed around him, his climax coiling urgent and undeniable at the base of his spine. But she sensed how close he was, pulling off to fist him again in that strong, calloused grip.

"Look at you," she rasped, voice like smoke and sin. "Ready to sing for me now?" She pressed open-mouthed kisses to his straining thighs. " I love being your first. Shall I let you come?"

Tommon could only groan. Ciri smiled.

"That's it," Ciri encouraged as she worked the length of his shaft. He drew up tight, toes curling into the sheets as his thrusts became erratic.

"Ciri, I'm... I can't..." he panted, nearly delirious with pleasure.

His cock slick with her spit, she tightened her grip, picking up the pace. Her eyes burned into his, molten pools of emerald that saw straight into his soul.

"Come for me, Tommon. Come all over me."

And he did, back arching almost painfully as he erupted between her breasts. Thick ropes of pearly fluid painted her chest, her neck, splattering across the underside of her chin.

Ciri worked him through it, squeezing and stroking until he was utterly spent. When the last shuddering aftershock ebbed away, she released him with a final sultry smile.

Tommon collapsed bonelessly, body limp, panting like he'd run for miles. His mind was blissfully empty, scoured clean by the force of his release. Through heavy-lidded eyes he watched as Ciri swiped a finger through the mess decorating her chest, bringing it to her mouth to suck clean.

Tommon groaned helplessly, spent cock twitching in a valiant effort to rally. "You're going to be the death of me," he rasped, voice utterly wrecked.

Ciri giggled and stretched out alongside him. "But what a way to go, hmm?" She pecked him on the nose, heedless of the mess cooling on her skin.

"Aye," it was all he could muster.

Ciri smiled, kissing him again, her mouth hot. She reached up to untie his hands. "I think you've been good enough to earn a reward, look how much you could manage for me."

As soon as he was free, Tommon sat up and rubbed his wrists. The small aches grounded him, tangible proof that this wasn't just a fever dream.

Ciri rose from the bed and stretched languidly, the long line of her back and lush curve of her ass lit by the flickering candlelight. Tommon's mouth went dry at the flex and release of muscle beneath her scarred skin.

Glancing coyly over her shoulder, Ciri caught him staring. "Good. Don't think we're done yet, boy," she smirked. "I still haven’t heard you sing."

With that, she sauntered over to her pack and began rummaging. After a moment, she made a pleased sound and extracted a small green vial.

Tommon eyed it warily as she turned towards him, still gloriously bare and filthy with his spending. "What is that?"

"This," she said, holding the vial aloft, "is something you can only handle a drop of," she looked his husky peasant frame up and down, appraising.

"Maybe two."

Tommon's brow furrowed. "Is it safe?"

Ciri looked at the vial, then shrugged. She unstoppered the delicate glass and tipped it over her finger, letting a single emerald drop bead on the tip.

Ciri's eyes darkened to the green of the bottle as she watched him, her own arousal evident in the flush climbing her chest. Slowly, teasingly, she swung a leg over his hips and settled her wet heat against his thigh.

"What do you say? Make this the best night of your life, Tommon the Brave?" She held the digit up to his lips, eyebrow arched in challenge.

Tommon only hesitated a moment. "Make it two drops."

Ciri grinned.