'It's all for fun'

Independent Mistle roleplay blog from The Witcher book lore. Status: Multiship/Multiverse (Semi-Hiatus) Refer to regulations for further information.

[jaskiier-blog]

the bard focussed all of his attention, his skill, on the place where most pleasure could come  from, his head rested against her pelvic bone as his tongue lapped at her pearl, his fingers working below that. 

one finger entered her first, the man being careful not to hurt her in any way. his movements began lazily, pumping the digit in and out, the  juices around making the access easy. his finger than paused for a moment inside of her, the digit  stroking above whilst the fingers ouside her held her flaps open for a second, the attention of the  bard’s tongue moving to join the finger inside her. 

with the taste of her on his tongue, he then returned to plucking at her bead, his tongue now more forceful and rougher. 

another finger joined the first, rocking in slower and making sure she had time to adjust each  step of the way. when they were both side by side,  his pumping began again, this time with a fast pace and attempting to move in deeper than before. 

his lips then curled up into smirk and his finger suddenly, in the midst of a deep thrust, crooked  up, searching for the external spot inside her that would give her unimaginable pleasure. 

[trailofsin-blog]

her attempts to understand the situation were akin to trying to fit a square peg into a round hole, and with a head between her legs, mistle pondered when was the last time a man had kissed her womanhood the way the poet did. alas, she couldn’t recall. perhaps this was the first time... the same couldn’t be said of women, though.

in comparison to a lass’ digits, his were much rougher and thicker -- calloused at the fingertips most likely from strumming the lute. as a matter of fact, mistle couldn’t find much difference now that he was twisting her fiddles and pulling her strings with enough skill to draw music from her slightly chapped lips. although she’d just called him a charlatan -- and would gladly do so again at the following string of curse words and nameless hoaxes -- dandelion was a true maestro. 

jolt by jolt did pleasure run through her. and like fire itself, it licked her skin. adrenaline coursed in rivers within her veins, her nipples poking out in their usual demand for attention and fingers stroking carelessly through the bard’s hair. a little pressure had begun to build up in her lower abdomen, scattering goosebumps across her skin and causing the blond follicles sprinkling her arm to stand on their end -- her discharge imminent. taking notice of that, and yet again, mistle dropped the swear-jar, which shattered into a million words, some of which she didn’t even know the meaning of, but it suited the situation anyway. 

[jaskiier-blog]

a chuckle elicited from the man at her reactions, his grip on her thighs loosening as he drawed one hand away. 

his fingertips joined his tongue, years of playing an instrument that required masterful fingering  paying off. he brought his fingertips to her bundle, where most of the pleasure that could be gained lay, and circled the edged around it, as if giving a massage.  his tongue moved up, flicking across the bundle of nerves between his fingertips as his fingers that held her thigh up rubbed soft patterns against the skin. 

at her protests, he did stop. he made sure her thighs remain hitched on his shoulders and his one index finger switched positions to apply some light pressure to the bead and the top of her sex. 

‘ ..surely i’m not doing anything wrong..AM I? ‘ 

the bard stared up at his companion, his eyes wide with innocence and questioning with his brows furrrowed. 

[trailofsin-blog]

her chin tipped up as the scarlet adorning her cheekbones darkened with pleasure. eventually, the hand  at which its heel had been so relentless on trying to shove the bard off stopped fighting, skating up his forehead to tangle slender digits within ebony tresses.

‘bloody charlatan,’ she spoke through gritted teeth in a snarl, though a sweeter, and much less aggressive tune soon broke free from her once tightly-sealed lips as the poet spread her folds and his tongue performed quick, circling flicks across the little swollen bead. ‘the pox take y-- mmhh!’

it was embarrassing. 

for one, the person with his head between her thighs was a man, prick and all other assets hanging -- now quite standing -- betwixt his legs. second: he was the one paying. what for? to ‘please the lady’ instead of gorging his cock’s dark desires? any woman would gladly even pay for their partners to do  that to them, and yet, this flower of a bard did everything wrong according to the standards of society! 

but oh gods... did it feel right.

along with the utter yielding, came a buck of her hips -- mistle didn’t apologize for it. her head thrashed left and right, teeth gritted and sweat running down her naked skin, her breasts... another moan, this time a string of them. her body was assaulted by spasms of pleasure thundering all across her, involuntary jerks and whimpers. the tightening of her digits around his tresses.

oh, what sort of deity did she chuck stones at to even deserve such sweet manner of torture?

[jaskiier-blog]

the bard remained still for a moment, chest rising and falling heavily as his breath returned to him.  he was visibly flushed and his hand moved from her hair, bringing both around the back of his head in a relaxed position. 

he listened to the woman’s question with closed eyes, chuckling between heavy breaths. eventually,  he had caught himself, the atmosphere now quieter without huffs and puffs. 

there was a rustle of material around him as he shifted himself into a sitting position, his eyes opened and making contact with her’s, but containing a mischivious glint. 

‘ oh, the story ends with a very happy ending.. ‘ 

the bard dived forward, catching her thighs and pulling them apart. he then forced her ankles out from beneath her, placing the undersides of her knee on his shoulders. 

‘ ah, yes! my name, m’lady, is dandelion. just so you have something to scream whilst i make you the happiest woman  in the world! ‘

and he moved forward, beginning his own administrations with his tongue dipping betwixt her folds. 

[trailofsin-blog]

an undignified yelp mistle was not very proud of left her lips as the bard removed her legs from underneath her to drape one of them over his shoulder. she was barely finished swallowing his essence -- although there was a slightly bitter aftertaste in her mouth because of it -- and this so called ‘dandelion’ was already nestling his head between her legs. usually, clients only expected mistle to please them, tossing crowns or florins over her cum-smeared breasts before walking off without so much as uttering their names. not only has this one told her a tale, but he also apologized and even sought to return the favour.

it seemed this flower of a poet was more of a gentleman than anything else.

“hey, fruitcake! you don’t have t-- ahh!” with her upper half lurching, a string of curses rolled out of her tongue -- eyes squinting as though she was trying to remember his name. 

“listen,” it wasn’t often that it happened, but mistle could have sworn she was blushing as she shoved a palm against the bard’s forehead in hopes the stubborn man would pull away, but alas. “d-dandelion!” her strong, usually raspy voice was beginning to thin into a mewl. 

this damn poet! she thought, shivers raking her hands and arms under the delicious sensation of a tongue lapping up her womanhood and his goatee prickling her sensitive skin.

[jaskiier-blog]

with both the administrations of the woman’s mouth and hand, the bard was set into the rhythm of thrusting up into the opening of her lips, his fingers grasping  her hair much harder than before, both alternating between pulling and soft strokes. 

groans left him again and again, his face scrunching up into one of pleasure-it showed he was on the edge of orgasming. 

his hips eventually thrusted faster and faster, fingers now switched to leading her head with  all the force he could muster whilst focussing on two things at once. his hips then suddenly halted, his last thrust stuttering slightly as he came to his end and spilled into her mouth, hand softening in her hair and going to stroking  her blonde locks whilst attempting to get his breath back with heavy inhales and exhales. 

[trailofsin-blog]

devil take it, the poet didn’t waste time... while trying to focus on not choking and on her breathing, mistle fought back gag reflexes. a crease to the spot between her brows formed she sucked in so that the inner walls of her cheeks would close in around his manhood, offering him a much tighter space.

his thrusting was relentless... his breathing had lost its pattern. although on her knees, mistle could feel her heart about to burst off her chest. fingernails dug deeper into the skin of the bard’s buttocks, her head following his coaxing diligently. although her tongue was once twirling and exploring the poet’s girth, it had now sat quite still, at times wriggling tentatively into her mouth as if to elicit further sensations by rubbing against the vein-riddled member.

she could tell when it was about time for him to come, and mistle prepped herself for the load. her eyes shot slightly open at the feeling of something warm and creamy hit the back of her throat, causing her to pull back slowly with her lips closed as to collect traces of semen, and leave nothing behind. sitting back on her ankles, mistle swallowed the stuff with a gulp -- there was still some trickling down the side of her lips, which she wiped off with a digit and licked it clean.

“the story,” she reminded him once again like a child waiting on a treat. her voice somewhat thick. “doesn’t have a happy ending, does it?”

[trailofsin-blog]

@jaskiier if i were you, i’d leg it

[jaskiier-blog]

eyebrows furrowed with now open eyes, the bard raising his head fully to look at the woman before him. 

‘ i did catch an arrow! i swear i-ahhhh.. ‘

his protest was cut off by the sudden warmth enclosing him, head falling back, yet again, with a thud. this time, his fingers worked through her soft locks, slowly attempting to guide her lips up and down on him, strings of moans and groans eliciting from him. 

he was trying to keep his pelvis down and against the mess of sheets beneath them, but couldn’t help it, suddenly bucking up  into the woman’s mouth with forced another  sound from him. 

‘ i..i..sorry.. ‘ the words lazily came from him, his hand still brushing through her hair and the bard immediately going on as if it never happened.

[trailofsin-blog]

it was utterly impossible for mistle to reply this time, what with having set in a tempo. her eyelids at last fell shut, mind now keeping to the task at hand even though a moment ago she couldn’t help herself from getting distracted.

i don’t even know your name, she thought to herself, hand stroking the base of his cock in a slightly tighter grip now. it doesn’t matter your name... only that you sing a song for me, dear poet. sing it until your lungs burst from exertion. 

his apologies almost landed on empty ears like a foreign word. stunning mistle for a second. hell, she could barely remember the last time somebody had uttered her anything along those lines...

shaking off the thought, her hand abandoned the base of his arousal to skate up his thighs and give his buttocks a squeeze on both sides, almost as if encouraging the poet’s pelvis to do what it pleased him.

if it was her mouth he wanted to fuck, then let him do so in one such way that would turn those precious few minutes into a a night to remember.

[jaskiier-blog]

another groan escaped the bard, eyes lidding in pleasure as he dived his fingers further into her hair but made no move to make her go further. he continued with his vocals, as usual, making no attempt to be silent. 

‘ ohhhh~ ‘ 

his words came out drawn, his mind trying to focus on two things at once. 

‘ geralt and i are best friends..we’ve known each other for…a long time and we’re always there…to save each other-..did i tell you of the time i saved him by catching an arrow? ‘

another tale that doesn’t tell the whole truth. the man lifted his head slightly, eyes peaking open. 

‘ come on..you can take more than that… ‘

[trailofsin-blog]

mistle tried... oh did she try. but she couldn’t help herself, and was popping the erection out of her mouth for a laugh.

‘you? catching an arrow?’ it was the first time that night she actually smiled. ‘hah! no offense, but you’re a flower. and flowers don’t catch arrows... they watch them whistle by in awe.’ 

amusement slowly thawed from her features, but only at measure, for there was a hint of it etched to them still even as she ran a tongue over her lips and closed them around the bard’s manhood once again. this time around, she bobbed her head all the way down, feeling the tip of his member hit the back of her throat each time.

from his moans alone, mistle could tell the bard made for a great singer... although she didn’t normally fancy her clients, the poet’s singsong tunes did  serve to encourage her, fueling on her ministrations as if adding tinder to the fire.

[jaskiier-blog]

the bard cleared his throat, a mischevious smile gracing his lips. 

‘ yes, yes..as i was saying, we were posied, ready for battle-’ 

his fingertips reached down as he spoke, softly taking her hand and leading it over his manhood. 

‘-and suddenly, this huge harpy swoops down (geralt claims it was one of their  species that’s closest to having it’s own mind) and– ‘

his fingers move from her hand, going to bury themselves in her lucious hair and he presses his hips up, closer to her. 

[trailofsin-blog]

though a bearer of two saber-like swords once, mistle’s hands weren’t calloused as those of a warrior. constant usage of gloves whilst wielding weaponry had preserved the skin of her palms, so soft as her digits closed around the bard’s erection, stroking it lazily before her lips reached the tip.

’this geralt,’ she spoke in a long drawl, the name not unfamiliar to her tongue. ‘has been your mate for a while now it seems. the way you speak of him...’ 

trailing off, she let out her tongue to let the length sit in its middle before dragging it along it from the base to the crown, where she wrapped her lips around, allowing the bard to buck his pelvis if that would add to the delight. meanwhile, her hand stroke the base of his cock, being mindful not to tighten its grip too much.

[alivetillthe-end]

[decemberxmorning]

Credit: Unknown

[geraltgwynbleidd-blog]

“Oh my boatman, I often look from the highest hill that I might see, Will you come tonight, or will you come tomorrow Oh sorry will I be if you do not come at all

My heart is broken, bruised Often tears are running down from my eyes Will you come tonight, or will I wait up for you Or close the door with a sad sigh?

I often ask of the boatmen If they have seen you, if you are safe But they all tell me That I was foolish if I gave you love.

My darling promised me a gown of silk That and a fine plait A golden ring in which I’d see a likeness But I fear that he shall forget.

Although they said you were flighty That did not lessen my love for you You are in my dreams at night And in the morning I ask for you.

I gave you love and cannot deny It’s not love that lasts a year or a season But a love that began when I was a child And that will not wither until death do take me.

My friends say often That I must forget your image But their counsel is as unfathomable to me As is the returning tide.

I am all too sad and tearful Like a white swan that has been torn Sounding her death-call on a small grassy loch Having been forsaken by all.”

[jaskiier-blog]

a pleasure groan elicits from the bard,  head falling back against the headboard.  a chuckle then follows. 

          ‘ yes, yes, the story. ‘            the man replies, flippantly.            ‘ so geralt and i had run into this nest            of harpys-kiss here..n-no, lower..ah-           and we were poised, ready for attack whe-ahhhh.. ‘

[trailofsin-blog]

‘you gonna keep moaning, or do i get to hear the rest of the story?’ 

the woman with straw-coloured hair demanded, her head lifting -- kisses being brought to a halt right where the hair crowned the poet’s manhood. 

she wasn’t certain why she’d taken a shine to the tale at all... even less as to the reason one of her clients had decided to tell it in the first place. 

bugger all. why should it matter?

shrugging, her head dipped once again, lips  pressing kisses further south, hands which once killed many a man now coaxing his thighs further apart as she nuzzled into his groin.

[trailofsin-blog]

The Fierce One

[snarkomancy]

The presence of  m a g i c  was unmistakeable, and so was its source. Philippa had not been mistaken – there was indeed power in her. Remarkable power, even. Dangerously uncontrolled. The force quivered, flickered, waxed and waned. It was clear that Mistle hadn’t the slightest idea of what she was doing and how or why – it simply happened, subconsciously, likely the result of overwhelming emotion, and Philippa could not help but feel  f l a t t e r e d. Surely it had to be her presence that had gotten the girl this excited, unsettled even.

She stepped around the young woman, until she stood directly behind her, resting her hands upon her shoulders. “Just relax,” she whispered. “Focus on your breathing, and keep doing what you are doing. I want to show you something.”

The magician took control of the arcane currents as easily and confidently as an experienced rider reining in a skittish horse. She steadied the intensity of the magical flow with skill and confidence, an adjustment here, a bit of encouragement there, never stopping until everything was, at last, in  p e r f e c t  balance – Philippa was in control, yet Mistle remained the conduit, and it felt  r i g h t.

“There.” She leaned closer, pressing her lips to Mistle’s naked shoulder. Despite her conflicting feelings, despite her misgivings about her rather… peculiar terms of existence, she could not help but feel that a  r e w a r d  was due. After all, the girl had not shown any resistance – or so Philippa liked to believe. In reality, her intervention had been so decisive, yet so subtle that to one completely untrained in the arcane arts, resisting would have been impossible.

“How does that feel? Exhilaratingly unpleasant, is it not? Now, I am giving you a significant amount of help with this at the moment, but imagine being able to do this whenever you choose. Want to see what you could do with it? Don’t worry, nothing can go wrong. I’m in control, and I shan’t let you get hurt.”

[trailofsin-blog]

What in the hell is she going on about?

The thought came through her mind like an eagle in flight, ever so daring as it dived only to swoosh in a semi-circle in one such way that it didn’t hit the ground. Even though Mistle had trouble understanding, she could see the storm outside subside the more thoughts of devious nature the young woman pushed away into the darkest parts of mind, sealed so that they wouldn’t float back to surface anytime soon.

It was then that she understood, for this was neither the first, nor was it prone to be the last time her emotions had wreaked havoc in nature’s goodwill. There was a force inside her she couldn’t control… a power that didn’t seem to be there before her death, and it was the reason to keep her living.

…or was it?

“What’s happening?” Mistle asked rhetorically, closing her eyes at the sensation of Philippa’s plump lips being pressed to her shoulders and letting out a sigh of appreciation in return. Her hand instantly flew to that of the sorceress, alighting on top of it, feeling her perfect skin under digits still soft, yet slightly calloused after she’s learned how to wield weapons aplenty. As if Philippa’s words had sparked a fire long lost within her, a sidelong smile enough wicked to cause one to freeze to the bone marrow tugged at the corner of her lips. “I would be able to gut the bastards who stripped me of everything.” She paused for a second. “My dignity including.”

Fuck dignity, the straw-haired girl thought, her eyes closed and a low hum at the back of her throat.

All she truly wanted after god knew how long of abstinence was to sate her bloodlust.

[trailofsin-blog]

The Fierce One

[snarkomancy]

A m b i v a l e n c e.

It was all she could feel. Pure, complete and utter ambivalence. There was not much left in the world that had the power to amaze Philippa EIlhart, to leave her speechless. The feeling of being so enthralled and concurrently so repulsed, however, did. She wanted to keep touching her, let her hands wander over that pale, scarred body, and at the same time she wanted to withdraw her hand in disgust, wash it clean, scrub until the skin was red raw, cracked and painful, yet free from the lingering corruption that seemed to cling to it just as it did to the girl’s skin. If only she wasn’t making this so damn  e a s y, if only she wasn’t so damn open in displaying her willingness to go along with whatever Philippa might have in store for her!

It’s as if he raised her from the dead for the sole purpose of tormenting me! Damn you, Vilgefortz!

The best option would have been to turn to turn on her heel and walk away, to forget that she ever came here, to condemn the memory of the one calling herself Mistle to the dark depths of her memory. It was what she should have done, and it was far from what she did. At the end of the day, she had felt far too lonely, for far too long.

“I suppose you could say I like it a lot, and at the same time not at all”, she replied, while her fingers continued to slowly travel the length of Mistle’s thigh, only to hesitate at the last moment, pulling away and immediately settling again, over the bones of the girl’s hips.

 “I can’t deny that I am indeed  t e m p t e d… oh, don’t give me that look, you know fully well what you’re doing! Now, hurry up and get in the bath before you catch a chill. I don’t want you  d y i n g  on me. Why, I’d have to track down Vilgefortz and ask him to repeat whatever marvellous thing he did to bring you back the first time.”

[trailofsin-blog]

With a hand skimming the water’s surface, Mistle dipped it in and then lifted. Droplets fell off from between her digits, splashing back into the bathtub in what felt like slow motion.

“I do,” she replied, still a little lost, but slowly finding herself in that sorceress’ tempting eyes. “Vilgefortz can wait. He’s dead anyway, so what’s the harm?”

So was I, Mistle thinks to herself as a taste too bitter to swallow for yet another time fills her mouth, and although her legs remained invitingly parted still, there was a note of pondering to her lust-ridden features.

The thought about her death, her face pressed to human misery as the love of her life stared her down like a maggot drowning in piss nearly drifted off all manners of desire. Even though after so long her heart pained still… it pained not for the one who’s left her, but her thirst for vengeance still burned within, pooling thick and hot in her stomach. Alas, word had it Bonhart was long eating dust already… who was she to gut in order to satisfy such bloodlust if the very man who had brought her to shame had already been eviscerated?

For long had she wandered in search for answers, and for long had she cried with naught but herself to embrace when her fingernails were not caked with blood, but dirt like some commoner out and about.

The more Mistle lingered in her own thoughts, was the mightiest the gale outside that tiny hut strangely grew.

[viilgefortz]

        he watches quietly as the girl voice the beginning of her afflictions. such a LOW regard for her own life. so little self preservation. perhaps mistle was buying into her own lie, after all. thinking herself to be without future. an OUTCAST – unwilling to see that she was FAR from such. the collapsing youngling was something akin to a PRINCESS, not a mere bandit.  was that such a heavy burden to carry as she made it look like? 

       “make up for saving you from a life of misery as a slave & putting you into the nicest place i could find while i worked my way up to provide for YOU?” albeit ACID; vilgefortz’s voice do not alter at any moment. like an old song, it replays unchanged in its notes. “you’re YOUNG. you can’t see it. don’t want to see it. life is EASIER if you don’t see it – but you were never abandoned by ME. perhaps by yourself & your mother, yes; but i never really left.” 

[trailofsin-blog]

        ❛ Get to the point, old man. ❜ She spoke from between tightly gritted teeth, fingernails digging into her palms as if to draw out blood, but they could only carve deep marks at most. ❛ Why would you do this for me after so long of doing nothing at all? Why show that you care when I’ve been through tougher situations, and you’ve never even bothered to show your face. ❜

       Why do it all now when it was back then that, when she needed a father, the one who embraced her was the coldness of a man’s gritty paws holding her waist close to his body, slamming his nasty cock inside of her just so she could have a roof over her head and something strong to dull the ache in her heart.

       Why… Why would you show up now when I began to believe all that I could ever live and love for was lost?

       Swallowing hard, Mistle could feel her lips tremble as bouts of anger simmered in the pit of her stomach, so empty now that it had been drained of all evils that once harmed her body.

[trailofsin-blog]

The Fierce One

@snarkomancy continued from x

Cold on warmth caused an electrifying sensation to make goosepimples spiral up her spine line, the blond hair from her arms and neck alike bristling in one such way Mistle hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. A hand so close to an intimate spot had her lips parting for a reply, as her thighs seemed to spread further apart in response to the sorceress’ trespassing one too many boundaries… the likes of which Mistle only seemed to further encourage.

❛ Do you like it? ❜ Her voice had lowered, sweet and stuffy – raspy as it was. ❛ Or are you not fond of tattoos, sorceress? ❜ With a tilt of her head and a roguish smile, Mistle draped her arms over the edges of the bathtub, keeping her body exposed in a fashion that seemed more than inviting to further touches.

Truth be told, the girl couldn’t care less about whether she had been brought from the dead or not. So long as the sorceress didn’t point out those damned stitches keeping her head glued to her body, Mistle believed in the illusion that she could make herself forget it.

[snarkomancy]

                                   a love like a T R A I N W R E C K                                                                       Philippa and Mistle (Modern Verse)