TIER 4 UPDATE - THE WITCHER!
The beautiful Ciri from THE WITCHER 3 video game debuts in Tier 4 this month, in a complete six part story!
Check out this preview from Part One...
Ciri awoke to the smells of something cooking over a fire.
She was in a hut of some kind. The last thing she remembered was staggering through a bog or swamp, just after the magic had delivered her. She recalled the pain of her injuries, and stumbling to the ground, and then something large looming over her and the sensation of being carried.
“Come sisters, no point in dawdling,” a older woman’s voice said. “The table’s set and the cauldron bubbles.”
The girl blinked. She was alive, and her injury she gained escaping fleeing the Wild Hunt seemed to have been healed. She reached up to brush aside a strand of her silver hair, but froze as she heard another voice speaking.
“We cannot! You know she is meant for him!”
Ciri tensed, hearing the fear in that voice. She felt her sword still on her hip, and instead moved her hand from her hair to the hilt of the weapon.
“Imlerith will get her – he will,” a third woman said. Her voice sounded muffled, as if she were speaking through a cloth or mask. “But not whole.”
“Well said,” replied the first voice. “We’ll just take a sample…”
“I’ll have her feet,” the second voice agreed joyfully. “Lovely, hmmmm? Plump. Perfect for a broth.”
Ciri had heard as much as she needed to. Clearly the whoever had found and healed her had done so not as a kindness but for their own perverse interests.
“OOOO, I can taste it already,” said the first voice. “Get on with it.”
Ciri was already moving. Springing up from the bed she moved to the window, feeling strangely off balance. She squeezed through and hit the ground running outside. The house she was in was not far from the swamp.
Mists coiled between the trunks of the trees, giving it an unwholesome look, but the young woman saw only the chance to lose herself in those mists and so evade the pursuit.
As she ran, Ciri noticed a strangeness. Her chest seemed heavy, and as she loped along in her heeled buckskin boots her breasts bounced painfully. And her tunic, which had always fitted loosely, seemed now strangely tight.
For several minutes she continued her flight, moving between trees and around rocks and bushes. The grey mist coiled with her passage and then resealed itself behind her. Finally, when she felt sure that she was not being followed, she let herself sink down with her back to a tree. She was breathing with difficulty as her tunic seemed to be crushing in on her, not allowing her to take a decent inhalation. Keeping one had on her sword hilt she reached up with the other to touch herself.
She gasped with shock.
Under her hands, her breasts seemed to have doubled in size, or more. Where once they had been pert and perfect young orbs inside her shirt, now they seemed to have swollen to the size of a pumpkins. As tried to breathe deeply she could feel her enlarged breasts pushing against her clothing so hard her tunic was barely able to contain their fullness.
Ciri blinked in surprise. What had been done to her? And why!?
“We know you’re there, girl,” the voice of one of the women said, drifting through the night. Ciri gripped her sword harder. “Do you like the spells we’ve cast on thee?”
A laugh came from another direction, chilling the silver haired girl’s blood. “Ooooo, I’ll bet she’s touching those two fat udders we granted her. So sweet, so tender…”
Ciri got down on hands and knees and began to crawl slowly. She could not hear movement, and the voices of the women seemed to move all around her.
“Imrelith wants you girl, and we dare not refuse. But our spells can give us all the more to play with, and still leave more than enough left over to satisfy the dark rider.”
The woman found a tree trunk and scrambled under it, straining to fit her huge breasts into the narrow space between the rough bark and the muddy ground beneath. She made it through with some effort, her chest smeared with soft brown muck as she rose to look around her.
There was a soft tread off to her left. She froze, holding her breath. A soft breeze blew and slowly the mists parted.
The three figures revealed made Cirillia stare with horror. They were women, but barely human enough to earn the title.
The largest, standing in the middle, was the size of a small bear, with breasts that looked like they belonged on a beached whale and that were held in place by what looked like chains. Her clothing was ragged, straining to fit over her bulbous arms, while legs dropped down into her feet like those of an ogre. Each of her fingers seemed the thickness of Ciri’s wrist, while her face was covered by a wicker basket that had been lashed to the front of her head like a mask.
To her left was another crone, just as tall but much thinner, with a red stocking cap perched on her head and eyes a sharply pointed nose between two vacant eyes that seemed to have been gouged out and replaced with insect hives. On the other side, the last creature crouched low in her tattered dress and stared at Ciri from behind a veil that looked to be made of strips of bloodstained cloth.
“We have you now, girl,” the eyeless hag said, smiling to show her crooked yellow teeth. “Come back with us freely, and you will not have to suffer more than needed.”
Ciri stared back at them in horror, feeling her blood run cold. But she drew her blade and held it up in front of her. “Come closer and die,” she promised with more certainty than she felt.
“Oh, she has fight in her right enough,” the fat creature in the middle said. The huge fingers worked open and closed as she stared at Ciri from behind the basket. “I can’t wait to see what that hot Elder Blood tastes like in a stew.”
“You will taste naught but my steel, harridan,” Ciri said. She felt her own power mounting as she prepared to do battle.
“Come girl,” the third woman-thing giggled from behind her veil. “Your agony will start soon enough without hurrying it.” She took a step forward.
That was the moment Ciri choose to strike.
Light blurred around her as the leapt forward, the power of her magic allowing her to move at speeds not ordinary mortal could match. Before the veiled hag had a chance to do more than reach out a hand Ciri had darted around her. The eyeless crone moved to try and block her and she struck out. Her blade cut deep into the woman’s arm, scattering black blood across the muddy ground.
“GAAAAAGH!” The witch fell back, clutching her arm. “The bitch cut me!”
Ciri didn’t wait to see what the other two were doing. She had the advantage of surprise and intended to use it. Speeding around the shrieking witch she darted into the mist to looser herself again the swamp.
Or so she hoped. She had taken no more than three steps when one of the tree roots suddenly sprang up and tripped her. In her hasted state Ciri tumbled wildly out of control, slamming into one of the misshaped trees ahead with such force that the wind has knocked from her lungs. She fell heavily, her sword dropping from her hand as she tried to suck in air.
“Cut me she did!” Ciri heard the witch cursing. “The little whore! Make her bleed sisters. Make her scream!”
Ciri tried to rise, but the tree roots came alive around her, entangling both her hands as she kneeled on all fours. More of the twisting wooden limbs sprang from the soft earth behind her to pin her ankles.
“No,” she screamed, struggling. Her new breasts bounced beneath her as she heaved and strained. “Let me go!”
“You’ve been a bad girl,” a voice beside her said. Looking over her shoulder Ciri saw the veiled hag shuffling towards her.
“A naughty girl you are, and naughty girls get punished!”
Another sound came from in front of her, something large moving through the mist. Ciri renewed her struggle but it was useless. The tree roots held her fast. A shadow fell across her and she looked up, panting with fear.
The thing before here was huge – twice the height of a tall man, with muscles along its arms and chest that would have shamed an ogre. But it was not the mere size of the beast that filled Ciri was cold terror. Every aspect of it was a thing of nightmare, from its short snouted, goat like head with its mass of razor pointed antlers to the cloven hooved feet at the end of its triple jointed legs. Its skin was a pallid grey hide covered with tufts of short black hair that formed a mane along its back. It stared down at Ciri with eyes that were dark as the black of the pit, droll dripping from its jaws.
But what truly filled the girl from the Elven realms was the thick, slimy member that hung down from the coarse hair between the monster’s goat-like legs. Over twelve inches long and thick as her forearm, it dripped foul smelling mucous along its mottled shaft, twitching as the beast looked down on the woman bound helplessly before it.
“You need punishment, naughty girl,” the veiled hag said again. “You need to know what it’s like to hurt.”
“Aye, make her hurt, sister,” the witch she had cut spat. “Make the little whore dance a jig of pain to learn her manners.”
The beast before her knelt down, sniffing at her. Clear fluid dripped from its flaring nostrils. Ciri looked up at it wide eyed, not daring to move. It snorted, the foam from its nose spattering over her lovely face as she was held helpless by the vines.
Ciri watched the phallus between the monster’s legs lengthening and thickening, growing to over three feet of hardness as it jutted upwards with bestial excitement. The bulbous pale head jutted towards her like the head of a blind python, dripping vile fluid.
Then the creature stood up and walked around behind her...
Read the rest of the story, HOT AND UNCENSORED, on Tier 4 now!
https://www.patreon.com/Darthsaad[/b]
