Ciri was sitting cross-legged on the ground, paying great attention to cards at hand. Geralt tried to teach her some Gwent one lazy afternoon and unfortunately, she didn't seem to understand card games at all. He threw a spy with a backward motion, his superior tactics granting him two additional siege cards. Ciri pouted and threw her deck in the air, then kicked at the match cards and walked off.
Geralt wasn't going to let that one slide. She makes fun of my horse, fine. She insults my beard, fine by me. She drinks all my apple juice? Okay! But disrespecting Gwent? Fuck no.
– Come over here – he barked at her.
– I won't. Your game of chance bores me.
– It's a game of skill, cunt. Come over here.
Ciri approached him exasperated, a her face a mask of shock.
– Did you just call me a cunt?
– I did. You're shit at cards. You insult my superior tactics, call me a lucker. Well guess what, Ciri. You're no longer a kid. I will no longer restrain myself.
Geralt grabbed her by the neck and bent her down, quickly unsheathed his silver sword began smacking ass with the flat of the blade. She shouted in pain for a while, then began moaning. Oh no, thought Geralt. Not again.
– M-more – she begged, some strange obsession in her eyes. Her hands already began unbuttoning her shirt.
The witcher sighed and took off his pants and breeches. Ciri instantly got to his giant mutated cock and began sucking furiously, pulling painfully at his majestic albino bush. Geralt patted her head in a preoccupied manner and thought of Yennefer sucking Triss' tits to make himself hard. His cock instantly hardened, seemingly because of Ciri's tongue covering it with tons of slobber.
She's my daughter, he thought. I have to make her happy, otherwise what kind of a father am I? He thought about Yen playing nude Gwent with Triss, making himself jizz violently. Ciri slurped at his fluorescent semen and let out a muffled gasp of comfort.
It's my duty. My destiny. My daughter.