Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cold had teeth in the mountains. It scraped along the stone halls of Kaer Morhen, swept under doors, and coiled in every joint and jaw. But in the lower levels of the keep, the air was warm. Too warm. Almost humid.

The warmth came from The Extractor.

Down below the training yard, past the forge and the library, was a chamber most Witchers never spoke about outside the keep. They had many rituals, many routines. But this one belonged to winter alone.

The Milking Hall.

Geralt was the first to arrive, bare footed and shirtless, breath fogging faintly as he pushed open the heavy stone door. The room hummed at once in greeting.

Along the far wall, six wide platforms had already begun to glow and above them shelves of crystal jars. Empty for now. Labeled and ready.
It was a living enchantment, old as the Trials themselves. Built into the stone, it pulsed with ancient intent, detect, bind, stimulate, drain.

Wherever a Witcher lay, the Extractor reached him. From the stone beneath each platform would rise its components. Restraint tendrils of enchanted leather and glowing ironwood. Glyphs that hovered over the skin and mapped arousal. Pressure halos tuned to cock girth, testicle fullness, and nerve sensitivity.
Suction points for their cocks, for balls and nipples if needed. And the central siphon, a translucent channel glowing faintly blue, pulsing gently with runes as it awaited the first load of the season.

It did not ask what each Witcher needed. It simply read the body, adjusted, and began its work. The Extractor knew.

Geralt approached the platform and let out a breath. His build was heavy with training, arms corded with muscle, silver scars crossing his chest like old spells. His cock already hung half-hard, twitching slightly from memory. His balls were, well, Witcher-sized. Comically swollen, pulled taut with months of travel, potion, tension, and stored magical charge. No human could carry that much and still walk. But Geralt had endured the Trials twice. His body was built to store more.

He lay back. The moment his shoulders touched stone, the tendrils moved.

Snap. Click. Bind.

Wrists. Ankles. Thighs. Waist. Chest.

A soft hum filled the chamber as his platform rose slightly into the air, angling him just so. A warmth slid across his inner thighs, pre-stimulation pressure. He grunted low in his throat.

The door opened again.

“Fuuuck,” Lambert groaned, already stripping off his pants, his cock slapping free with zero shame. “I swear my balls are heavier than my fucking swords right now.”

Eskel followed behind him, quieter, still pulling his tunic over his head. His build was broader than Lambert’s, and his cock hung thick and dusky between tree trunk thighs. His balls swayed under the weight of stored release.

They took their places without ceremony. The same ritual every winter. Lie back. Get bound. Get drained.

Aiden was last. He hovered in the doorway, red faced already, arms crossed low in an unconscious attempt to hide his cock, which was already drooling pre-cum onto the stone.

Lambert spotted him first and grinned. “Well, well. The pup returns. You gonna make it to your fifth load this year, or tap out crying like last time?”

Aiden muttered something under his breath but stepped in. His cock was long, veiny, visibly throbbing with magical overcharge. His balls hung heavy like swollen fruit, begging, aching ,to be emptied.

The Extractor hummed in pleasure as it sensed him. The runes around his platform flared to life.

As the last Witcher was strapped in, a deeper tone rang through the chamber. Low. Resonant. Felt in the pelvis more than heard in the ears.

The siphons opened. The crystal jars glowed with golden runes. The stone beneath them throbbed. And one by one, the Witchers began to moan.

The Extractor awoke like something alive. The glyphs under each platform pulsed in sequence, one by one, starting with Geralt’s. A soft pressure built under his spine as the machine adjusted him, arching his hips slightly upward. Warmth seeped into his thighs.

A shimmering halo of magic hovered just above the head of his cock. It read him, twitched in response to each pulse of blood, each muscle spasm in his groin.

And then it began to stroke.

Not physical fingers, not even illusion. Just pressure. Perfect, targeted, frictionless motion that tugged from tip to base with exactly the grip his body ached for. Geralt grunted, jaw tight. His cock surged fully hard in an instant, slapping up against his belly with a wet, obscene sound.

Across the room, Lambert gasped. “Shit…yeah, fuck, there we go…”

His body bucked as the tendrils secured his thighs tighter. The Extractor had gone straight for his nipples, flickering glyphs drawing slow spirals over them while twin suction halos latched onto his cock and balls like hungry mouths.

“Oh fuck…” Lambert moaned, already red faced, “...forgot how good this is…”

Schlup. Hum. Pulse.
Schlup. Hum. Pulse.

The sound of magical suction began to fill the room, not harsh or mechanical, but wet, rhythmic, almost obscene in its softness. And soon, from every platform, came the music of overstimulation:

Low moans. Choked breaths. Guttural curses. The wet squelch of pressure spells around twitching, leaking cocks.

Eskel was nearly silent at first. Eyes closed, jaw clenched. But the Extractor knew better. It rolled a slow ripple of heat across his taint, cupped his balls with tingling weight, and sucked softly at the underside of his cockhead until “...Hhhaaah!”

A single sound. Deep. Stunned. Like a growl choked back by surprise. He twitched once. Then again. His chest was already slick with sweat.

“Second to break,” Lambert muttered with a grin, biting his lip as his own cock jerked violently under suction. “Figures.”

And Aiden, Aiden was staring. Not at his own cock, which stood flushed and leaking under a precise three point stimulation weave. Not at the jar already glowing with pre drain runes beside his platform.

No. He was staring at Lambert.

At his legs spread wide, muscles flexed, hips rolling into the machine like he was fucking it back. At the way Lambert arched under nipple suction, moaning through gritted teeth like some depraved nobleman being edged at a banquet.

Aiden’s face was crimson. His whole body was rigid with tension. His cock was leaking freely.

Lambert noticed. He tilted his head, panting, and smirked through a groan. “Enjoying the show, pup?”

Aiden’s jaw dropped slightly. Then his back arched hard as the Extractor pulsed heat down his shaft, from base to tip in a rolling throb that sent his thighs shuddering.

“Ah…ah gods…fuck…”

Lambert laughed. “Shit, you sound pretty when you moan.”

Then, louder “Vesemir, we got a new front runner for prettiest moaner this year!”

But Vesemir didn’t answer. Not yet.

He was at the central console, scanning rune output. The machine was still syncing to the Witchers’ loads, still adjusting suction rates and pulse patterns to achieve maximum extraction. The first orgasm of the season had yet to come.

But it would. Any second. The pressure was building. You could feel it in the room.

Geralt was grunting now. Deep, guttural, feral little sounds at the back of his throat. His abs flexed with every pulse. His cock throbbed, twitching helplessly under the extractor’s rhythm.

“Ngh…fuck…”

His hips jerked once, then twice. “C…coming…”

But the Extractor didn’t let him.

A delay pulse surged through his balls, down his cock, and held him, right there, aching, shaking, seconds from explosion.

Geralt roared. Loud. Desperate.

“Don’t…fucking…edg…nnghh!”

He was sweating now. Red in the face. Glowing with frustration. His cock pulsed visibly, leaking heavy beads of precum that shimmered as they dropped into the siphon.

The extractor beeped quietly.

ORGASM BLOCK: ACTIVE.
EDGING THRESHOLD: 94%

Lambert was next.

He wasn’t edged, no, he was ridden. The machine had cranked up suction on his cock and balls both, while tiny magical shocks sparked along his nipples. His whole body bucked in place, muscles tense, cock throbbing visibly with every stroke.

He screamed as he came. “FUCKFUCKfuckfuckohfuck…”

His back arched off the platform, eyes wide, jaw slack as cum erupted from him in thick, glowing pulses. The siphon lit up as it collected, runes spinning rapidly to keep up.

SPLOCH. Splorch. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse

DRAIN IN PROGRESS.

Across the room, Aiden whimpered. “Oh gods…I…I’m gonna…oh…”

The extractor pulsed his shaft once, just once, and Aiden broke like wet paper.

“Haaa….aaah…aAH!”

His whole body spasmed, toes curling, hands clenching as his balls emptied violently. His cum was paler than Lambert’s, but no less abundant. The siphon buzzed, thrilled.

Eskel moaned low in his throat, eyes fluttering as his own pressure built, quiet, controlled, trembling.

And Geralt.

Geralt was still edged.

He snarled, hips straining, voice shaking:

“Fuck. Let me…let me…please…”

But the machine waited.

Geralt was snarling now. Muscles flexed, jaw clenched, hips locked in a desperate stutter as the Extractor held him right on the edge. Pressure spells squeezed his balls with steady, aching pulses while the slick friction around his shaft never relented, up, down, twist, throb, but never enough to push him over.

“Fuck. Fucking…fuck.”

His whole body was trembling. The runes under him flashed again.

He roared, spit flying, head thrown back with a guttural noise that shook the siphon. His cock twitched wildly, a bead of cum splattering his abs, but it wasn’t the release he needed. Not yet.

And the Extractor knew it.

Instead, it pulsed his nipples. Sharp, teasing sparks of sensation that tightened his balls and made his whole groin seize.

Geralt whimpered. A sound torn from deep in his chest, raw and strangled and helpless.

Across the hall, Eskel cracked.

He’d been the quiet one. Steady. Breath low, abs flexing rhythmically, riding the stimulation with Witcher stoicism.

But the Extractor didn’t care.

It rolled a heated pressure up from his perineum, across his balls, over the base of his shaft, and then…

Suction. Strong. Hungry. Precise.

Eskel’s head dropped back.

A deep, earth-shaking moan tore from his throat, thick and primal. His cock jerked once, twice, and then…

SPLORTCH.

Cum erupted.

Thick, white, and steaming with magical heat. It spattered into the siphon in long, heavy pulses, each one pulled from him like a sacrifice.

“Hhhhhnnnh…ngh…ahh…”

He wasn’t vocal like Lambert. He wasn’t delicate like Aiden. Eskel sounded like a fucking beast and he didn’t stop.

The extractor milked him.

Pulse after pulse. Thighs twitching. Cock bobbing helplessly with every wave.

The rune scanned beneath him

Lambert was already on round two. Of course he was.

His first orgasm had been loud, showy, dramatic, but now, as the extractor eased him through cooldown, it started again. Suction re tightened. The strokes changed rhythm.

Lambert grinned through his panting.

“Oh you’re…fuck…really going for it today, huh?”

Aiden was staring at him again, mouth parted. Red faced. Body slick with sweat. His cock still twitching, already hard again, even as a steady stream of cum trickled into his siphon.

Lambert caught his gaze. “Enjoying the show, sweetheart?”

“Nnnh…don’t…don’t call me…”

“You’re leaking.”

Aiden whimpered.

“Fuck…fuck it’s…hhaa…it’s starting again!”

The extractor didn’t give him a moment’s rest. It surged a fresh pulse of heat across his sensitive shaft, tightened its suction, and tapped his nipple with a teasing flick of sensation.

Aiden screamed.

“Aahh…n…no, too soon…too…fuuuhUCK…”

His whole body spasmed as his cock jerked again, pulsing a second orgasm into the siphon with pathetic little splashes. His thighs kicked. His chest heaved. He moaned like he was dying.

Lambert was openly laughing now, hips rolling into his own suction rhythm as he built toward a second peak.

“Gonna squirt again already? Shit, Aiden. You do like being watched.”

Geralt was breaking.

He was drenched in sweat. His cock was a deep, flushed red, twitching violently with every denial pulse. His abs were tensing rhythmically, his voice ragged and ruined.

“Please…fuck…just…let me…let me…”

The extractor hovered. Calculating. Measuring. Then it pulsed.

Not a stroke, a deep, internal pulse that ran up through his taint and into his spine, sparking every nerve from his balls to his brain.

Geralt screamed.

Not in anger. Not in rage. But in the kind of cracked, devastated pleasure that only a Witcher could survive.

“Ffhhuck…fuck yes…ahhh…hh…!”

His cock burst.

Cum flooded the siphon in thick, glowing ropes. It pulsed violently, heavy, endless, his whole body jerking like he was being exorcised. The runes strained to keep up.

THRUM. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse.

And then the siphon glowed red. Even the machine hadn’t expected that much.

Lambert looked over, eyes wide mid-second orgasm. “Holy shit, White Wolf.”

Geralt collapsed against the bindings, panting, twitching, the second jar glowing beside him, already half-full.

He gave a raw little laugh, somewhere between victory and brain death. “I win.”

The extractor finally began to slow.

The suction eased. The stimulation glyphs faded. The runes pulsed a dim, satisfied blue, like they’d fed well and now needed rest.

One by one, the bindings were released.

Click. Slither. Thunk.

Leather tendrils uncoiled from thighs, wrists, chests, sticky with sweat and, well, everything else. The platforms eased down, flat against the stone. Residual warmth hummed beneath each Witcher’s spine.

Geralt was flat on his back, chest heaving. His cock still twitched occasionally, thick and flushed, a drop of after-pre sliding from the tip even after draining two jars' worth. His thighs were streaked with shine. His abs were glossy with his own mess.

He didn’t move.

Just breathed.

“Mmmn.”

That was all he managed.

Eskel wiped his face on his arm, groaning softly. His cock lay heavy against his hip, thoroughly used. His balls, usually so intimidating, were now soft and low, completely drained. He looked dazed.

“Still... hate round one,” he muttered.

Lambert was grinning like a bastard. His second orgasm had hit hard and loud, and he’d kept his eyes open the whole time just to watch Aiden fall apart. He was still panting, hair stuck to his forehead, but his cock was already twitching again.

“Top three, easy,” he said smugly. “That second shot was fuckin’ heroic.”

Aiden looked wrecked. Truly, gloriously ruined.

He was trembling, flushed to the ears, eyes glassy with overstimulation. His cock was still twitching in slow, post-orgasm pulses, drooling milky threads into a jar that was nearly full again.

Everyone else’s jar had stopped glowing.

“...Aiden?” Vesemir said sharply, eyes narrowing as he approached the console. “Why is yours still active?”

Aiden blinked up at him. He looked gone. Just soft little whimpers and a half-lidded gaze.

“I…uh…I think I’m still…hnnh…leaking.”

The extractor pinged.

Vesemir’s jaw tightened. “You haven’t taken any unapproved elixirs this season?”

“N…no…nnghh…I…I’m just…s…sensitive…”

Geralt cracked one eye open. “He came twice. Maybe three.”

“I heard him,” Eskel muttered, rolling onto his side. “Louder than Lambert.”

“Not true,” Lambert said, smug. “But close.”

Vesemir tapped the jar’s base. The runes flared. “He’s producing at double rate,” he muttered. “That’s not normal. You’re not supposed to be back at full refill until tomorrow.”

He stood straighter, arms crossed. “We’ll monitor. If it continues, we’ll initiate surge protocols.”

A tone sounded overhead, soft, melodic.

The daily leaderboard shimmered into view, projected in glowing runes across the chamber’s far wall:

CUM OUTPUT: DAY 1
Geralt: 2.3L
Lambert: 1.7L
Aiden: 1.6L
Eskel: 1.4L

Threshold: 0.8L per cycle

Lambert snorted.

“Told you I’d place top 3.”

Eskel grunted. Geralt smirked, eyes still closed.

Aiden moaned softly. “Why is that...public?”

“Keeps you honest,” Vesemir said. “Keeps you training.”

Lambert elbowed Geralt’s platform as he pulled his pants back on. “White Wolf, you're lucky they counted two jars. Probably blew your prostate inside out.”

Geralt, flatly: “Can’t feel my legs.”

“Same,” Aiden said faintly, still leaking.

Vesemir turned to leave.

“You have six hours before the next training cycle. Eat. Hydrate. Don’t touch yourselves.”

He paused. “Aiden, you’re on medical watch. Stay close.”

Aiden just whimpered again as the extractor hummed behind him…not cruel, not fast…just ready.

Chapter Text

The next morning began exactly the same as the last.

Cold wind howling outside. Kaer Morhen’s stones groaning with winter weight. But in the lower halls, the extractor chamber pulsed warm with residual magic, still echoing with the soaked, ruined pleasure of the day before.

The Witchers returned one by one.

Geralt moved stiffly, wearing nothing but a linen wrap around his waist. His cock already twitched beneath it, clearly remembering the extractor’s grip.

Eskel followed, quiet and unbothered, casually pulling his tunic off as he walked. His balls swung heavy between his thighs again. The man refilled fast.

Lambert walked in naked.

Already.

Cock hard, thick, bouncing with each step. No shame. No modesty. He stretched with a deep, theatrical groan, and then looked at the door.

“Pup’s late.”

Aiden wasn’t late. He was just hovering outside, fists clenched at his sides, flushed to his ears. He’d been leaking since dawn. Just from dreams. Just from thinking about how he sounded yesterday.

He stepped in.

Every rune in the room flickered in greeting.

The extractor was eager.

The moment Aiden entered the radius, the glyphs beneath his platform began to hum, scanning him before he’d even gotten fully undressed.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, kicking off his pants. “Didn’t even…do anything yet…”

Lambert grinned wide from his platform, already climbing up into his bindings. “Yeah? Then why’s your cock already dripping, sweetheart?”

Aiden flushed deeper. His cock was dripping. Long, syrupy strands of pre arced from the tip and splattered wetly onto the glowing runes below.

Geralt looked over. “You’re leaking earlier than yesterday.”

“I…I know,” Aiden muttered. “Can’t stop it. It just…starts.”

They strapped in.

The ritual was so familiar now it barely needed thought: step onto the platform, lie back, let the magic do the rest.

Snap. Bind. Angle. Engage.

Geralt let out a grunt as the platform tilted him just slightly, hips elevated, cock exposed. His balls were already taut again.

Lambert moaned before the suction even started.

“Fuck yes. Gimme the good setting today. You know how I like it, baby.”

The extractor purred.

Stimulation began slowly.

Each Witcher had a different pattern by now, personalized, optimized. The extractor knew them. It had learned their nerve maps, their most reactive zones. It calibrated to their build, their magical charge, their sensitivity.

Geralt: base stroke + internal pulse + tight suction.
Eskel: underside stimulation + slow roll pressure.
Lambert: nipple flick + deep shaft massage + performance boost.
Aiden: head swirl + perineum pulse + full sac warmth.

Lambert started moaning immediately. “Oh fuck…yes, that’s it, gods…shit…”

“You sound like a brothel bard,” Eskel muttered.

“Shut the fuck up, you love it.”

Lambert arched into the pressure, licking his lips. His cock was already rock hard and shiny with magical lubricant, twitching under the extractor’s attention. “Aiden,” he panted between groans, “you watching me?”

Aiden froze.

He was watching. He’d been watching since the first pulse. Lambert's body moved when he got edged, like he was fucking back into the extractor’s grip. He gasped, moaned, rolled his hips like a tease, and looked straight at Aiden when he groaned the loudest.

Aiden’s cock twitched violently. “N…no…shut up…don’t…don’t talk to me…”

Lambert grinned. “So shy. But you’re throbbing, babe.”

“I…I’m not…oh gods…”

The extractor pulsed Aiden’s perineum and base together, hard and deep, and he cried out on instinct.

“Ah…Lambert!”

“Oooh, you say my name so sweet, too.”

Across the room, Geralt was gritting his teeth.

His cock stood straight and angry against his belly, already flushed deep red. Suction cupped his balls tight. A pressure rhythm rolled down his shaft in slow, teasing pulses that made his entire abdomen twitch.

He was edging. Already. And he hated it. “Fucking…not again…don’t…ugh…”

The extractor denied him a full pulse, just like yesterday. His moan came out wrecked, half-choked, low and hot.

“Nngh…please…fuck…”

Eskel, as usual, was steady. But the stimulation pattern had begun targeting his nipples and he was squirming.

Aiden moaned again. High. Frantic.

Lambert watched him.

Grinning, panting, milking every second of eye contact.

“Come on, pup. Look at me while you squirt.”

Aiden did.

And the extractor rewarded him.

A full suction pulse gripped the base of his cock while heat surged across his balls. His body bucked, and the dam broke.

“AHhh…LAMBERT…I’m…!”

Spurt. Spurt. Spurt. Spurt.

Lambert came seconds later. “Ffffuck…ohhh, yes…”

His voice cracked into a growl as cum poured from him in thick, showy arcs, siphoned straight into a jar that glowed almost pink from heat. His nipples
twitched. His cock throbbed, spraying like it wanted to be seen.

Geralt still hadn’t and that fact was making him insane.

Aiden was still panting.
Still leaking.
Still coming.

The extractor had triggered a full siphon loop—one orgasm, then a follow-up drip-catch protocol. His cock gave pathetic little twitches in the air, and every time it spasmed, another lazy squirt of cum was pulled down into the glowing jar.

“Nnghh…ah…I…oh fuck, I can’t…”

He wasn’t in control. The extractor was driving.

And Lambert, still panting, still flushed, cock twitching in recovery, was watching every second. “Look at you,” Lambert cooed. “Still fuckin’ leaking.”

Aiden moaned. “Nnnn…”

“Hey Vesemir,” Lambert called, “how many days in before we can start betting on whose balls fill fastest?”

From the side console, Vesemir didn’t even glance up.

“Three. But if I catch anyone tampering with hydration levels again, I’ll flood your cocks with numbing oil.”

Lambert whistled. Geralt groaned.

And Geralt, poor, vibrating, wrecked Geralt, was not okay.

His cock was swollen. Shiny, throbbing, deep red from sheer strain.

The extractor was edging him with cruel precision, tight base suction, tip swirl pulses, and a pressure lock on his balls that refused to release him. It had taken everything it learned yesterday and weaponized it.

He was glowing.
Literally.

His balls were giving off magical light, a golden shimmer pulsing with stored energy.

“Fucking…what…” he snarled. “Let me come!”

Eskel, nearby, finally broke into a wheezing laugh.

“Geralt’s balls are glowing.”

“No they’re not,” Geralt growled.

“They are,” Lambert added. “Like a torchbug’s ass. Beautiful. Inspiring. Looks like they’re about to explode.”

Geralt was moaning now, full volume. “Please…fuck, I can’t…I need to…nngh…!”

His thighs were locked, every muscle in his abdomen twitching with restraint. The extractor kept him at 99.6% not letting him breathe, not letting him come.

“It’s just edging you now out of spite,” Eskel said, voice casual. “Like it wants to hear you beg.”

Geralt snarled. But then the extractor chirped.

A shared tone. A sync.

Lambert blinked. So did Aiden.

Both their platforms flashed. “Wait, what…” Aiden gasped. “It’s…why are you…ohhh gods…” The extractor had synced their rhythms. Every time Lambert’s cock pulsed in post-orgasm recovery, Aiden’s stimulationpattern flared to match. Pressure under his balls. Stroking at the tip. Nipple flicks, in Lambert’s rhythm.

“AH…no…fuck…fuck it’s making me…!”

Spurt. Spurt. Spurt.

Aiden came again.

Twitching, overwhelmed, eyes rolling back as cum splashed into his jar. His cock never went soft. It just twitched, and dripped, and spilled, helplessly chasing Lambert’s pace.

Lambert was laughing openly now. “Shit, it’s training you to come with me? That’s hot.”

“Fuck you!”
“You wish.”

Geralt couldn’t take it.

He thrashed once. The extractor pulsed his shaft hard, and that, finally, finally tipped him.

“NnggghHAAAAAAHH!”

His cock exploded.

No other word for it. The jar below hissed as jet after jet of cum sprayed into it, each one thicker, longer, hotter than the last. The light from his balls flared ,gold white blinding, before flickering out like a dying star.

Geralt collapsed, eyes half open, mouth slack, cum dripping down his abs and still oozing from his tip. A slow, obscene sound as the suction finally detached from his shaft.

“Leaderboard’s gonna be funny today,” Eskel said, voice low.

“Yeah,” Lambert muttered, cock twitching with new interest, “and tomorrow, I’m syncing early.”

The extractor chamber was wet with heat and magic.

Slick thighs. Glowing jars. Low, panting moans that echoed off stone.

Aiden was already on his third orgasm and hadn’t even left the platform since the morning cycle began.

His whole body twitched with overstimulation. His cock had started to throb even between stimulationcycles now, trained, responsive, drooling in sync with every pressure flick.

He looked wrecked. Hair stuck to his cheeks. Lips parted. Eyes locked on Lambert, who hadn’t stopped teasing him for twenty minutes straight.

“Gods,” Lambert groaned, voice low and filthy as he rutted up into his own suction, “you’re making me hard again, sweetheart.”

Aiden whimpered. “D…don’t say that…please…”

“Why not? You love when I look at you.”

“I…don’t…”
“You do. Look at you. You’re dripping.”
“FfffUCK…!”

Spurt. Spurt. Spurt. Spurt.

Aiden came immediately. Body arched. Eyes wide. Whimpering like a broken lute string. “Oh fuck oh gods I…nnnnh!”

Lambert laughed, cock already swelling again as he licked his fingers. “So sensitive. Can’t believe they let you walk around like this in public.”

Vesemir didn’t even flinch. He was at the console, rune sliding adjustments into the leaderboard logic.

“New bonus metric,” he muttered. “Vocalization clarity. Moan volume. Edge rupture pitch breaks. Might as well reward commitment.”

Eskel looked up sharply. “You’re ranking moans now?”

“It’s all part of output.” Vesemir didn’t blink. “Those who make others harder get rewarded.”

Geralt growled from his platform.

He was still twitching, still post orgasm. But the extractor had decided that cooldown didn’t mean off, so it kept applying light, slow suction around his cock and balls, just enough to keep his body begging.

“I am not moaning,” he said flatly.

“That’s why you’re in fourth,” Lambert called cheerfully.

“I came so much…”

“Yeah, but quietly. Nobody wants a stoic cum jug. Give me a drama queen, every time.”

Eskel grunted.

He’d been holding out all morning—steady breathing, firm grip, no extra stimulation, but the Extractor had caught on. It had been focusing solely on his nipples for the last seven minutes.

Tiny sparks. Rhythmically. No shaft contact.

Just two little glows of flickering pressure right over his chest, again, and again, and again.

“Fuck…fuck…”

His control slipped.

Not just a moan, a plea.

“Touch my cock…please…gods…let me…”

The Extractor chirped like a pleased bird. A wave of warm suction wrapped his shaft in one slow glide. His hips jerked so hard he threw his head back and moaned, deep, wrecked, grateful.

The Leaderboard glowed again.

MOAN METRIC UPDATE
Aiden – “Most Whimpers Per Minute”
Lambert – “Dirtiest Dirty Talk”
Eskel – “Begged the Nicest”
Geralt – “Refuses to Participate”

Geralt groaned into the stone. “I hate this place.”

Vesemir, unbothered, jotted notes into a weathered old ledger. “Stamina holding. Edge tolerance up 16%. Lubrication output is high. No ruptures. No tears. Good progress.”

Lambert grinned. “Hey, Vesemir? What’s the bonus prize for wrecking the pup the fastest?”

“If he doesn’t pass out, I don’t care.”

The air in the chamber was thick with magic, sweat, and sex.

Moans echoed off the stone walls like a symphony of broken men.

Aiden was shaking again. His cock still stood, hard and twitching, even after his fourth orgasm. His thighs glistened. His abs flexed. Every pulse of suction now dragged a squeaky, pathetic whimper from his throat.

“Nnh…please…I can’t…d…don’t…don’t make me come again…”

The extractor’s response was to stroke harder.

Aiden sobbed. “NO…no no…Lambert please help me…”

“Babe,” Lambert said, cock already twitching again, “I am helping. I’m watching.”

Eskel was fully locked in now, nipple stimulationgoing, shaft pulsing, and voice deeper than anyone had heard in years. The extractor had trained him to edge, and now he was weaponizing it.

“Ffffuck…yes…gods…rhhhnnn…please more…”

He moaned like a man praying. Long, drawn out, holy sounding desperation. Every time he begged, his cock swelled more. The extractor responded by stroking him slower, like it was milking the prayer itself out of him.

Leaderboard updated mid-cycle.
MOAN METRIC LIVE
Eskel – “Deepest Moan”
Aiden – “Most Repeats of ‘Please’”
Lambert – “Most Encouraging Dirty Talk”
Geralt – “Still Silent, Still Angry”

Lambert wasn’t having it. “Okay no way Eskel’s deeper than me”

He leaned back, cupped his own chest, and let out an obscenely loud, high-pitched moan just as the extractor slammed a new suction pattern onto his cock.

“Aahh…fuck…yes…fuck me…fuck me!”

Aiden twitched. “Nnnnnghh…Lambert…stop…stop saying things…”

“I just started.”

Lambert flipped onto his side, facing Aiden across the short space. He whispered like a spell “Come for me again, pretty boy.”

“No…no…no I…”

Spurt. Spurt. Spurt.

“Gods dammit!”

Then it happened.

Geralt moaned.

No one saw it coming. He hadn’t made a sound in three days of cycles. He’d grunted, growled, cursed. But this?

“Nnnghh…fuck…fuck…please…”

The sound rumbled. It came from deep, low in his chest. Guttural. Full of pain and need and ruin. His whole body flexed, cock kicking against the suction as the extractor squeezed.

The moan hit the others like a spell.

Eskel broke first. “Oh gods…Geralt…fuck!”

His cock throbbed violently, hips jerking as he spurted into his siphon with a wounded groan.

Lambert came mid-laugh.

“FUCK…fuck…ha…oh fuck yes…that’s what I wanted…shit”

Aiden came silently. Too ruined to even cry out. Just a full body spasm, cock twitching as it emptied again, his mouth open in a soundless whimper as his fifth orgasm flooded the jar.

The extractor beeped in confusion.

UNSCHEDULED RELEASE DETECTED.
SYSTEM SYNC ERROR.
PLEASURE PULSE: UNCONTROLLED.

The runes shimmered. Every jar glowed pink. A magical mist of overloaded enchantments danced above the platforms, like it was soaked in Witcher cum magic.

Geralt just lay there. Half conscious. One hand twitching in the bindings. “...don’t look at me.”

“Too late,” Lambert groaned, still panting. “We heard you.”
“He sounded good,” Eskel added, dazed.
“Like a sex demon.”
“Yeah,” Aiden whispered, already getting hard again, “he did.”

CUM OUTPUT
Geralt – 2.6L (Glowing Balls Bonus + Emergency Release Penalty)
Aiden – 2.5L (5 orgasms, zero refractory)
Eskel – 1.9L (Suppressed until catastrophic)
Lambert – 1.7L (High consistency, stylish release)

MOAN METRICS
Geralt – “One Moan to Ruin Them All”
Eskel – “Deepest, Sweetest, Saddest”
Aiden – “Most Desperate and Most Frequently Used the Word ‘Please’ (17x)”
Lambert – “Dirtiest Mouth, Most Publicly Horny”

Vesemir’s Notes
“Geralt is now a verified vocal risk. Extraction must be manually staggered.”
“Aiden will need supplemental training. Possibly supervised.”
“Lambert is banned from talking during sync mode.”
“Eskel is not allowed to ‘pray’ to the extractor anymore.”

Chapter Text

The bindings hissed open on Vesemir’s platform.

The rest of the hall was already dimmed. Training had ended. Milking was done for the day. The extractor had cooled, but its runes still pulsed faintly, anticipating one final extraction.

Vesemir stood still beside his station. Bare chested. Hair tied back. The linen wrap hung low on his hips, and when he dropped it, there was a hushed silence.

Even now, even after decades, the old wolf’s body was still commanding. Hard lines. Heavy build. A cock like a fucking war relic.

“You gonna narrate this for us?” Lambert asked, trying and failing to sound casual.

“Shut up,” Vesemir replied calmly. “You’ll break your jaw drooling.”

Geralt, Eskel, Lambert, and Aiden were all watching. From cooldown beds, still strapped down. Limbs shaky. Cocks twitching, spent but curious. This didn’t happen often.

“He really gets strapped in like the rest of us?” Aiden whispered.
“Yep,” Geralt grunted. “Every seven days. Magical requirement. Same spell as ours.”
“But he doesn’t...squirm, right?”
“Wait and see.”

Vesemir stepped onto the platform. The bindings activated automatically, no hesitation, no ceremony. Leather coils snapped around his wrists and ankles. His chest was lifted slightly. Thighs spread.

Click. Snap.

The runes glowed warm beneath his back. A final tone sounded and then the extractor began but unlike with the others, there was no teasing. No slow warm up.

The first pulse hit hard, a full shaft suction with dual nipple stimulationand deep perineum pressure, all at once.

“Hnnnh…fucking…”

Vesemir jerked in the restraints. His cock went from soft to ironhard in seconds.

The room watched. Even Lambert stayed quiet now.

The Extractor was different with him. Not gentle. Not playful. Efficient. Cruel. Like it knew Vesemir could take more. That he didn’t need to be coaxed, just emptied.

“Nnnghh…fuck,” Vesemir muttered. His teeth clenched.

Another pulse. Another jolt through his body. His cock throbbed, leaking fast.

“Is it... always that rough with him?” Aiden asked, a little dazed.

“Yeah,” Geralt muttered. “He won’t say it, but the spell reads magic density. His output’s still huge. More pressure needed to break the dam.”

On the platform, Vesemir growled.

“Tch…damn thing’s always impatient…nnnGH…!”

Spurt. Spurt. Spurt.

His cock fired. Hard. Thick streams pumped into the collection siphon as the extractor deepened the pressure, drawing even more.

Not a word from the others. Just four spent, naked Witchers strapped down watching their mentor get milked dry, Aiden was visibly hard again.

The extractor did not let up. It switched to Phase 2 instantly, post orgasm twitch draining. stimulationpads glowed at his sac, lifting slightly. Cock tip stimulationresumed.

“F…fuck…enough!”

But the enchantment didn’t listen. It kept going.

Lambert finally cracked. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. “Is his second load bigger?”

Geralt nodded, eyes locked on the platform. “It always is.”

Vesemir’s body arched. His second orgasm tore through him, rougher, louder. Cum flooded into the siphon, thick and fast, the jar glowing brighter than any of theirs had.

His voice was low and savage: “Ffffuck…damn machine…drain me…just…get it done!”

The extractor chirped like it was proud. When it finally released him, the room was silent, the runes dimmed. Vesemir lay there panting, chest heaving, hair damp with sweat. His cock finally softened. His balls deflated.

“That,” he muttered, “is why I monitor. Not participate.”

“That,” Lambert said reverently, “was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“...Me too,” Aiden squeaked.

Chapter Text

Aiden didn’t make it to breakfast. He was too wet. Too sensitive. Too full. His cock had started leaking in his sleep, first a little, then a lot, until his bedding was soaked through with thick, heavy streams of pre. His sac ached. His body trembled. He hadn’t even touched himself.

The extractor had done too good a job training him.

“I…I don’t know what’s wrong…” he stammered in the hallway, clutching a linen to cover the heavy swing of his leaking cock, “it just…won’t stop…”

Lambert, already halfway through a leftover thigh bone, just blinked at him. “Shit. You’re leaking like a spellwound.”

“Help…”
“You don’t need me,” Lambert said with a grin, “you need the overflow protocol.”

Vesemir called the activation rune from a weathered scroll.

Overflow Protocol: Initiated

He hadn’t needed it in decades. But Aiden’s stats were undeniable.

The extractor’s response was swift. Bindings clamped on Aiden’s wrists. His linen was stripped away by magic. His body was floated toward the platform without a hand laid on him.

“W…wait…wait what is this…”
“You’ve hit Overflow,” Vesemir said calmly. “You’re too full to function. You need containment.”
“But I…”
“You’ll be plugged.”

Aiden shivered. He’d heard of it, in theory. Never seen it. “I won’t be able to come?”

“Not without supervision. Not without command.”

The extractor platform was humming. Low and ominous. It knew what it was about to do.

Aiden was already strapped down. Ankles, thighs, hips, chest, arms, each restraint humming with magical precision. The plug was still in.

He was whimpering. “Please…I can’t take much more…”

His cock had been locked forward for over 16 hours. The pressure in his balls felt inhuman. His stomach ached. His whole body twitched with every faint throb of the plug’s hourly tease.

Now, finally, it was time for release.

Vesemir stood at the console, steady and unreadable.

“Overdrive protocol engaged. Plug release in ten. Suction ramp: aggressive.”

“S…sir I…please…if they see me like this…”
“This is a medical procedure.”

“They’re not supposed to be here!” He whined.

The door opens. “We heard he’s getting drained,” Lambert’s voice rang out. “Figured we’d stop by.”

“Y…you bastards…”

“Didn’t want to miss the show,” Eskel added, cock already semi hard.

Geralt said nothing, but his arms were folded. Watching. Eyes locked on the rising glow around Aiden’s cock.

The plug slid out as it made a soft click, and Aiden gasped, legs shaking against the bonds as the sudden emptiness made his whole body seize. “Fuck…fuck…fuck it’s coming…”

RELEASE DELAYED. OVERDRIVE INITIATED.

The stimulationpads lit red. Cock. Balls. Prostate. Nipple. All activated at once.

“NnNNNNNGHHHHH!”

Spurt. Spurt. Spurt. Spurt.

Aiden came violently.

His back arched. Thighs slammed against the restraints. His cock pulsed over and over, gushing thick white floods of stored cum into the siphon so fast the runes flickered to handle the volume.

“Holy fuck,” Lambert breathed.

CYCLE CONTINUING. STORAGE NOT EMPTY.

And it kept going. The suction didn’t slow. If anything, it intensified, matching his pulses, dragging out each one into a new orgasm. Pressure beneath his balls flared again. Nipple stimulationsynced to his breath.

“Please…stop…nnnnggghh….stop it…fuck…I’m begging…”

“You’re not done,” Vesemir said simply. “You’re still full.”

By the third wave, Aiden was crying. Sobbing. Sputtering. His cock never softened, never stopped twitching and the extractor never once let up. The jar below glowed like a sunlight potion, nearly full.

“That’s not a milking,” Lambert whispered, mesmerized. “That’s harvesting.”

“You okay, pup?” Eskel added, gently teasing. “You’re shaking.”

Aiden couldn’t even respond. His moans were broken. His throat was wrecked. His cock dripped. His balls slowly, finally, deflating.

Eventually

The extractor slid the plug back in while Aiden was still twitching. He screamed. “WHY?!”

“You’ll refill,” Vesemir said calmly. “This was just the purge.”
“...you’re going to do that again?”
“If you leak.”

The others left slowly. Eskel was quiet. Lambert was hard. Geralt nodded once, like he was impressed, and walked away.

Aiden was left strapped down, plugged, and shaking, jaw slack, breath shallow, jar beneath him full to the brim.

The extractor chamber was dim.

Later that night soft glowstones lit the runes, casting long shadows across the stone. The platforms were silent, except for one.

Aiden’s. He lay strapped in. Plug already removed. Chest rising in shallow, panicked breaths as the stimulationpads warmed beneath him.

“S…sir…”
“Quiet now,” Vesemir said gently. “Final purge. After this, your body should stabilize.”

“C…can’t it wait until morning?”
“Would you rather leak into the mess hall again?”

Aiden flushed. “...No, sir.”

Then the cycle began.

No announcements. No fanfare. Just a low, predatory hum from the extractor, like it had been waiting for this.
stimulationpads lit at once.

Nipples. Cock base. Shaft. Balls. Perineum.

“Nnnnh…oh gods…fuck…”

It was stronger this time. The extractor didn’t bother with edging. It skipped straight to full pressure, like it knew his body was already ready to burst.

Spurt. Spurt. Spurt.

The first orgasm came within seconds.

His body convulsed, muscles locked, cock pulsing into the siphon with thick, shuddering waves. But it didn’t stop. The stimulationstayed constant.

Then the door creaked open.

“Told you he’d be in tonight,” Lambert muttered.
“You’re all supposed to be asleep,” Vesemir sighed.
“Yeah, well,” Eskel said, eyes glued to Aiden’s twitching cock, “we’re invested.”

Even Geralt showed up, hair half-tied, arms crossed, silently watching like it was a late-night opera.

“G…go away…” Aiden whimpered, face burning.

“Aww, he’s embarrassed,” Lambert cooed. “Look at him blushing while he gets drained like a prized stud.”

The extractor didn’t let up.

“FUCK…please…I can’t…I can’t…”

Spurt. Spurt. Spurt. Spurt. Spurt.

The jar was already half full again. Aiden’s balls, swollen to the size of apples, were finally beginning to deflate.

He could feel it now. The deep ache easing. The tension in his gut finally released. His cock still hard. Still pulsing. Still being worked.

Aiden moaned openly now. No resistance left. Just red-faced surrender.

“Nnnh…yes…yes yes…empty me…drain me…please…”

“Fucking hell,” Lambert whispered. “He’s really broken.”
“You proud of yourself, pup?” Vesemir asked as the final stimulationpass rippled over him. “You learned to come on command. That’s what this is.”

“T…thank you…sir…nnnghh…fuck…”

One last violent spurt. His whole body shook. Cock spasming into the siphon as the runes flared white gold.

DRAIN COMPLETE. STABILITY: RESTORED.
LEAKAGE: NEUTRALIZED.
EXCESS MAGIC: VENTED.
SUBJECT: FUNCTIONAL.

They left him strapped there, cooldown cycle engaged, stimulationpads humming gently to soothe the aftershocks.

Aiden just lay there, flushed and trembling, but...he wasn’t leaking anymore.

Chapter Text

There was a new symbol glowing on the extractor runes that morning. Not the usual soft blue of milk cycles.

This one was silver, pulsing gently.

“What is that?” Aiden asked, shifting nervously as he stripped for morning extraction.
“Discipline protocol,” Vesemir said simply, without looking up. “Welcome to Edge Orders.”
“...Edge?”
“No orgasms,” Eskel muttered. “Just edging. Ruined if you’re lucky.”

Lambert froze. “What.”
“You heard him.”

All four Witchers were strapped down.
Geralt. Lambert. Eskel. Aiden.
Nude, restrained, fully exposed. The extractor hummed low with a new rhythm, smoother, slower, more sinister.

No suction yet. Just anticipation.

“What’s the goal?” Geralt asked, voice low.
“Discipline,” Vesemir replied. “You’ve all been over stimulated. Milking is routine. This is control.”

“But we’ve been controlled.”
“No,” Vesemir interrupted. “You’ve been emptied. That’s not the same thing.”

The cycle began.

Slow strokes and no climax. The stimulation pads teased their nipples and perineum. Suction spiraled around their cocks, tight, wet, perfectly tuned, but stopped right as they began to twitch.

“Nnghh…fuck…please…”

“It’s not even…doing anything…” Lambert snapped. “I need to come!”
“You don’t need to,” Vesemir corrected. “You want to. That’s the problem.”

Fifteen minutes passed. No orgasms. Just twitching.

The extractor brought them to the brink over and over. Geralt grunted softly, hips twitching once, then falling still again. He was doing surprisingly well.

Eskel was quiet. But sweat was dripping down his temples. Lambert was livid. “It’s edging me on purpose!” he shouted, hips bucking against the strap. “I felt it stop right there…right there…”

“That’s the point,” Vesemir said. “You learn where the line is.”

“I hate this…”
“Good.”

Then came the first ruin cycle. The extractor shifted. Suction returned, fast. Deep. The stimulation pads pulsed in perfect sync. The Witchers all began to cry out.

“NnnnGH…fuck yes…yes…yes finally…”

And then ruined. The pressure dropped. Suction flicked off a split second before climax. The stimulation pads twitched one last time.

Spurt. Spurt. Spurt.

Not full. Not complete. Just leaking and twitching from the ghost of an orgasm.

Aiden sobbed.
Lambert screamed.
Eskel bit his own lip.
Geralt exhaled quietly. Almost content.

“...You liked that,” Lambert accused, panting.
“Didn’t say that,” Geralt replied.

Cycle 1 complete.

The runes dimmed. Their bodies were still aching. Still hard. Still denied.

They’d expected it to get easier and it didn’t. The extractor didn’t soothe them between cycles anymore. No cooldown pads or pressure relief, just silence, until the platform lit up again, and they were strapped in.

This time, the rune pulsed silver red. That meant Sync Mode.

“What’s sync mode?” Aiden whispered.
“Means you don’t come unless everyone does,” Eskel replied hoarsely. “And no one does.”

“Why…why would they do that?”
“Because you need to learn,” Vesemir said, appearing beside them. The old Wolf stood with his arms behind his back, calm as ever. “You need to be drained, not cum. It’s not the same thing. Learn that.”

He looked them over, all of them naked, flushed, sensitive from the last cycle. “When you rely on the extractor to milk you to completion, your body forgets control. Sync Mode will fix that.”

“Can’t we just do it manually…” Lambert began.
“No,” Vesemir said coldly. “You don’t deserve release. You earn emptying. The extractor decides when that happens. Not you.”

The cycle began.

No suction this time, not until everyone was close. Just stimulation, perineum pulses and shaft tingles. That maddening soft circle around the cockhead, just barely not enough.

The Witchers squirmed. Helpless and trapped, every moan, every twitch, recorded by the runes above.

“Wh…why won’t it go?” Aiden panted.
“You’re ready,” Vesemir said. “They’re not.”

“Then let me come!”
“No. That’s not the rule.”

Geralt’s thighs were trembling now. Eskel was biting his arm. Lambert was cursing under his breath. “Come on, come on…fuck you, Geralt, speed up!” Geralt grunted. “I’m trying.” But deep down? Geralt wasn’t rushing. He was enjoying it. The ache. The pressure. The helpless heat under his skin, he hadn’t felt this much control in months. He wasn't just enduring the discipline, he was falling for it.

The extractor ramped up. “All subjects within edge range. Begin synced ruin.” All four shafts lit with suction at once.

Hard. Fast. Synchronized.

The boys screamed.

“FUCK!”

“No no…no wait…”

“It’s gonna…I’m…gonna…”

Spurt. Spurt. Spurt. Spurt.

Four ruined orgasms, barely satisfying. Just enough to ache but not enough to finish. Their cocks twitched dry. Their bodies bucked, trapped in perfect synchronicity. They slumped in the restraints.

Geralt thought he’d been careful. It was the middle of the night. The extractor hall was quiet. The others were asleep in cooldown quarters, their bodies still twitching from the last synced ruin. Geralt slipped into a training alcove.

He thought he’d get ahead of it, edge himself a few times, keep his body in rhythm with the extractor’s cycle. No release, of course. Just preparation.

But the walls had runes and the runes were watching.

He’d barely wrapped his hand around his cock before a voice rang out “I said, no touching yourself.” Geralt froze as Vesemir stepped into view, arms folded. Calm and controlled. “You think you're the exception?”

“...I wasn’t…I wasn’t going to finish.”
“That’s not the point.”

Geralt slowly straightened. His cock was hard and throbbing. His face didn’t show shame, but his body betrayed him, tense, sensitive, leaking from just one slow edge.

“You wanted to edge?” Vesemir said coldly. “Then do it in front of everyone.”

The others were summoned. Eskel, Lambert, Aiden, all pulled from their beds to witness Geralt’s punishment. Groggy, now seated around Geralt, watching as their golden boy got disciplined.

“What’d he do?” Lambert asked, half smirking.
“Touched himself,” Vesemir replied. “Unscheduled.”

The extractor began. But this wasn’t standard, Vesemir input manual instructions.

No suction until he's shaking.

Continuous Nipple stimulation.

Edging on voice command only.

“Edge,” Vesemir said. The stimulationpads activated. Geralt grunted. His body tensed. His cock throbbed as pressure built fast, too fast, until he was twitching, chest rising.

“Stop.”

Everything halted. Geralt growled, hips bucking helplessly. The others watched, wideeyed.

“Again,” Vesemir said. stimulationrestarted. Geralt’s moans weren’t like the others. They were low and contained but raw, pulled from the chest like a beast cornered.

“Nnnnhh…fuck!”

“Stop.”

Again.
Again.
Again.

By the sixth edge, Geralt was shaking.

His body ached. His balls were heavy. His cock pulsed visibly with every heartbeat.

“You want to come?” Vesemir asked.
“Yes!”

“Then you shouldn’t have touched yourself.” Vesemir leaned in. “Final command: Ruin him.”

The extractor didn’t hesitate. Suction slammed on. The stimulationpads flared. Geralt’s cock was milked hard, fast, no time to resist. His body bucked once, twice…

“NNNNGH…fuck yes…fuuu…no!”

Spurt. Spurt. Spurt

Geralt slumped, panting from his ruined orgasm, intense but empty. Twitching. Messy and unsatisfying.

Lambert leaned forward. “Huh. He really does sound hot when he begs.”

“He earned it,” Eskel said. Aiden nodded silently, hard again just from watching.

Vesemir locked Geralt in cooldown. Still exposed, leaking slowly onto the siphon. “Let that be a lesson,” he said, voice even. “You don’t train your body. The extractor does.”

“Yes, sir,” Geralt rasped.

They were still reeling from Geralt’s punishment. Even he hadn’t moved from cooldown, his cock still half hard, twitching faintly in the extractor's afterglow.

But Lambert couldn’t help it. “I mean…yeah, he shouldn’t’ve touched himself, but was that really necessary?”

“Seemed a bit much,” Aiden added, though his thighs were pressed tight.

“Maybe we could’ve just been warned,” Eskel offered cautiously.

They all looked at Vesemir. He didn’t raise his voice. “You want to know what ‘necessary’ looks like?”
“You want to see what control means?” He stepped onto the empty platform.
“Then pay attention.”

The platform strapped him down.

Wrists. Ankles. Chest. Thighs.

Vesemir stood tall the whole time, back straight, jaw square, eyes calm. Naked, of course. He didn’t flinch as the restraints spread his legs, exposing the heavy weight of his broad cock, balls like stonefruit, full from weeks of supervision, not milking.

The extractor lit up red gold. This was no rookie session. This was discipline mode. He set up the settings manually.

Edge cycles: continuous.
Duration: 120 minutes.
Orgasm: disabled.
Ruin: denied.

“Wait…he’s going two hours?” Aiden whispered.

“With no release?” Eskel said.

“He’s gonna die,” Lambert muttered.

The stimulationpads activated. It began.

Minute 1 to 20 were slow pulses at the base. Featherlight pressure on his cockhead. Soft stroking suction, nothing strong enough to finish, just enough to build.

Vesemir didn’t flinch.

By minute 30 nipple stimulationincreased. His hips jerked once, a twitch of instinct and then stilled. Still no sounds or begging. He was hard as a sword hilt and refused to show weakness.

At the 45 minute mark a new stimulationlayer activated under his balls, just behind the prostate. Enough to make Eskel moan just from watching. Vesemir took it. Silent. Focused. Breathing slowly.

His cock started twitching desperately after an hour. A long string of clear precum drooled from the tip. Lambert leaned forward, dazed. “He’s so hard, and he hasn’t even bucked…”

“He’s not even trying to come,” Eskel said.
“It’s like…he’s fighting the extractor back.”

By Minute 90 a lesser Witcher would’ve collapsed. The stimulationhad shifted into maximum sensitivity, lapping heat around the cockhead, pressure on the base, deep pulses under the sac. Vesemir’s breath finally hitched, but still no moaning.

By the tail end of the two hour mark the extractor teased the edge and kept him there for minutes on end. His body was shaking but he still didn’t beg.
Final chance. One last ruin, if he allowed it.

Vesemir exhaled. “Deny.”

The stimulationshut down instantly.

Two hours. No orgasm, not even a ruin. Just endless edging.. The straps released. Vesemir stood tall. His cock was still hard. His body glistened. But his expression?

Completely calm.

“That,” he said, looking down at them, “is discipline.”

The other Witchers stared in silence. Aiden’s mouth hung open, Eskel had gone red and Lambert looked like he’d just seen a god. Even Geralt, still strapped into the extractor and on display, couldn't look away.

“Lesson over,” Vesemir said. “Cooldown protocol re-engaged.”

Chapter Text

It started with the fight pit. Training that morning had gotten rough. Shields shattered, blades snapped, blood on the snow. Not lethal but volatile. Too volatile.

Vesemir watched from the ledge above, arms folded. “Enough.”

They froze.

Geralt’s knuckles were bleeding, Eskel’s eyes were gold ringed. Lambert was snarling. Even Aiden had his fists clenched, breath ragged.

Something wasn’t right.
“You’re all overloaded,” Vesemir said. “Potions. Tension. Unreleased aggression.”

He turned sharply toward the extractor hall. “Strip. Mount the platforms. Two liters each.”

A beat of silence. “Sir?” Aiden whispered.
“You heard me. No refusals. No restraint. The extractor will milk you until the aggression’s gone. If that takes more than two liters, so be it.”

The chamber lit red as they entered. Urgent and unforgiving. The runes flared as they stripped silently. Lambert didn’t speak, Geralt looked grim. Their cocks were already swelling, bodies trained to respond to the extractor’s hum. But this time they weren’t excited. They were bracing.

One by one, they were strapped in.

Geralt.
Lambert.
Eskel.
Aiden.

Legs spread. Wrists locked. Backs arched and offered to the machine.

Suction heads hovered. stimulation pads glowed. It began fast. No warm up. No edging. The suction snapped on like a mouth in heat, hard and relentless. Pads sparked against sensitive skin. Deep pulses worked their perineum, their balls, their nipples.

“Nnnngh…fuck!”
“It’s…fast…too fast…”
“Hhhhnnnh…please!”

They were already leaking, twitching constantly, but the extractor didn’t care.

Spurt. Spurt. Spurt. Spurt. Spurt.

The vials filled with thick white as the runes updated in real time.
Geralt: 560ml
Eskel: 510ml
Aiden: 450ml
Lambert: 520ml

They weren’t even at the first cooldown, and they were already halfway there.

“Too much,” Eskel gasped. “Not enough.” Vesemir replied. He didn’t smile, he didn’t even blink. “Let it take everything,” he said. “You want to train like beasts? Be drained like them.”

The chamber was wet with sound now, suction and gasps, spit thick friction, low moans echoing off stone walls.

The vials beneath them filled in steady pulses. Steam clung to their bodies as sweat dripped from trembling thighs.
Geralt: 1170ml
Lambert: 1090ml
Eskel: 1010ml
Aiden: 940ml

They were past ruin, their cocks had already twitched dry once or twice but the extractor kept going, not to tease or torment, just to empty.

“Hnnnnghh…fuck…I’m gonna…again…” Lambert was gasping, his chest heaving against the binds.
“You’re not ‘gonna,’ you are.” Vesemir said. “Again. And again. Until your body stops fighting it.”

The stimulation pads began rotating modes now. New pulses activated behind their balls, deep and rhythmic kneading synced to suction. A glowing probe pressed against each perineum with perfect pressure, milking the prostate directly.

“Nnngh…A…ah…” Eskel’s head tipped back, mouth open, no sound but whimpers.

Aiden was crying quietly now, red faced, drooling slightly from the corner of his mouth, hips jerking without control.

Even Geralt was gritting his teeth, jaw clenched like he was in a sword lock.

Spurt. Spurt. Spurt. Spurt.

The extractor drank it in and Vesemir watched like a medic at war. He spoke at last. “You’re doing well. Don’t slow down now. The aggression is in your bodies. Every twitch. Every ache. It’s been there for months.”

“So let it go. Let the machine take it. Be milked. Be emptied. Be cleansed.”

They screamed. Hard, fast spurts shot into the jars again. Their cocks were twitching constantly now, held just below agony. Balls pulled taut. Muscles seizing in a constant flow of release.

“This isn’t coming,” Geralt managed hoarsely. “This is…exorcism…”

Geralt: 1680ml
Lambert: 1610ml
Eskel: 1525ml
Aiden: 1470ml

Vesemir raised a brow. “Good. You’re almost clean.”

They’d passed the target. The vials clicked gently into place beneath them, sealed, marked, glowing faintly with the sigils that verified collection.

Geralt: 2100ml
Lambert: 2080ml
Eskel: 2080ml
Aiden: 2010ml

The extractor finally slowed. Suction reduced and the stimulationpads cooled. Pressure eased. Their bodies twitched in the restraints, thighs quivering, cocks swollen, drooling the last remnants of their stored aggression into quiet siphons.

But none of them were relaxed.

Geralt was grunting. Lambert was cussing. Eskel had his head tipped back, still panting. Aiden was biting his lip, eyes darting between them like he was still braced for violence.

They weren’t just overwhelmed, they were wired.

Vesemir narrowed his eyes. “Still twitching, scowling. Still fighting.”

He stepped into view. “The protocol called for two liters. That’s been met. But if you still have the energy to glare at each other, if you’re still bucking your hips into the cooldown pads, then you are not drained.”

Geralt grunted, his voice hoarse “It’s enough…”
“Is it?” Vesemir said, quiet and cold.

Lambert gave a breathless, post milk snort. “What, you want three? You wanna crack us open like fucking glowfruit?”
Vesemir turned to the console. “Override cooldown. Begin the final purge.” The sigils flared again, scarlet and white. The machine surged back to life.

“Wait…no…nonono…”
“Fuck…I’m dry…I’m dry…”

“Sir…please…”

“No exceptions,” Vesemir said. “You're still angry. You’re still fighting.” He stepped back. “This time…we take everything.”

The platform pulsed beneath them. There was no build up now. Just a violent, calculated snap back into suction and stimulationmaximum intensity from the very first second.

“GNNNhhh…fuck…fuuckk!!!”

Lambert screamed first. His body had nothing left to give, but the stimulationlocked onto his nerves and forced more. His cock twitched wildly, dry at first, then coughing out a thick, ropey dribble the extractor siphoned instantly.

“N-nnnghh…oh…noo…oh gods…mercy…”

Aiden was sobbing again, full body spasms running from his bound ankles to his red, leaking cock. There wasn’t even time to brace. He came again, not by choice, his hips shuddering as his seed joined the overflowing vial.

Geralt growled low by pure instinct. He was biting down on the restraint pad, his body was jerking in the straps. It wasn’t just pleasure anymore, it was release forced past all limits.

The extractor pulsed him open at the base, dragging up another desperate ejaculation.

“Hhhhnnnn…fuck yes…fuck…take it…take it!”

And then again.
And again.
And again.

Eskel had gone completely silent, his head tilted back and his mouth slacked open but no sound came out anymore as his body just spasmed. The stimulation hadn’t let up for thirty full minutes. His cock was twitching violently. Even the stimulationpads knew now they were pulsing through the nerves alone, triggering phantom orgasms to wring out the last twitch of resistance.

Their vials were now being replaced automatically by the system
Geralt: 2.61L
Lambert: 2.48L
Eskel: 2.33L
Aiden: 2.25L

But the extractor kept going, waiting for Vessemir’s instructions.

Lambert stopped cursing. Geralt stopped grunting. Aiden stopped shaking. Eskel stopped spasming.

No moans. No struggle. Just four Witchers, nude, glistening, their chests rising and falling in silence as their cocks leaked one last, exhausted dribble into the final jars.

The extractor stopped. The straps released. They didn’t move, couldn’t, didn’t even try. “Now,” Vesemir said softly, “you’re drained.”

He walked past them. Geralt, slumped against the bindings, eyes unfocused. Lambert, red faced, utterly limp. Eskel, still hard but too empty to react. Aiden, crying again but this time in relief.

“Cooldown for 6 hours. Water, food then silence.” Vessemir commanded before he turned around and left.

Chapter Text

It was the only time the chamber pulsed green.

No scarlet discipline. No gold overdrive. Just a soft, eerie predator green, the color of potion brews and cocky bets, of sharpening blades and sharp smirks.

Vesemir stood at the top of the stairs, arms behind his back. “As per tradition, one day. No supervision. No restraint protocols. You set your own stimulationlevels. You pace yourselves.”

He looked over them all. Geralt. Lambert. Eskel. Aiden.

Each bare and recovered from the last extraction, more or less.

“This is your rivalry. I expect one thing: honesty. All other rules are suspended. May the most unholy fucker win.”

A beat of silence. Then Lambert grinned. “So. Who wants to go first?”

The extractor scanned them all. Set stimulationpads to pre leak edge tension. This was the first challenge: who could last the longest without so much as a drop.

No restraints, no external control. Just muscle and discipline.

Geralt stepped forward. “I’ll go first.” He gripped the bar overhead, set his stance. The stimulationpads activated. Base pressure, cockhead ring, thigh pulse. It started slow. He grunted, once, and held steady.

Thirty seconds…a minute…then another…

A single drop formed at the slit and was caught by a rune vial. “Geralt: 2 minutes, 28 seconds.”

Lambert whistled. “Respectable. But I’ve been practicing.” He stepped up, cock already twitching from pure ego. His stimulationdial went slightly higher.

Thirty seconds…a minute…then another…

He bucked too hard at 2:12 and just a hint of cum leaked out without warning.

“What the fuck!”
“You came”
“Bullshit.”

Aiden went third, trembling a little.

He lasted 2:07, but managed not to cum.

“Respectable.”

“Would’ve made Vesemir proud,” Eskel said gently, not it was his turn.

Quiet. Steady. His eyes closed. Breath measured. He lasted 2:39 before a slow leak was captured by the vial.

“Eskel leads.” Geralt crossed his arms.

They weren’t even milking yet and already they were hard. Competitive. Dripping.

They stepped onto the stone. No restraints, just bodies firmly in a square stance above the extractor beds, stimulationpads hovering at cock, sac, nipples, even beneath the tailbone.

“Round one of ten.” One of them spoke.

The pads pulsed low and slow, featherlight suction, base pressure, a warm flutter behind the balls.

They held steady, even Aiden, his breathing was shaky, but his eyes were fixed ahead.

Lambert didn’t look at him, he was trying not to.

Round two began and the stimulation increased, nipple pads activated.

Eskel adjusted his stance carefully and measured. Geralt groaned low, not from weakness but from enjoyment. He liked the pressure, his cock twitched, thick and glossy with pre, but no leaks.

“Gods, that feels good…”
“Control,” Eskel reminded. “Not indulgence.”

Round three.

Now it was real. The pads were tugging gently, edging pressure, base to tip. Behind them, the vials hovered, waiting for any leak to catch.

Aiden whimpered, making Lambert twitch.

“You good?” Eskel asked.
“Fine,” Lambert snapped.

“You’re looking at him again.”
“I’M FINE.”

“Buckle up for round four then.”

The stimulationpads locked onto sensitive nerves, the perineum buzzed, the suction stroking just enough to promise orgasm.

Aiden was trembling now. His moans weren’t dramatic, just soft and helpless, Lambert couldn’t stop watching. The way Aiden’s cock throbbed. The way his body curled, barely holding back. The way his chest heaved.

“Fuck…”

He leaked. One thick drop. Caught instantly.

“Fuck!” Lambert snarled and stepped back, half hard and half ashamed.

Aiden blinked, gasping. “Did… did I do that?”
“YES,” Lambert growled. “Stop being so…fuckin’…milkable.”

By round five there were three left: Geralt, Eskel, Aiden.

Eskel was calm. His body swayed, thighs flexing rhythmically, riding the stimulationwith practice.

Geralt looked like he was in heaven. “Nnnnh…gods…I could do this all day…” His cock was throbbing, a line of pre forming but not falling.

Aiden was shaking, moaning, but still holding. His hands were clenched. His teeth gritted. But not a drop escaped.

They passed round seven, then eight.

Eskel had one eye half shut, clearly straining now. Geralt’s thighs were trembling but his smirk remained. Aiden was whining constantly in the back of his throat, his whole body pink with restraint.

By round nine Geralt bit down hard on a breath, Eskel’s hips bucked but no leak. Aiden groaned, long and low, but still held.
In round ten the stimulationpads locked on. They squeezed, fluttered, pulsed, perfectly synced. Prostate. Nipples. Cock. Shaft. Balls.

Geralt was moaning openly, Eskel’s body had a light sheen of sweat. Aiden was sobbing, overwhelmed, cock purple and twitching, but still not leaking.

They passed.

Lambert groaned. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get it over with. Let’s make it sexy, boys.”

Geralt just grunted. Eskel exchanged a glance with Aiden. The stimulationconsole glowed a deep, hot red. The platform locked his limbs down hard. An extra cuff under his back arched his hips up. His cock twitched in the air, already fully hard and leaking from pure thrill.

“Look at that thing,” Geralt muttered.
“Cock’s proud of itself,” Eskel said, deadpan. “Let’s see how long it stays that way.”

Geralt goes first and doesn’t even start slow. The stimulationpads grip Lambert’s cock tight, suction flaring with precision, from base to head in long, dragging pulls that force his body to flex.

“Ah…fuck…nnngh gods…yes…yeah…”

Geralt watches the screen. “Right there. That twitch. That’s when he gets close.” He repeats the exact stimulationpulse.

Again.
And again.
And again.

Lambert is sweating now. His cock pulses thick, clear drops but no orgasm, not yet.

“You close?” Geralt asks.
“Fuckin…yes…”
“Too bad.” He hits the denial glyph.

Lambert jerks violently as his orgasm is snatched away. His cock spasms, spills one drop, and goes harder than before.

Geralt steps aside for Eskel to take over. Gentler touch. Smarter approach. He doesn't crank the stimulationup, he studies Lambert’s body. One pad on each nipple, one cupping behind his balls, and one right under his cockhead.

“I wanna see him squirm.” And squirm Lambert does. He starts to whimper. The stimulation rolls in waves, soft pressure, then spikes of edge heat, then ghosting pulses just enough to trigger muscle spasms.

“Please…fuck…fuck I’m gonna…”
“Not yet.” Eskel smirked ruining his orgasm, his cock flexing hard, but the stimulation slices through it, cutting off any pleasure.

Aiden steps forward. Lambert had made it through Geralt. Through Eskel. He was wrecked, dripping and flushed to his ears. But he was still talking.

“You got one more try, sunshine,” he rasped. “Better make it count.”

Aiden stepped forward, hesitant, but focused. “I’ll try.”

He didn’t crank the stimulation. Didn’t even touch the panel right away. He walked around Lambert first and just looked at him. The sweat slick thighs, his flushed, leaking cock, the restrained limbs and twitching belly. “You look… really good like this,” Aiden said quietly.

Lambert blinked. “What?”

“I mean it. You look… so good.” He reached forward and gently stroked a strand of sweaty hair off Lambert’s forehead.

The pads reactivated, gentle this time, achingly soft, almost affectionate. A kiss of suction around the cockhead, a warm swirl under the balls. Slow pressure at the prostate started and a vibrating pulse at each nipple, perfectly in sync.

Lambert jerked. Not violently but like something had cracked. “Wh…what is this…?”

“It’s not max power,” Aiden said. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He leaned close. “But you just look so good like this.”

Lambert whimpered. His cock throbbed, drooling helplessly. Aiden watched it spasm. He watched Lambert’s face twist, not in pain, not from edging, but from something deep.

“I didn’t mean to make you lose,” Aiden said, voice low. “But seeing you like this, knowing I caused it, makes me feel…” He reached out and brushed his thumb against Lambert’s chest. “Lucky.”

Lambert’s breath hitched. He was shaking now, not just from the stimulation. His cock bucked, a dry orgasm trying to force its way out, denied by the extractor.

He moaned, high and wrecked. “Stop…fuckin’…saying that…”
“Saying what?” Aiden asked, almost confused.

“That you like it…me…like this…”
“But I do.” He replied, kissing Lambert's cock.

Lambert sobbed, literally sobbed. A cracked, raw sound, as another ruined orgasm forced its way through his system. No climax, no pleasure, just ache and leakage.

His cock kept twitching as the machine slowed. Lambert lay there, whimpering softly, cock still twitching, thighs glossy with spill.

Aiden knelt beside him. “You were really brave,” he whispered.

“Fuck you,” Lambert whispered back but he wasn’t angry.

He was shaking and everyone could see Aiden won.

Chapter Text

“It’s happening,” Geralt muttered, staring up at the vaulted ceiling where lunar glyphs had begun to glow.

“It hasn’t surged like this in a hundred years,” Eskel said quietly.

“Last time it did,” Lambert grinned, “they had to rebuild the extractor chamber.”

They weren’t exaggerating. The extractor’s rune-core, buried beneath the pedestal, had begun to thrum with ancient lunar resonance.

The old glyphs were alight, spiral moons, twin wolf sigils, full eclipse markers burned into the stonework centuries ago. The chamber pulsed once and the extractor shuddered to life..

“It’s attuning to us,” Geralt said grimly.
“Or demanding us,” Eskel added.

“Well,” Lambert grinned, already undoing his pants, “who are we to deny the moon itself?”

They stripped without further comment. This wasn’t a choice, The Eclipse Surge had begun and the extractor wanted everything. They each took their place. Geralt, arms flexed against the bindings, jaw tight. Eskel, stoic and silent, cock already half hard from ambient pressure. Lambert, grinning like he was about to cum just from being watched. Aiden, wide eyed, biting his lip, flushed head to toe.

The pads are sealed, the moonlight through the roof slit struck the center of the chamber and the extractor began.

The first surge hit like lightning.

“F…FUCK…”
“Already?”
“G…gods…it’s deeper…it’s…”

Their bodies jerked in unison. Cocks stiffened to full, twitching immediately as the stimulation pads activated at full pressure, no calibration or warmup, full, raw milking force. It took and measured every last drop they had to offer.

Geralt. Release one: 440ml.
Eskel. Release one: 400ml.
Lambert. Release one: 370ml.
Aiden. Release one: 320ml.

And the stimulation didn’t ease, it intensified. Prostate push locking in on nerve peaks. Shaft pads pulling like mouths, suctioned impossibly tight. Base clamps thrumming with pressure spell amplification. The moonlight itself seemed to act as a fifth stimulation, bleeding across skin, crackling at contact points, feeding into the extractor’s rhythm.

“It’s…not stopping…”
“Hnnggh…fuck…we just…just came…”
“It doesn’t care…!”

They were moaning now. Aiden was crying, cock spasming every minute. Lambert was laughing, leaking, cumming, leaking again.

The vials were flooding, rivulets of cum glowing faintly under the spelllight, and the extractor wasn’t even halfway done. The moon had not moved and neither had the extractor. It didn’t hum, it didn’t chime. It simply pressed. Down through muscle, through the spells that held the Witchers bound.

This was ancient magic. Not gentle or guiding. It took, it knew what to do and it didn’t stop.

Geralt’s arms flexed against the runebindings, eyes shut, sweat already sliding down his chest. He’d come once, twice, now a third time without pause, his cock still twitching under the pulsing seal. His breathing was sharp, shallow, and stubborn.

Eskel’s head was bowed. Not from shame, but in reverence. His hands were curled into fists, knuckles white, knees locked as the extractor dragged another burst from him, slow and deep, the kind of milking that emptied the spine.

The muscles in his gut quivered, the tension in his throat held back a snarl. He was close again, the extractor knew.

Lambert was a mess, He’d already cum twice over, panting through half laughed whimpers as his cock throbbed without break. His restraints squeaked from how often he bucked into them.

“F…fuck…fucking thing’s…gods it’s…again…”

No one answered. No one could, because it was still happening.

Aiden was trembling, thighs clenched, lips parted in soundless gasps. He wasn’t hiding it, he couldn’t, not with the stimulation tightening beneath his balls and pulling from the root like it wanted his soul.

The extractor had found his peak and stayed there. He had lost count of how many times he’d spilled. He had no idea if he’d even stopped between the last two.

Moonlight bathed the chamber. The runes pulsed in rhythm now, not with the extractor, but with the bodies writhing on the altar.

Milking wasn’t the right word anymore. It was an offering. Each shudder. Each spill. Each spasm, twitch, and ruined breath.

The vials hissed with volume. The seals stayed tight. No mercy and no reset. The extractor pressed harder, it deepened the prostate stim. Tilted the seal strokes just slightly. Fluttered beneath the shaft with agonizing skill, dragging out the ruin just long enough to keep them at the edge between pleasure and collapse.

It listened to groans and gasps and moans. It read the tightness of every muscle, the speed of every spasm.

It listened to how Geralt hissed through his teeth. To how Lambert whimpered, voice cracking mid curse. To how Aiden whispered “please” like a prayer. To how Eskel’s moan broke open with a guttural, helpless sound.

Another surge. Another flood.

It pulled from them.

And pulled.
And pulled.

Geralt’s knees bucked.
Lambert cursed louder.
Aiden let out a sob, sharp and sharp and sharp.
Eskel came again with a growl, jaw clenched, chest heaving.

The extractor didn’t ask if they had more. It didn’t care. There was more to give and so it took it.

They’d given liters already and they were still hard and the eclipse hadn’t yet passed.

It began with Lambert. His hips had been bucking since the first draw, and his voice had cracked every third word. But this time he howled. His head rolled back, muscles locked, and his cock shot again, thick, hot, overwhelming. The sound it made was more snarl than groan. His whole body jerked like a string had snapped inside him.

“Ah…ahhhfuck…f…fuck…fuck me…fuck I’m still…”

Still cumming, still twitching, even as it spilled out of him, it just kept coming.

The extractor surged with him. Didn’t slow. Didn’t hesitate. Tightened every seal and pressed every rune and the second to go was Aiden.

He tried. Gods, he tried, to breathe, to hold something, anything back but he saw Lambert’s eyes roll. Heard the way he begged. Felt the ruin press deeper under his own shaft and broke.

“Nnn…aaah…oh gods…oh gods I’m gonna…”

He couldn’t speak after that. He could barely moan, just soft, high sobs as the extractor forced the orgasm out of him, not one burst, not two, but a dozen twitching spasms that left him leaking before the first shot had even finished.

Geralt’s eyes snapped open. He was still holding back, still resisting, but the sound of Aiden breaking, the sight of Lambert shuddering, twitching, leaking, it was too much.

The extractor felt it, sensed it, fed on it.

The prostate stimulation on Geralt surged deep, hard and final. The shaft seal twisted just at the tip. The pads dragged him past the edge and held him there.

“Nnnghh…ghhh…fuuckk…”

Geralt came like a man possessed. His abs convulsed, his legs shook. His cock shot again and again, jets forced out by the intensity of it, more than he’d ever released in a single cycle.

Not a man anymore, not a Witcher, just a body to be emptied.

Eskel lasted the longest, but that only made it worse, because by the time he came, the extractor had learned the rhythm of them all and it used his delay as a signal.

It gave him everything. The deepest push, the hardest suction, the longest edge and then the break.

“Haaahn…gods…gods…fuck…”

His cock throbbed, his moan roared from his chest like a storm breaking through stone, and the cum spilled from him so violently it arched upward, splattering against the rim of the vial with a wet, impossible splash.

They didn’t go soft. None of them did, not yet.The extractor wouldn’t allow it, the moon wouldn’t allow it, not until the chamber overflowed.

The vials steamed with volume.

Geralt groaned through another round, panting like an animal, still twitching, still hard.
Lambert whimpered every time his cock was touched again.
Aiden was too far gone to form words, just leaking, sobbing, still spilling.
Eskel had his head back, chest rising in heaves, cock still pulsing weakly under the stim’s ruin.

Their bodies shone under the light of the eclipse. Flesh and sweat and litters of cum, dripping down the stone in rivulets. It smelled like magic and sex and Witcher musk.

The overflow basins hissed as thick, steaming loads spilled into their secondary grooves, winding down the extractor like veins of magic and cum. The scent in the room was feral. Not just sex. Breed heavy, ancient, exhausted magic.

They were still strapped in. Still pulsing.

Lambert was slurring. Not from pleasure anymore, just wrecked. Fucked out, milked past sense. “Fffuck, I…nggh…please, it’s…it’s too…I can’t…”

He twitched under the stimulation again, came again, whimpered as it kept milking, like there was still something to take.

Aiden’s thighs were soaked, his mouth slack, head rolling to the side. Every breath was a cry. “Please…please…n…no more…I c…can’t feel…fuck…fuck…”

And yet his cock still spilled.

Geralt had stopped trying to breathe evenly. His mouth parted, abs drawn so tight they looked carved in stone. His hands flexed in their restraints, then clenched, knuckles white.

“Hnngh…ghhhh…nnno…more…”

He didn’t know what he meant to say. Didn’t know if he meant to beg.

Eskel was the last to break but even he did. He let out a deep, hoarse roar, and his cock shot again into the pool already brimming beneath him. He shook as the stimulation continued, relentless, perfect, cruel.

“I…I’m done…I’m…done…please…no…”

But the moon didn’t care and the eclipse hadn’t passed. The stimulation pads pulsed synchronized now, the final draining sequence, a ritual rhythm, ancient and unbreakable.

Squeeze. Stroke. Pulse. Pause. Spill. Repeat.

They cried out together, their voices echoing in the rune-lit chamber. None of them were spared.

The collector stones flared and for the first time, runes cracked, split with pressure. The stimulation pads began to slow, finally, draining the last few trembling drops from their overspent cocks.

Lambert came dry. Geralt’s moans were nearly silent. Aiden sobbed into his shoulder. Eskel shook from head to toe.

And then silence.

Not peace. Not comfort. But the silence of completion. The ritual ended.

The seals were released. Steam hissed from the restraint rings. The final drops of Witcher seed dripped from stone to stone and the eclipse glow faded, little by little.

They lay still. Chest heaving, thighs soaked. Cocks soft, finally, souls wrung dry. A new rune flared bright in the wall, brighter than it ever had. And for the first time in known history, the numbers weren’t just absurd, they were impossible.

The Leaderboard: Eclipse Surge Cycle
Geralt: 6.50L
Eskel: 6.48L
Lambert: 6.32L
Aiden: 6.10L

Then it went dark. None of them spoke, none of them moved, They’d given everything and the moon was, finally, gone.

Chapter Text

The snow had almost melted away.

Spring lingered just out of reach, still hiding behind the frostbitten peaks and wind shorn treetops. But the keep was warmer now. Not from hearthfire, though those burned. But from bodies. Shared heat. Familiarity. Brotherhood.

No one spoke of the Eclipse Surge.

There were no words for what had happened. Only echoes.

“It’s time,” Vesemir said quietly. He wasn’t demanding. He simply spoke the truth. The final cycle. The last drain before the season turned.

They didn’t dress, didn’t pretend to be shy. Geralt stood first, rolling his shoulders. Still sore but ready. Eskel followed, calm and steady. Lambert cursed softly under his breath, but there was no heat in it, just nerves. Aiden moved slowly, lips pressed together, heart pounding in his throat.

None of them needed instruction. They’d been forged for this.

The chamber opened without effort and they lined up without being told.

Geralt sighed. Not from strain but from something softer. A kind of peace, maybe. His cock stiffened, not violently, but steadily. The extractor coaxed him, not forced. Milked him with reverence.

He came silently. Thick. Slow. Heavy. And smiled, just a little.

Eskel watched the ceiling, breathed slowly and let it happen. The stimulation found every place he was tense and drew it out of him. His orgasm was deep. Not loud but full.

Lambert moaned, of course. “F…fuck, even now? You gonna make me cry in front of my brothers?”

And he did but not from pain. His cock pulsed for a long time, emptying slowly and when he came, his eyes watered, not from overstimulation, but from the weight of being here, being known, being held through it all.

Aiden came last, trembling but he didn’t look away this time. He looked at them and when his orgasm hit, sharp, fast, clean, he gasped with joy. He smiled. He cried. And the others watched, and no one laughed.

The vials filled.

The stimulation pads went deep, right under the shaft, curling around their base like a lover that knew every vulnerable angle. The prostate probe slid in without hesitation, brushing against that one spot that made his toes curl. And it stayed there, humming low and cruel, not stroking him toward orgasm, but pressing it out of him.

“Nnngh…gghh…f…fuck…”

Geralt's orgasm spilled fast and hot, a full-body clench followed by a slow, twitching release, cock spurting heavily under the altar’s slow drag. It took every drop and then kept going.

Next to him, Lambert was already whining.

“Oh fffuck…fffuuck…yes…it’s…hah…it’s deep today…”

His cock was twitching nonstop, Lambert moaned as the pressure built again, his next orgasm was a full body buck against the stone.

“Oh…oh…shit…I’m still cumming…”

Aiden didn’t stop trembling, he came with a stuttered gasp, legs flexing under the restraint, hips barely able to twitch. His moans were short, ragged, helpless.

“Oh…oh gods…nnnggghhhh…fuck…please…”

He wasn’t begging for it to stop. He wasn’t even sure what he was begging for.

Eskel was quieter. Always was, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t breaking.

His stimulation sequence was slow and rhythmic, dragging him right to the edge and then locking there, every single cycle ending in a deep, guttural groan. He came hard, then again, then a third time before he even caught his breath.

His thighs trembled. His abs clenched. He moaned low and long, head tipped back against the altar as the milking became total.

There was no talking now, no teasing, just the sound of flesh on flesh.

Geralt whimpered. Stripped of control. Strapped down with his cock jerking helplessly under the machine’s slow pulse, leaking thick spurts even as his balls ached from the strain.

“Ghh…hah…nnngh…s…still…fuck…still coming…”

The stimulation hit him just right, again. His fourth orgasm spilled with a heavy, stuttering pulse, white seed drooling down into the basin, his shaft twitching like it couldn’t decide whether to beg for mercy or more.

Lambert was sobbing now. Not sad, just wrecked. He came again with a hiccupping scream, cock spurting wildly against the stim, his arms pulling against the restraints as if they’d somehow hold him through it.

“It’s….oh fuck…nngghhughh”

And through it all, the extractor just kept milking. No edging, no ruin, not today. Only total perfect drain.

This wasn’t about pleasure anymore. This was the ritual. This was cleansing. This was the final offering.

Their cocks were still locked in the stims, twitching from the aftershocks. Seed pooled in the vials beneath them, neat, contained, glowing faintly with alchemical shimmer.

Lambert didn’t even bother pretending to fight anymore. His head was tipped back, mouth open, cock jerking weakly in the stim’s clutch as another dribble was sucked down into its waiting vial.

Eskel simply breathed, chest heaving, moaning low each time the stimulation curled around him again, a final handful of pulses to make sure nothing remained inside him.

Footsteps.

Slow. Measured. Familiar.

Vesemir entered the chamber like he had every cycle before. His eyes flicked once to each of them, flushed, then down to the glowing rune lit vials beneath them, each humming with stored output.

He looked like a man who had done this before, a thousand times, and would do it again for a thousand more. “You always forget,” he said quietly, voice deep, steady. “At the end of winter. After all the games. All the moaning. All the nonsense.”

He stepped to the center, between the four of them. His hands were behind his back. “You think this is just for fun. A bit of brotherhood. A bit of muscle relief.”

He turned to Geralt first. “I let you enjoy yourselves, once in a while. I let you challenge each other, tease each other, fight for the leaderboard like boys.”

He turned to Eskel. “But don’t you forget what this is.”

A beat. “This is for your own good.”

“You are Witchers,” he continued. “You are poisoned. Alchemically saturated. Enhanced beyond what any man should be.”

He looked at Lambert, eyes calm. “And every time you go into the world, it drowns you again, in toxins, in tension, in potions, in fury.”

And then to Aiden, who was still panting, still twitching faintly. “This extractor, this altar, this ritual? It keeps you sane.” A pause. His voice gentled, but it didn’t soften. “You don’t cum to feel good. You’re drained to survive.”

The stimulation pads pulsed once more, a slow, deep draw, and all four of them let out exhausted moans as another spill was coaxed out of them. Their bodies slumped in the restraints, completely emptied. Vials clicked shut below, magic sealing every ounce collected.

“That’s better,” Vesemir said quietly, voice dropping.

“Now you’re ready to walk into spring without losing yourselves.”

The extractor had gone still. Not silent, not yet. The rune beneath the altar still glowed faintly, not commanding, but waiting. It had taken all of them. Tugged out the poison and tension with precise, relentless strokes.

The vials were sealed. The chamber full of the warm hum of magic and the scent of sex and sweat.

Geralt was the one who spoke first. He didn’t raise his head, didn’t open his eyes. Just whispered, voice wrecked and reverent. “Please…cleanse us.”

That was all it took.

The extractor pulsed again, a soft answer. Not violent or cruel. It read their readiness, the tremble in their hips, the way they lay there, spread, vulnerable, willing to give again even when they had nothing left.

They moaned together this time. All four of them.

Geralt, trembling as the probe slid deep again, finding something raw inside him. Eskel, groaning low as the suction found the last dregs of tension and pulled. Lambert, no longer mouthing off, whimpering as his overspent cock still spilled under the slow, reverent pull. Aiden, gasping like he’d never felt anything this pure, this total, his thighs soaked, body limp but still responsive.

“Nngh…f…fuck…please…gods…take it…take it…”

The stimulation adjusted, knowing exactly how to milk what little remained. And then it squeezed. Their cocks twitched again, another drop, another spill.

One last release. From their core. From their mind. From their purpose.

They lay there in silence. Stripped bare and completely emptied, until Vesemir stepped forward and said, just loud enough for the altar to hear.

“That’s enough.”

The chamber dimmed. The runes slowly faded. And for the first time in months, they were clean.