Sylvia, The Virgin Sacrifice

SYLVIA, THE VIRGIN SACRIFICE

AUGUST SMAXWELL

Copyright © 2026 August Smaxwell

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Content Warning

Contains creature romance, dubious consent, floggings, chastity, anal penetration, anal masturbation, power exchange, possessive domination, forced orgasms, and punishments. For your safety, please do not proceed if any of the above is triggering.

WITH A FLICK THE STORY BEGINS

The coven demanded purity. Sylvia was pure in desire, in wanting, in yearning.

Sylvia withdrew her wand from the deep pocket stitched into the side of her peach-colored dress, with the frilly white collar that said purity. She looked at the lacquered chestnut tip of the wand queerly, her lip trembled ever so slightly, and a thought raced through her head, a thought of the night prior.

She smiled and flicked her wrist. A black ribbon rose from her desk, slithering through the air, hissing and swooping, coiling around her hair and pushing the locks back until they fell long and straight behind her shoulders, resting serenely by her bottom. The ribbon tied itself into a bow, returned to lifelessness and fell upon the back of her virginal head.

Sylvia sat down at the wooden study chair beside her desk. The surface, though worn, was still smooth to her touch. She kicked her feet up excitedly, drawing her thighs to her breasts, wriggling her vulnerable toes. Sylvia flicked her wand again and watched silk stockings snake their way out of her dresser drawer and toward her delicate feet. The white silk opened to consume them, gorging itself up her ankles, past her calves, over her knees, and stopping right at the lower thigh, happy and full of Sylvia's flesh.

She closed her eyes, thinking again of the night before, imagining if she were instead being dressed and cared for by a man. She lifted the skirt of her dress, circled her wand and pointed it between her thighs. Dainty white underwear fluttered toward her, it had bows, frills, and all the trimmings of a private garment.

"No," Sylvia said with a smile, and the little piece of tarted-up cloth dropped to the floor.

Sylvia repositioned the wand between her legs, holding it there, the smooth tip spreading the folds of her offering to the coven. She wanted, she hungered, she writhed, and the tip of her wand began to vibrate, sending little signals of pleasure up and down every inch of her body. Her chest began to rise and fall in deep, consistent rhythms to match the grinding of her hips. Her toes pointed, her feet wrapped and pressed into the legs of the chair for leverage.

A letter slipped under her door.

She didn't notice. Her eyes were closed, thinking about last night and those hands around her neck.

Another letter slipped under her door.

Sylvia scooched her butt forward to the very edge of her chair and spread her legs as wide and as high as they could go. Her body was cradled by the chair in an almost pretzel-like state. She moved the wand lower, toward her round hole. Forbidden. The wand circled the creases, longing and tempting. The wand poked the opening, the vibrations started from her butthole and surged upwards toward her achy clitoris. She pressed the wand in further, her mouth opened, releasing wet, tender puffs of breath.

Sylvia drove the wand deeper still, pulling it out and pushing it right back in, angling it toward that gushy spot inside her coven-owned pussy. She squeaked, trying to stay quiet, using her free hand to cover her mouth as she thrust harder and faster, saying, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," into her hand. "Oh, please, oh, oh, no, no, you can't, I'm a virgin, please no, oh fuck."

A letter with cream paper and a large gold embellished crest on the face slipped under her door, swooped up to the ceiling and plummeted toward Sylvia's damp lower tummy.

"YOU ARE SUMMONED." The letter spoke in a deep, ghastly voice.

Sylvia already knew what it wanted, what it pertained to.

She slipped the wand out of her ass and wiped the slop using the cream envelope as tissue. Out of boredom, or obligation or curiosity, she glanced at the slip of paper produced from the rude, disruptive envelope that halted her session.

BY THE ORDER OF THE HIGH COVEN

SYLVIA'S PRESENCE IS REQUIRED

PROMPTLY AND SUCCINCTLY

FOR QUARTERLY RITUAL INSPECTION

She tossed the paper into the air, pointed her clean wand at it, and watched as it crumbled into ash, leaving a pile atop her discarded underwear. Sylvia got up, tucked her wand away, brushed her dress down, slipped on her heels, left her room, and walked down the long corridor that led to the stairs. She began the lengthy descent downward, putting care into each step on account of her choice of shoes.

The grounds of the High Coven were vast and sprawling, and the architecture cohesive in the way the moss grew into every crevice of the great stone blocks that made up its foundations and in the faces of the figures carved into their many facades. Most of the buildings were unconnected, requiring a trek to get to and fro.

Sylvia could feel the lick of the wind on her nipples as she walked down cobbled streets to the summoning chamber. A particularly strong gust swept under her dress, slipping against her holes, invasive and cold, exciting her as she forced the fabric into place. The wind felt her, craved her. It knew of the delicious offerings hiding just underneath, hidden to onlookers, but unguarded, vulnerable, and readily available for unnatural touch.

Sylvia pressed her teeth into her lip with the tiniest curve of smile.

The doors to the summoning chamber were already open. She proceeded down the main hall into the dome ceilinged chamber and stood before the council.

"Sylvia, step forward." A voice called from behind a high series of desks.

"Do you know why you are here?" Another voice asked.

"Yes, High Chancellor, Sir."

The High Chancellor sat in the center behind a grand desk on a raised platform that barely provided visibility of his grey, wrinkled face. Flanked and seated beside him were his two Lieutenant Chancellors.

"Are you ready to proceed?" The voice asked again.

"Yes, High Chancellor, Sir."

"Today is special, isn't it, Sylvia?"

She thought of the thing that came to her, to her window in the night, the passage to her private chambers. The five dark points that dimpled into her flesh, testing the barrier of skin but not breaking it. Holding her, keeping her in place, squeezing a heaping of thigh, a handful of breast, the body could writhe, the toes could point, but she could not escape. Pinned at the hip. Impaled. Helpless. Forbidden.

A dumb and distant smile was stamped to her face, it answered for her.

It was in her mind, upside-down, with nostrils aflare and pointed ears that listened to her heart beat, sharpening the needlelike teeth keen to pierce flesh. Or had it been merely a shadow sidling into her dreams, taking little steps down her spine, down the small of her back, down her desires? Sweet saccharine lust.

Sylvia stood straight, sanguine, and proper, forming a sharp arrow with the pointed tips of her glossy black heels and the thin straps that synched to her ankles.

The coven expected much of her.

"I am ready," she said again, "I am pure."

"Your powers, and the powers you provide this coven, will only increase with your continued dedication to purity in the very highest and noblest standard we require. Do you understand the importance of your vows and your choice to progress down this difficult of difficult paths?"

"I do, High Chancellor, Sir, I understand."

The High Chancellor raised his hand, and without a word pointed the long black nail of his crooked index finger at Sylvia.

Gravity was replaced with control.

She lifted into the air, not to the ceiling, just high enough for her heels to de-clasp, slipping off of her feet, and certainly high enough for her stockings to follow suit. They rolled down and folded into themselves until they became uneven white balls that tumbled to the floor. The frilly white collar to her dress unbuttoned and threw itself over her shoulder. Her dress quivered. The delicate tie that held much responsibility in protecting the whole of her nudity strained and slipped free. The cloth fell open down the center, parting to reveal the curve of cleavage, the soft dollop of navel, and the tuft of hair above her coven-owned privates.

Sylvia lowered to the ground, a pile of garments surrounded her. Nude and pure except for the black ribbon in her hair and the thoughts of last night. Forbidden.

The council gazed at her, the coven girl beneath them, beneath their podium, their eager subject, the pure lifeblood of the High Coven and the greatest source of its power. The High Chancellor stood up, his bones being quite old and stiff he took his time in the act. He pointed his dark nail at his chair, forcing manners upon it in his absence. He wore robes of red that dragged on the steps behind him as he strode toward her. This aged, grey in skin figure, towered over Sylvia and spoke.

"An article of clothing is missing, Sylvia."

"Missing?" Her heart skipped. "What is missing, High Chancellor, Sir?"

"Do not play dumb with me, girl. You are not to leave your chambers without private garments."

The High Chancellor cast his hand downward and a bundle of long, firm reeds wrapped tightly in twine slid from his sleeve and dropped into his decrepit grip.

"Twenty," he said firmly, "for your obscene transgression against the purity of the High Coven."

"Please, no, I forgot," she said.

The nails of his daggerlike forefingers twitched and contorted.

Sylvia spun on her heels, his left hand found her throat, holding her in place, and his right came down with the reeds, finding her backside and landing straight across her bottom.

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK

Sylvia yelped and yelped, not in rhythm with the beating, for the strikes were much too fast, much too hard and much too painful to react in any appropriate or timely manner.

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK

Little drops of red welled up to fill the thin breaks in the skin, the many lacerations that ran across her bare bottom.

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK

The High Chancellor held his grip to her throat and the reeds hovered behind her ass, ready to lick her sweet flesh again on moment's notice. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm incredibly sorry, High Chancellor, Sir, please forgive me. I won't forget my underwear again."

"On this act," he spoke solemnly. "You are forgiven, let us proceed."

The two Lieutenant Chancellors descended from their high podium, coming down the delicate stairs to the left and right. The High Chancellor cast the bundle of reeds back up his sleeve and into the depths of his crimson robes.

The men stood around Sylvia in three points with equal distance between them and began to chant, a low guttural chant: "Leevos, Leevos, Leevos." They chanted in sequences of three with a measured pause between each succession.

Sylvia felt the hold on her nude body, the lack of control, the paralysis. The dark nails of the High Chancellor and his Lieutenants rose up and she lifted from the floor. Her body moved slowly, steadily upward, twirling and rotating until she was upside-down, face-to-face with the High Chancellor.

"Sylvia." He said.

"Oh, Sylvia." He repeated. "Something is amiss."

He looked to his Lieutenants, who nodded back at him. "We feel it, High Chancellor, a disturbance."

"A desecration," the Lieutenants said in unison.

"Sylvia, you know the purity required for the ritual."

"But I am pure, High Chancellor, Sir."

"Are you a virgin, Sylvia, as is required?"

"Yes," she responded, her head pounding with pressure and her hair still dangling floorward.

"On any other day, I would be inclined to believe you. All these years you have been a good girl to the High Coven, and yet, here you are, upside-down before me, tainted and desecrated with the smell of filth."

"Nasty." The Lieutenants agreed. "Wretched." The Lieutenants said.

"High Chancellor, Sir, please, nothing has penetrated my sanctum in all these years. I remain pure for the coven."

"LIES." His voice rose through the hall, rattling the walls, scaring the dust from the foundation. "Who defiled you?"

The Lieutenants parroted in a sickly whisper, "Who defiled you?"

Sylvia thought to the night prior, to the creature at the door. It hung from the shallow awning of her window, its clawed hand tapping on the glass softly like droplets of rain. Shadow surrounded its eyes.

Sylvia unshuttered the window and let it in.

The creature stretched forth, gripping the top of the frame, then the ceiling, and dropped to the floor. As it fell, a metamorphosis happened, the shadow was replaced by a man. The sort of man that still resembled a creature, dark in hair, in nails, and extreme in the nose and eyes. The man, the beast, took Sylvia and she trembled as he undressed her. The delicate evening garments fell to the floor, lifeless and useless, unlike the very thing they covered and wrapped, so warm and pure, with a frightened heart. He removed the wand she held and placed it horizontally in her mouth, making it more useful as a wooden bit. Her shiny teeth pressed into it, secured. He grinned--a good use of her magical prowess--and threw her onto the bed. She landed face down and he leapt on top of her in pursuit, holding her flat and spread by the wrists as she squirmed beneath him.

He grabbed her by tender waist, groped her, clawed her, and scooped her thighs into his arms, pulling her bottom onto his face, pressing his nose deep into her. He smelled her, held her there, and kept smelling her. His clawed hands caressing her exquisite offerings of flesh. He savored her essence, her smell, her filth.

He lowered her back to the mattress and spoke to her. "Little coven girl, how wet, how sweet."

He fondled the wetness of her lips, smearing it upward, spreading it over her butthole like jam on toast. He spit onto her asshole and watched the spit drain partially into her hole, with the rest spilling over onto her sloppy pussy.

He spoke again, "Be still." He spit again and slapped it onto his throbbing, veiny cock that shined darkly in the dim moonlight.

He pressed the broad head into the opening of her asshole, taking his time, giving her body the moment it needed. Her body needed to come to terms with the inevitability of the predicament. Her ass would be used, her ass would be penetrated further, deeper, and harder, leaving no room for mercy or grace. His cock slid fully in, scooping her up onto him like meat on a rack. He held her by the neck, forcing her ass onto his shaft, pressing his cock deeper inside her, filling up her tummy, watching the subtle movements to her shoulders as she struggled with the overwhelming sensation of impalement.

Her coven-owned cunt dribbled onto the mattress with each thrust into her sweet, taken hole. His cock pushed out all the useless lubrication. It bubbled out of her pussy. He had her asshole stretched around his thick shaft, he had what he wanted.

Sylvia moaned and whimpered and begged, all the while his hips rose and fell upon her with each unrelenting thrust, driving and diving and dropping into her, his muscular ass rippling and contorting with power, cornering her, putting her right where he wanted her, drilling her through the mattress.

"Please," she said.

"No, not my ass," she begged.

"It doesn't go there," she moaned.

Her coven-owned pussy gushed and squelched, spraying little swells of cunt juice, soaking the mattress.

The swells grew larger, frequenter, louder, and he spoke a simple phrase, roughly, right into her ear.

"Cum," he said.

And Sylvia came, impaled on his cock, her asshole constricted, her pussy squirted onto the sheets. She ground her hips, desperate for more, riding the current, pulling orgasm after orgasm after orgasm from deep inside her. Pinned down by cock, her entire body trembled, screaming in reaction, and pulsed until she felt she could never cum again and then her body fell under spell once more, and she pulsed in euphoric, gutwrenching pleasure, utterly spent and used, her asshole gaped, sore, tired, and pleased.

"Sweet Sylvia," the beast said as it smelled her hair, her sweat, her bliss.

The voice of the High Chancellor cut through, "I can see it in your eyes. You had anal sex."

"Please, High Chancellor, Sir, I am still pure, my body is for the High Coven, my pussy--"

"SILENCE. You are not pure, not anymore. Your purity is a lie. You may have preserved the sanctity of your cunt, but this act--taking the member of another. Allowing your ass to be defiled. You have broken your bond with this coven and it will not go unpunished."

"I am sorry, High Chancellor, Sir."

"For your sake, Sylvia, I hope that is true. We may be unable to purify you, but for the good of the coven, we will try."

Sylvia was spun around and placed back on her feet.

Two iron bands crept up from the floor. The horizontal band circled her waist. The vertical band swooped between her legs, covering her coven-owned holes, and locking itself securely at the navel.

The High Chancellor spoke. "You will remain in this cage until we are sure of your purity, and if purity is not reached, alternative measures will be drawn forth. We are not done with you, Sylvia, not by any sense of the word."