Sylvia and the Dead Company Ch. 02

SYLVIA AND THE DEAD COMPANY-II

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 courtesan romance, dubious consent, clit torture, flogging, spanking, possessive domination, orgies, oral penetration, vaginal penetration, anal penetration, bondage, and restraints. For your safety, please do not proceed if any of the above is triggering.

YOU ARE PROPERTY-II

Sylvia rode on a wooden horse.

It rattled, bumped, and bucked with each rock and divot that fell along the dirt path. The Dead Company marched and Sylvia rolled along with them in the back of a cart pulled by a sturdy draft animal that smelled of oats and hay and piss.  

She wore gold restraints like the night before, they clasped to wrist and to ankle.  

She sat upright, hands behind her back and chained to the rigid haunch of the wooden horse. The tension on the chains forced her posture straight and stiff which applied a growing pressure to her clitoris. It ached and bruised from the rumbling impact against the firm unrelenting chunk of wood that made up the horse's back.

The wood was lacquered which made her cunt drip. The surface became slick allowing her to slide a little with the movement--her body did what it could to make the horse bearable. The sliding thrilled her, it almost felt pleasurable, but the wooden wheels of the cart were unfit for their path, they sent jolts of numbing pain right to her cunt at regular rolling intervals.

Her ankles were chained to the base of the horse, the chains were held taught so movement of the legs was not an option. She had nothing to stand on, making all the weight of her body reside on her tender crotch.

Sylvia was a beacon for them. The symbol at the head of the marching line behind their top soldiers on horseback. The sweet taste that awaited them. The soft prize for victory. The men sent secret curses to Brol, envious of his taking of Sylvia along with his two favored lads, but the men were determined to kill, to slaughter, to have her, fully and aggressively. They hoped she'd resist.

The column halted to provide everyone, including the beasts, water. Brol climbed into her cart with a skim of liquid.

"Are you thirsty, Sylvia?"

"Yes," she said.

"Open your mouth."

She opened and he tipped her head back, guiding the nib into her mouth.

"Drink slowly," he said.

The cool water coursed down her throat, caressing the inside of her breasts and tummy with a languid chill.

"How is your cunt holding up," he asked her.

She swallowed, "Sore."

"Good," he said and left.

The march resumed.

Men were cut down in the distance. Stark cries of death disturbed the ambiguous rumblings of nature. Sylvia was left behind, one Dead Company man stayed as guard. They had taken the beast that pulled the cart she was on. Sylvia remained wedged in place, living girl meat on display. She was thankful for the shade. The heat of the day had come on, it made the carnage in the distance sound sour and sickly. All that flesh left out to bake in the sun.

"Can I please be untied," Sylvia asked the man who sat beside the cart with his back to a firm elm, he thumbed his belt and whistled an ugly tune.

"No, wouldn't be right," he said and sharp notes escaped his lips like sour beetles.

Sylvia kicked her feet. "What do you mean? I'm tied to a wooden horse."

"I have orders."

She spoke louder, "I'm not comfortable."

"You are whore slave to the Dead Company. You are property. Property doesn't need to be comfortable."

"Please, just look, I'm bruised and chaffed."

The man stopped fingering his belt and got up to look at her.

Her skin was wet with moisture, her body exposed except for the shackles and chains she wore. Her cunt was red and rubbed raw from the horse, it made his groin swell.

"Okay, maybe," he said, "but if I am risking this, I need to get something out of it."

"No! I am a prize to be awarded. Isn't that what your captain handler commanded?"

He smiled. "Aye, Brol's way."

"Is there food," she asked.

He nodded. "An apple, but it's mine."

"Untie me and I'll let you touch me while we share that apple. I think Brol would rather me be fed and comfortable and in good health, don't you?"

He eyed her for a moment, thinking, then grumbled, "You are wiley, eh, you behave now." He unlocked the chains that attached to her wrists and feet. The gold shackles stayed on, her arms dangled behind her back. He lifted her off the horse and sat her down on the edge of the cart, then hopped down himself, tossed her over his shoulder like a flour sack, and dumped her onto a bed of grass beside his spot against the tree.

"Thank you," she said.

She sat with her legs spread, giving him a good look at her sore cunt.

He placed his hand on her thigh kneading the flesh and offering the red apple to her lips. She tore out a large chunk, and he did the same, their mouths filled with the juice of life after a long hot march.

"Why do they have you on guard duty?" She asked.

"Trustworthy."

"That's it?"

He nodded and they both let out a secret laugh.

"We lost some good whores to previous assignees."

He took his hand off her thigh and silence slid in.

"Who are you lot fighting, anyway?"

"We are fighting Eastfall. You should know that, whore, being one of us now. Didn't you get current events in that dungheap village of yours?"

"I've never been good at paying mind to the squabbles of lords."

"Well, maybe ya wouldn't have ended up as slutty payment if you had."

He took a bite, she took a bite.

"I'm not dead."

"Aye, two survivors, you and Lord Greenhearth."

"Why spare him?"

He ran his hands along her neck, "Proper meat payment is sacred to us. You are a pretty one, good motivation. You hear those cries? They are louder than usual, the company is hungry to taste you. Sweet bounty of flesh. I hope they find some additional offerings, for your sake."

Sylvia got up then and started running.  

"Oh, come on," he cried.

She didn't know what got into her, she hardly even weighed the opportunity--she just ran, arms shackled behind her, barefoot and slow, the restraints thudded into her joints with each footfall.

In the state she was in, Sylvia amused the guard, so he let her run, watching her soft ass ungulate with each stride until she got far enough away he thought she may actually be able to dodge him. And so he ran after her, his heart feeling the thrill of the chase. She looked delicious and she noticed him bounding in pursuit, thundering and heavy. She shrieked out of instinct and that only thrilled him more. He was at her heels, his face fixed in an excited growl, he opened his big wide arms, enveloping them around her supple nude body and sent them both tumbling into blades of long soft grass. She struggled underneath him.

"Unfortunately," he said with heavy breath, "I have to teach you a lesson."

He turned her over so her vulnerable ass was sticking up from the earth, he held her by the hips and slopped several large globs of spit onto her holes.

Sylvia screamed and cried pathetic pants of no, clawing at the dirt.

"Go ahead and cry, this is what you deserve."

He dropped his trousers and put his thoroughly hard cock in her cunt, filling her up, skewering her into the ground, making her bite and claw at blades of grass as he threw all of his weight into her delicate and bruised pussy hole.

"You speak a word of this to Brol, and I'll slit your pretty throat."

The guard pounded into her, stretching her out, turning her insides into mush with each unrelenting thrust that couldn't be refused.  

"Now hold still," he grunted and removed his throbbing dick from her cunt and spit onto her asshole.  

"For making me run," he said and pressed his big cock into her ass and her mouth gaped and tears ran down her face and into the field as he humped into her. Her bruised cunt gushed with fluids in rhythm with his mean jabs. She felt impaled, violated, used, a whore for the Dead Company, an anal whore taken against her will. Ravaged, brutalised and destroyed with each deep shove forced up her unwilling asshole.

"I am going to fill your little ass, you hear me," he threw a final thrust and pumped his cum up her butthole in a series of large gushes that made her body ache.

He wiped his cock off, pulled her up to her knees and gripped her jaw.  

"Open your fucking mouth." 

She did and he spit onto her tongue.

He closed her jaw and she swallowed.

"No more running away." 

Sylvia remained silent on their walk back, his hard cock stuck out of his trousers slowing their pace, he stuffed it away once softened.  

He enjoyed hunting and impaling her.

The battle had concluded, the Dead Company made camp in the halls of another fallen lord. The chambermaids of which had either slit their throats or thrown themselves out of the high tower with the inevitable capture and claiming overhead.

Sylvia had been instructed to clean herself thoroughly in the marbled bathhouse of the keep where every proceeding was watched over by her guard. Sylvia soaped, and rinsed, letting the hearth heated water ease some of her aches and pains. Numerous as they were, the soreness made her feel more docile as if her body had already given up and her being used in this way unavoidable, so she relaxed in the washroom, eyeing the guard with contempt for tackling and fucking her. He held a towel out for her to dry upon, but she said "No thanks," and climbed out of the bath dripping wet, the water running off her breasts, her blushed privates, and all the curves of her body that belonged to the company.  

She stood there, drying in the air, staring him down. He nudged the towel closer to her and she pushed his arm back.

"What is your name?" She asked.

"Why?"

"I'd like to know the name of the man who has harmed me so."

"You got what you deserved, Sylvia. Take the towel, dry off. Brol and his champions will arrive soon, drunk and sated by meat and carnage."

"Your name?"

"Pax."

"Well, Pax," she took the towel out of his hands, "I am your death."

"That is the dead spirit, Sylvia. You are more at home here than you think."

Sylvia dressed for the evening. No shackles hung from her body, only jewelry, she wore a collar of gold encrusted with sporadic placements of multicolored gems, a prize from their latest victory.  

The keep fell, submitting itself to the company's unholy ability. They scaled walls, infiltrated wagons, incorporated every manner of guile and subterfuge before launching the assault. Clawing for entry, the low folk were slaughtered outside the front gates and their gentleman knights skewered to walls, serving a new purpose as hunks of dead meat and metal.

Sylvia sat on the large bed of Eastfall's latest dead lord. Pax stood at the door eyeing her and she stared right back at him. They had done this, without much break for the past hour. The act occupied their minds, filling up that space where boredom or fear often crept in. They felt disgust, contempt, hatred, and arousal. He had taken her, pinned her to the earth and stole her flesh.

A knock upon the door sounded and Pax let them in.  

First to enter was Brol, who grinned, "Sylvia, you look exquisite." 

Behind him came the two lumbering but familiar faces of Lark and Crab, fresh blood dripped from their foreheads and a line of brigands followed, each in scarred leather armor. They were of varying sizes, large to nimble, sweaty men with blades strapped to their hips, limbs, and jerkins. A mixture of dried and fresh blood flecked their skin, poorly washed off or smeared, trophies of the carnage dealt. Some wore trophies of tongues, ears, fingers and the like, anything to reinforce their rightful winning of Sylvia. The room filled with their smell.

"Here is what we are going to do, Sylvia. As you know we have rules, and these fine men of mine have earned themselves a treat. You will satisfy each and every one of my ten champions and Pax here will keep things civil." Brol stepped closer. "Don't be scared. I know this is more than you would have expected, but we require your body."

Brol grabbed her by the jewelled collar, forcing her neck straight and her chin up, choking her slightly, and kissing her on the lips, "I will take you first, pay them no mind for now," he shoved her backwards on the bed, jumped on top of her and began groping her body, kissing her face, and squeezing sections of delicate flesh. Sylvia kissed back as best she could, keeping her eyes closed so as to not see what would be next.  

They drank, as they watched their captain on top of Sylvia. The fibers of their trousers stressed and worn in the crotch.

Brol flipped Sylvia over, slapped her ass and spread her thighs. Running his coarse hands between her legs. He dropped several loads of spit onto her pussy and pulled his cock out, stiff and ready to impale. "Come round first," he said and yanked Sylvia by the hair,   "Slobber my dick like a good slave girl."

"Oww," Sylvia said as she repositioned and found her open mouth over his fat penis, she sucked on it and the men laughed and chortled saying "There is a good whore."

Brol held her neck and thrust into her mouth, making her eyes bulge and constrict.

"Alright, now turn back around," he said and impaled her cunt at the moment of sticky opportunity.  

He dropped his weight down into her prone body, fucking her into the mattress and grunting like a hog. Fucking her harder until she struggled and squirmed, making her moan in pain and pleasure, her sore cunt squelching with each angled thrust. Sylvia struggled underneath him. Pax was looking away, off to the window, tuning his ear to the sound of nature.

Brol pulled her hips up, building a pyramid with her ass and fucked it down into rubble until she was flat into the mattress again. He frenzied himself inside her, going fast then slow, then hard, riding the pleasure her closed defiant pussy provided.

"Here it comes, little slave."

She felt the gushes of Brol's sperm against her womb.

He slopped his cock on the sheets, stowed it away, gave Sylvia a messy hair tousle and left the room, "Have fun lads."

The men lurched forward, unleashed as it were from their captain master. Most of their cocks already poked through their trousers, hardened and ready to impale. They began stroking themselves, adjusting their balls, dropping blades to the floor, and grinning at her.  

They formed a circle around Sylvia and continued to ready their large cocks, holding them from base to shaft to head, making Sylvia stare down the length of them, pulling her hair so she'd look. The men squeezed and groped her bits of flesh. Grabbing her feet and breasts, and ass, and thighs, and tummy--pulling her apart, almost to pieces, a slave girl toy.  

Proper entertainment.

Spit was applied to her asshole, and a cock was placed in her mouth, and then another. Sylvia was made to alternate between several fat cocks, lubing them up orally. The men behind her began to skewer and fuck her cum lubed cunt, and prodded into her asshole with fingers, they lifted her onto all fours like an animal. Those not directly in a hole or within groping distance of a hole, shoved their way to it. This created a not so civil fucking of her mouth and asshole and pussy.

They began to rotate Sylvia within the circle, making it easier for them to get a feel of her mouth and once she came all the way around, a feel for her asshole or pussy, but that required some angles to squeeze in, mounting her every which way, whichever would get them inside her.

One man lay down flat on the mattress and two others swept her up and placed her onto his cock, making her ride. She felt more warm saliva on her asshole before a throbbing dick stuffed it causing her mouth to gape. Sylvia had all her holes occupied and her arms pulled taut to the sides to grip cock, restrained by their hands and forced to take sloppy cock after sloppy cock into her mouth. They alternated who was underneath her, each time hoisting her into the air with amusement while someone slid under her and prepared to impale as she was lowered down.

The ten men took their time with her, being mostly civil until cum was sprayed onto the face of Sylvia.

"Wasted Seed!" The men roared.

A dagger was drawn and that seed waster slashed in the ribs. "Disrespectful worm."

Pax stepped in and stabbed the dagger wielder and threw the two bleeding men out of the room.

They wiped the cum from Sylvia's face and continued to use her.

They stood Sylvia up and held her at the wall, against the cold unfeeling stone, so they could each enjoy thrusting into her soft, groped-red ass, penetrating her asshole or pussy, taking their time with her individually, while the rest watched or held Sylvia in place.

Sylvia sounded like a wounded animal moaning and drooling into the stone, her voice going hoarse from the persistent ravaging.

The groans of the men grew louder and deeper. It was time.

They nodded to each other and the first man finished in Sylvia's used, stretched, pussyhole, following after his captain master. He slipped his cock out and a swab of cum splattered onto the stone with it. The second man brought his cock straight up her asshole, holding her at the hips and lifting her up to tippy toe and back down until she felt the pulsing of his throbbing penis. The third man went right back into her twice cummed cunt and added a third heavy load. The fourth, Lark, slapped his pillar of a cock against her bare bottom, squeezed her cheek to the side until her asshole opened up, cum dribbled out of the hole, and he drove his cock in and covered her mouth in a tight embrace until he flattened her to the wall. Sylvia's body trembled and went limp, held up by his arms and the wall, she shrieked and Lark smiled into her hair, going still as his cock pulsed in delight.

Sylvia fell to her knees assisted by the still groping hands of the men.

Crab stood in front of her, his balls heavy and swollen, his cock a thick slab of meat.  

"Open wide, Sylvia."

He cupped her chin and guided his dick into her mouth, his balls swung into her neck with each pleasured hump. She gagged some, but that only drove Crab deeper inside, he pet her head and came down her throat. She swallowed and another cock dove in, spurting its warmth into her warm hole. It flopped out, spent and happy. The final two decided to go in together, they held her wide, placed their penis heads side by side and pushed them into her opening, stroking their shafts until Sylvia's mouth pooled with cum.

The men cheered, the ritual over.  

"I need beer."

"The slave girl will drink with us, let them see our fine work."

"By the looks of her, she needs it."

"I don't think she can stand."

Sylvia was lifted up by the men and lowered onto the mattress, they slipped black cloth onto her feet and draped a thin black shawl over her shoulders.

Sylvia trembled.