Maddox
Our ancestors’ rituals didn’t include an anal hook . . . but times change.
The woman bound and gagged to the raw stone table whines in anticipation.
A circle of flickering candlelight surrounding us illuminates her creamy white flesh, and the smell of burning wax mixes with the blood-damp dungeon floor.
It’s a scene that would be considered unholy in polite society, but for us there is no sight more ecclesiastical than Beatrice Nurse trussed and presented as a gift.
Her arms are behind her back, bound with red rope. The intricate knots are partially hidden by her thick black braid attached to one end of a steel hook firmly planted in her ass.
Two of my fellow legacies watch with me from the dais as Asher stands at her side, stroking his thumb over her wet slit and speaking the incantation to bless our circle with the dark magic to which we prescribe.
His dulcet voice echoes off the earthen walls as ancient as our coven.
There is a shift just beyond the veil as he works through the spell.
Like every ritual we’ve done in the past, there is an eagerness that transcends time and the eerie presence that lurks in the folds between planes.
It beckons the five of us to open the passage and allow it to spill over into our world.
Beatrice’s body is the vessel that will facilitate our communion to the old gods and satisfy their demand for a willing sacrifice.
Our generation is led by Hawthorne—Thorne to those of us closest to him—from the Bishop line.
Of the five thrones that sit at the edge of the ritual circle, his is centered.
To Thorne’s right sits Fox—the last of the Proctor line.
The empty seat next to Fox is reserved for Asher Morey.
To Thorne’s left are two contrasting thrones.
Mine has been polished and maintained by the Elwell men who fought to keep it.
But my flank is barren. The cold, decaying seat was once occupied by the Hales’ legacy, long before the Salem Witch Trials that separated our coven 400 years ago.
“Brothers,” Asher’s wary voice croaks. “It’s time.”
It’s been too long since our magic has been fully renewed.
The demand on our abilities to keep our coven hidden and safe takes more and more each harvest ritual.
Sex, blood, and tithing to our ancestors is the only way to regain what we’ve poured into those we shelter.
Asher and I will partake first, followed by Fox, and finally Thorne’s contribution will solidify the spell.
Only after our bodies are weak and empty will we be filled with magic from beyond the veil.
Asher pushes his sweatpants down, leaving him bare as he gets to his knees and buries his face in Beatrice’s cunt. She moans and my cock stiffens. Asher’s tongue laps at her clit and she pulls at her restraints, the hook stretching her tight, firm hole.
I get to my feet and step down from the dais to enter the circle of protection that Asher has created and stand at her head. Her eyes eat me up with a plea for more or help. She will get neither from me, not yet. Her immense pleasure is integral to the success of the harvest.
While no pain will come to her, without fail, once all four of us descend on the sacrifice as a combined force, there is always a flash of panic and regret in their eyes. Recognizing it makes me rock-hard.
The pink pillow of her bottom lip is drawn tight around the ball between her teeth. This scene was her choice, and who are we to deny her what she’s always desired? I take her chin with my fingers and kneed the tortured flesh with the pad of my thumb, spreading her drool over her glossy lips.
“Are you ready?” I ask, knowing full well that if she answers, she’ll tug at the rigging. The smile on my lips pulls a bit tighter at the conflict of pain versus pleasure on her face.
I reach for the buckle at her cheek and loosen the strap.
The gag isn’t necessary for anything but fulfilling her fantasy.
Something that was discussed at length days ago while we readied the basement to receive her and the blessings from beyond.
Bea opens her mouth wide and her tongue pushes the silicone ball out.
It bounces away, but instead of giving her jaw reprieve, she sticks her tongue out and looks up at me expectantly.
“Eager for me, pet?” I ask, and she pants harder.
My sight travels down the knots at her back to Asher’s head bobbing, then back to Beatrice’s wild gaze. I bend low to whisper in her ear, “You can’t have any of us until you come.”
Her groan ends with an intelligible sound of desperation.
“Asher,” I call, but don’t break eye contact with our pretty little sacrifice. Asher only answers with a sloppy sound of acknowledgment. “How does she taste?”
His hand replaces his mouth on her cunt, his voice muffled by the wall her legs create. “Like fucking candy, Mads.”
He glances over the curve of her ass at me, a sheen of Beatrice’s juices smeared over his lips already. His devious smile doesn’t fully reflect the hunger in his eyes before he sinks two fingers into her and dives back in to suck at her clit loud enough for all to hear.
I lower my voice for just her again. “Do you hear that? Asher loves the way your pussy tastes. Make a mess of his face for me.”
Her eyes roll. The muscles of her shoulders, back, and legs clench as the orgasm wrecks her senses.
A thrum of energy pulses through the air with her release and I know we all feel it.
My cock throbs, but Asher has to be the first. When he comes up for air, his face is soaked, but he doesn’t wipe it away as he gets to his feet and slaps her creamy white cheek.
“Fuck, Beatrice.” He soothes the spot then lands a second smack. “You’re going to be fun to use, aren’t you?”
Beatrice squeals and clenches around the metal still lodged deep inside of her. “Yes, please. Again.”
Asher’s throaty laugh is followed by another slap of skin on skin.
But it’s the way her eyes never leave mine that has my dick straining in my sweatpants.
It’s the thrill of the scene that lightens my head and gives me the unquenched need gnawing at my core.
We’ve known Beatrice all our lives and never once have I thought of her as more than a friend.
She’s beautiful, I’ll give her that, but I’d never consider her for anything more.
It’s knowing that we are all part of an intrinsic harmony between nature, the coven, our gods, and our bodies that thickens the air and loosens the inhibitions.
I can feel Fox and Thorne’s eyes on my back, the essence of our connection reaching out to Asher and me, demanding we edge Beatrice closer to another climax.
I hook my thumbs into my waistband and push the fabric down, freeing my cock inches from our sacrifice’s mouth. Beatrice’s eyes widen at my length then roll up to meet my hungry gaze. Her tongue juts out to my tip, but she whines when I pull away before she can taste the bead of precum.
Fox shifts in my peripheral. I look over my shoulder in time to see him and Thorne take their clothes off and begin anointing themselves in oil.
“Fuck, she’s so tight.” Asher grunts, bringing my attention back.
Tension courses through my blood and pounds against my eardrums. Asher’s hips work in and out, slow and teasing. He’s going to drag this out for her. She’s been waiting for years for this moment, after all. She deserves to be worshipped for the gifts her body will be the conduit for.
I pump myself but am already too worked up, thinking about her pussy stuffed with our cocks and filled to the spill point with cum.
I do my best to slow my breathing and focus.
If I come too soon, the entire ritual will be lost. To busy myself, I move to Asher’s side and reach down to Beatrice’s clit to make long, hard circles on the sensitive bundle.
Asher’s fingers spread her ass cheeks wide, and we both watch as the end of the silver hook shifts inside of her with his deep thrusts.
“You feel so good, Bea. So good for us,” Asher grits out.
He enjoys providing for our sacrifices more than getting off.
He’s been working her up for over an hour already, and if it were up to him, he’d keep us here for hours more to make sure that she is thoroughly sated.
With the smug smile perfectly affixed to his lips, he expertly plucks at the threads of her physicality until she’s coming apart at the seams, a master of the fray.
Each of Bea’s moans is a challenge to make her scream and he’s only gotten started.
We were made to wield our gifts and to hold the burden of responsibility to those we protect. But in this room, in this place where it is only us, we are the depraved reality of power.
“Asher. Maddox. Oh gods, right there.” Bea whines, but it’s Asher’s face that I’m watching.
I match my rhythm to his hips until I feel her pussy clench.
She struggles to breathe and screams our names.
The fullness, strokes of my fingers, and praise from both of us finally guides her over the edge again, and a thick surge of energy becomes present in the room.
To my surprise, Asher’s breathing gets heavier and he’s coming within moments.
He’s a workhorse in the sack. His strength and endurance hold out even when his magic stores are depleted.
He slumps over, holding himself up by the heels of his hands on either side of Beatrice’s quaking body.
“Fuck, that was so hot.” Asher’s satisfied smile and hooded eyes reflect what I know we are all feeling.
He pulls out of her and replaces his cock with his fingers.
His other hand takes hold of the ropes at her wrists to keep her in place.
She squirms in his hold but is weak from pleasure, another wave already crashing down over her.
“That’s right. Let me have one more before I hand you over to Maddox. ”