Legends of the Treasure Child : Demon Spawn

Seeing his son shot, almost brought Jack to his knees. Never before had he witnessed John to be wounded to such a degree. To his knowledge, no one survived a gunshot at point blank range. As if hypnotized, Jack made his way to the railing, barely noticing the retaliating shots which splintered the wood around him. Never taking his eyes of John for a second, Jack registered that his left hand closed around a rope, firing his gun at the knot, the rope immediately gave way, allowing him to swing his way over to the railing of The Ranger. Sheathing his gun, Jack produced his cutlass, and before Jockard had seen Jack come, the ex-pirate swung his blade at him, effectively chopping off the pirate lord’s right arm and the arm holding the smoking gun which had made the shot at John. The Ranger suddenly rocked heavily, and its main deck was torn open as its hull took a direct hit from a cannon ball. The bang still rang in his ears, but Jack got back on his feet only to find that Jockard was lying face down with thousands of wooden shrapnel protruding from his back. Pintel and Ragetti, who else?! Jack thought to himself, mentally thanking the insane crew members for firing a cannon ball at point blank range, not knowing – or not caring – what the outcome would be.

John grabbed Jack by the collar of Jack’s shirt, and soon, the world shifted. Feeling queasy but otherwise sane, Jack realized John had brought him to what only could be The Crimson Pearl.



“Pretty boat. Ugly crew” he sighed, as John ushered him to the captain’s cabin. Shoving his father inside, breathing heavily and with great pain in his chest, he said: “Dad, this is Mr. Scarborough, the first mate of the Crimson. Mr. Scarborough, meet my father, Captain Sparrow! Now, excuse me while I clear up the mess I’ve made” John breathed hard before closing the door right in front of Jack’s nose. Jack listened as John turned the key on the outside. The locking of the door was meant as a warning. John knew that Jack could pick any lock. Apart from the door of a prison cell, no door in the world could contain Jack Sparrow, no matter how magically sealed it was or not. It was to keep what was on the outside from getting in, and John did not have the breath nor the time to explain it to Jack. The message did, however unspoken, make it over to Jack loud and clear. He could make out the muffled noises of battle cries, cannons roaring and swords clashing. John would make it. He had to make it.

Jack turned to face Mr. Scarborough. He couldn’t help but to grin at the whelp, who answered with a furious groan to be caught in such a predicament. Shuffling over to the young man, in a manner only Jack Sparrow can, Jack watched as the boy winced in his ropes.



“Is the apple to your liking?” Jack asked, unable to hide a lopsided smile. The array of ropes and naked flesh before him made him put aside his worries for John for the moment. Jamie struggled with his ropes before he looked away in shame. Said apple was currently in the same position as it had been for the last four hours: Pierced and strung on a leather strap, it rested between Jamie’s teeth, forcing his jaw to stay in the same painful position. An intricate work of longer leather straps combined with rope attached to the roof of the alcove made Jamie’s body hover some twenty centimeters above the bed. His head and hands were caught in a pillory, a log had been jarred between his knees, keeping his legs wide apart, and his ankles were currently the only thing attaching Jamie to the bed by means of another set of leather straps. The young lad was completely immobilized.

Bending down to investigate further, Jack noticed the erect cock of the boy. Another strap was tied beneath his balls, preventing him to orgasm, and following the intricate handiwork of the leather, Jack realized the strap had been strung between the boy’s legs to a large wooden instrument protruding from the boy’s arse. Then, the strap split on two, and had been strung across his hips several times with one final knot in front on the belly. It kept the wooden object perfectly in place, and the subject in question perfectly furious and horny to the point of madness.



Jack had to laugh. Sincere compassion however, as much compassion as an ex-pirate captain can muster, made Jack loosen the strap around the boy’s waist, releasing the cock from its confines. He added some scented oil to the puckered entrance; he began to slide the wooden cock back and forth. He heard the boy squeal like a pig on a roast, but soon the muffled squeals turned into moans. Coming hard, Jamie’s entire person quivered like a leaf caught in summer’s evening breeze, squirting his cum hard on the sheets beneath him. Jack chuckled loudly, releasing the leather strap around the boy’s neck. The apple fell to the bedspread in a rain of saliva and loud curses. The boy was mad. Seriously mad. Glad to be facing some genuine fury, he proudly listened to Jamie’s shouting, to the threats and the cursing of his mother and whatnots several times, knowing Jamie would never actually get near him. The hailstorm of curses ended abruptly as there was a turn of a key in the lock. Moments later, John appeared through the doorway of the cabin, his shirt and west drenched in blood.



“It’s over. The survivors of Jockard’s crew have been captured. We’ll turn them over to British authorities as soon as we make port.”

Jamie’s fury vanished instantly at the sight of the blood, his lips uttering nothing but pleas and worry for John’s health. He kept looking from John’s shirt, up to John’s face and then back down again, completely mesmerized.



“I’m fine” John told the boy as he felt his eyes on his body.



“Let me see the wound, me lad” Jack said calmly. Sitting down by the fire with his father, John willingly opened his shirt. It was soaked by his blood, soaked beyond repair, but the shot gun wound was completely healed. Absorbed in studying the spot where the wound should have been , Jack touched it with his fingers. He didn’t see John leaning in before he was being kissed.



“I see you already took care of Mr. Scarborough” John said when breaking the kiss, looking into his father’s eyes.



“You know me, I’m a man of action. Always have been—“



“—always will be” John said and kissed him again, knowing they were referring to more than just Mr. Scarborough. Had not Jack fired that shot from the Black Pearl, then things might have turned out differently.



“Ex—Excuse me!” Jamie ventured. Father and son turned their heads to look at him. “Could you please let me down now?”



“Why? You’re looking delightfully delicious just the way you are!” John promptly answered.



“Oh, have a heart” Jack said, snickering. He was relieved to see John all right, thinking that regrettably the only proper way to celebrate his son’s health should have been with a bottle of rum.



“Nope.”



“In any case I’ll be needin’ a ride back to me ship. The Pearl must be in shambles after such a close encounter.”



“She does need some fixing up, aye, but she’s been subject to worse damages before” John replied softly, gazing into his father’s eyes.



“Oh ye lovesick puppy!” Jack exclaimed, grinning naughtily, “first get me back to me ship, then go and enjoy yerself with tha’!” Jack motioned towards Jamie. John turned his head to give Jamie a contemplative stare.



“What?! No, no way, no more, I beg you good sir, let me rest, let me down! Please.” Jamie watched father and son get up from the floor.



“Now, don’t go anywhere, Mr. Scarborough, I’ll be right back” John grinned, before opening a portal back to the Pearl. He chuckled as he watched Jamie struggle in his bonds just as the portal closed, bringing himself and Jack back to the black-hulled ship.



Jack’s crewmen were just finished putting out a fire on a deck below. The black smoke rising from holes in her hulls and on her deck told Jack she’d been fighting bravely, taking a lot of damage. The Ranger was in no better condition, though her deck and not the Pearl’s held most dead bodies. Mr. Gibbs was still ablaze with the adrenaline of battle, his eyes shining bloodthirsty the way they did back in the good old piraty days, and he looked like he was about to take on the world’s armies thinking he’d make it. He shared a heavy toast with Pintel, Ragetti, Murtogg, Twigg and Mulroy, and together they roared and congratulated each other loudly on a job well done, obviously more than pleased with themselves.



Jack smiled at them, before he turned to John and said quite pleased with himself: "It would seem as if me crewmen are a bunch of bloodthirsty savages!"



"In deed" John replied, returning the grin.



"I wouldn't have it any other way!" Jack exclaimed, laughing heartily. Assuming an air of authority, he made his way across the main deck to survey the damages, taking note of injuries and things in need of repair.



John touched the railing, instantly sensing the soul of the Pearl singing to him. Aye, she was magnificent, superior and simply the best East Indiaman on the waters of the face of the Earth, no question about it. So, she'd taken a little damage. It was minuscule. She was in about the same state as Mr. Gibbs. John's mind flooded over with images from her glorious days as a pirate vessel, the magnificent battle with the Flying Dutchman and a vast number of other vessels.



"Good girl" he whispered approvingly to her, patting the railing lovingly.



Coming back to his senses, Mr. Gibbs attended Jack, looking for orders on what to do with The Ranger.



"Strip her of whatever cargo she might be holdin', then sink her!" Jack promptly answered.

On board the Ranger, some of the captive priests had perished in the battle. Still, there was seven of them left, and it suited John just perfect. He materialized before them below deck, where they sat huddled together behind prison bars.



"How nice to see catholics and protestants joined together in prayer. It really warms me stony heart" John grinned maliciously at them. The sight of his spotless white fangs and golden demonic eyes turned their complexions altogether into a whiter shade, leaving a gasp hanging in the tense air between the holy and the unholy. "It's a shame to see how the English treat the Irish, heaping more oppression on an already oppressed nation. I'm genuinely glad to see you able to unite against something else than religion" the demon before them spoke gravely, "and now you'll learn to partake as members of my damned crew. Find strength in each other and your virtues, but know that on my ship your prayers are more likely to get through to some hedonist Celtic deity rather—″



"—brothers in Christ!" one of the priests suddenly cried out, "do not listen to the demon! I urge you all to close your ears and denounce this evil demon in the name of Jesus Christ. The power of Jesus Christ compels Thee, wicked spirit! By the power of Jesus Christ, return to Thy hellish abyss!"

John turned to stare at the priest in the neighboring cell. He had a cut on his right temple, and looked like he'd been fighting. His knuckles were bloody and his clergyman's clothes torn and damp with blood and sweat. He was currently pointing a shaky finger at John, and all though his voice shook equally, his eyes shone fiercely with conviction. Or something else. Something close to insanity. Good.



"I'll take great pleasure in watching you witness the demise of your fellow priests, Reverend Cavanaugh" John told him. He approached the bars of the clergyman's prison, positioning himself against the bars. "Deceit, Reverend. No doubt you still remember that sensation."



"The po— power of Christ..!" the reverend's voice faltered, "the power— , the power of Christ...!"



"Christ will not help you now, Reverend. He will not help anyone of you. In fact, most of you will gladly denounce him once you learn to like what my manhood has to offer."



"Do not listen to him! I beg you all, do not listen to his poisonous words! Cavanaugh is right! We must stand our ground! Do not let the demon thrive on whatever moment of weakness you might have had in the past!" another priest exclaimed, crossing his chest.



"Moment of weakness, ey?" John grinned, turning about to eye he priest who just spoke. "Says the man who, with his speeches of damnation and corruption, drove a young pregnant woman to suffer her death in the murky bogs of Ireland. And what of the old woman who wanted nothing more but to protect her grandchild from illness?"



"She— she was a witch, I tell you, a witch!"



"She brewed pots of chamomile, feeding the tea to her grandson. Everybody knows chamomile has a preventive effect on infections. Nay, I suspect it was rather her strong belief in Nature and not in God Almighty which made you dislike her."



"She worshiped false idols! God is above everything the healing power!"



"I agree" John replied, "but in your self-righteousnesses you forgot one thing:God is the very creator of nature. Nature in itself is as pure as the Garden of Eden, and is therefore incorruptible and untamable. It simply is the essence of God. Did it ever occur to you that the old lady simply decided to look elsewhere for God's help when a simple prayer was futile?"



John watched as the words sank into the brain of his opponent. The priest failed to reply, but simply shrank away into the half dark of his cell.



"You have wronged an innocent soul. A soul which now could have been resting in peace by the feet of God. Instead, her restless spirit now roams the riverbank where she failed to pass the witch's test of floating in the water, weeping for her dead grandchild." John weighed every word coming out of his mouth, watching with glee as the words hit his victim hard, watching the priest hide his face in his palms.



"And you", John turned back to the cell which held the most numbers of priests, pointing at a priest in his prime, his face overshadowed by fright. His voice was like a heavy bell chiming loud over the chants of the congregation, "have struggled to find your calling all your life. Had it not been for your God—fearing parents, you'd still be roaming the streets like the rat you are, looking for a wealthy female to dig your scavenging claws into. They don't know that you empty the collect bucket for at least half the donations gathered there after sermon, do they? Or about your infidelity with that respectable lady—".



"Stop! I beg you do not mention her name! Think of her reputation!"



John watched the man sink to his knees, obliterated in shame. He fixed his neighboring priest with his golden, staring intently into and beyond his mind. It was a handsome young man, staring back at John with wide open dark eyes. John could easily have kissed those lips a thousand times. Instead, he said: "You do not belong here among these wicked and thoughtless men. You are a true man of God. You have a sincere wish to help the destitute and the weak, yet you question God every day for you cannot believe that God would his own creatures to live in such misery. You cannot see how Man can be God's creation when Man is of such flawed character, and—" John added, drawing his breath, "you see perhaps clearer than anyone here that the link between Man and his surroundings are of greater consequence for his fortune, than that of Man and his conviction in God. You are on the right track, but priesthood is in your way. You shall be given a second chance, if you promise to give up your current occupation."



"M—my soul must stay untampered" the man said.



"It has already been marked by God. It is untouchable to me" John told him softly. He then turned to the next one. "Ah, there he is. There is always a sheep blacker than the rest″, John exclaimed, clapping his hands together. The others turned to stare at the priest who was slowly retreating to the back of the cell. He was a short, buxom man, dressed as an English bishop. The fat on his cheeks wobbled in rhythm to his trembling, and beads of sweat formed slight rivers pouring down the sides of his receding hairline.



″It is not the power of Jesus Christ, but MINE this time, who compels you! Begone, miserable, pathetic creature. I order you back to the depths of Hell!″ John sternly commanded, his golden eyes glowing molten in the half dark. He pointed at the shivering character before him, watching as the other ministers shrunk away from him. The entire frame of the priest shook violently before a distant shrill could be heard. Then the priest vomited and fell to the ground. ″There you go″ he continued, ″the traitor has been punished. Now. Off you go, my delightful new slaves.″



The world shifted, filling their visions with a nauseating blue, leaving them sick to their bones. Being able to inhale fresh sea air again, they looked up in bewilderment to find themselves on deck of a different ship with red sails, encompassed on all sides by gray smoke and dark waters. They despaired, huddling together in horror as they saw the state of the other crew members with their vacant stares and drooling, rotting maws.

Left behind on the other ship was but one priest. His knees gave way, and he fell to the filthy deck of the prison cell as John closed in on him.



″Wha— what will you do to me?!″ the priest begged, craning his neck to look upwards at the demon before him.



″You must solemnly swear to me to abandon your vocation as a priest. Then, and only then shall you have my protection until we make port in the Caribbean. From there you may catch a ride back home to your beloved emerald island.″



″I beg you – my soul – please, do not—!″



″ —like I said, your soul is off limits as God already put his mark on you. However, your body is still mine to claim. And claim it I will. Now, swear!″



″I- I swear. I shall never pursue priesthood again...!″



John gazed at the man's trembling lips, his hair curling in the sweat on his forehead and the beautiful, nut-shaped blue eyes. He sat down and gently locked the man's heads with his hands. He kissed him, and felt the trembling frame of the youth against his body. Breaking the kiss, the man held his breath, gazing wide-eyed into John's golden eyes.



″I-I'm, no, you must not...!″



″Must not what? Say aloud your deepest and darkest secret? The one mystery you hardly dare admit to yourself?″ John whispered hoarsely.



″God-would—!″



″—he's not going to strike you down with lightning on this very spot, you know. Remember that God sees all, and if he did not approve of your fancy towards men such as yourself, I'm sure he'd let you know a lot sooner. You've been a priest for five years, James. Not once has He tried to strike you down. Now, come″ John continued, taking his hand gently, ″let's put an end to this trembling of yours.″

He placed James' hand on his crotch, and James gasped as he felt the hard bulge in John's breeches. John ventured to slowly undo the white collar around the man's neck, then his robe and the shirt beneath. He took care to tuck the shirt away on the bars so it wouldn't get wet. Then, as his hands became more greedy, he let them roam across the youthful body, lingering at the nipples. James had delightfully large nipples which easily could be pinned between thumb and index finger, and John tweaked each one long, but not to hard. Just enough to make James moan, slowly losing his fears. James arched his head backwards, exposing a slightly unshaved chin and neck. Nuzzling against the soft skin, John caressed the side of the neck, sensing the blood pulsating in the main artery just below the skin. The boy's heart was pounding hard and fast, and John decided it was time to move downwards, allowing his hands to travel on advance. Soon, James was naked, and John held him by his erection. James wanted to undress John as well, but his hands felt weak. He felt benumbed, as if someone else was telling his limbs not to move too much. He did however gain permission to undo John's breeches just enough to reveal a straining cock which yearned for release. Kneeling before John, James took the cock in his trembling hand. Opening his mouth, James tentatively licked at the head of the demonic cock, circling the velvety skin with his tongue. It earned him a growling moan which prompted him to take more of it into his mouth.

The sensation of the warm, wet mouth and the ministration of James' tongue made John's head spin. A hot pressure was rapidly building up inside, only increasing in strength as James began to suckle the erection, moving his lips back and forth across the smooth surface of John's manhood, taking the entire length into his mouth. ″Good God...!″ he mumbled, trying to remain still so James could work his magic. Moments later, he had to stop James. ″I cannot come in your mouth. It would be most unpleasant for you.″



″Then- then take me!″ James pleaded, rising to level with John's golden gaze. Quite despite himself, he turned his back to John, leaning against the prison bars while he spread his legs. ″Please!″ James whispered, adjusting his abdomen to give John as much access as possible. Moments later, John found himself deep with in the puckered entrance. Grasping James' erection between his legs, he pumped the ex-priest in time with his thrusts. It did not take long before they both came hard, gritting their teeth to keep a lid on the passionate moans and sobs.



″There you go″, John told him afterwards, while still remaining inside, ″no more trembling.″



″I have sinned against God!″ the ex-priest sobbed. He found himself coming down from his journey of lust, ″yet I cannot help but to feel its goodness and rightness.″ John pulled out of him and did up his trousers.



″Come. We are to return to my flagship, where you will remain in my cabin. You will be safe there, and enjoy the company of my first mate to be, Mr. Scarborough.″



″What of the others? The dead?!″ James wanted to know, looking at the corpses of the other priests.



″Sinners, the lot of 'em″ John shrugged, ″they'll find their way back to the Flying Dutchman, and its captain will take it from there.″



″Sinners or not, they deserve proper burials″ James said. He'd donned his shirt, but found his underpants to be soaked with blood and gore. Could it be that John intentionally had thrown it in the worst pile he could find? John stopped to look at James and then down on his trousers. ″It's all right. You won't be needing those.″



″My backside hurts. Feels like I've been stabbed with...something.″



″Like I said: Better in there than in your throat.″ John grabbed the ex-priest by the wrist, and in a flash, they were gone just in time as Jack's crewmen started to board The Ranger in order to strip her of every valuable object they could find.