Legends of the Treasure Child

She was making excellent speed, and in the distance, the dark coastlines of the Caribbean islands swept by. John stood at the helm, gazing out at the dark horizon, watching the early sunset as darkness slowly gave way to light. He cast a glance at the two priests in the pillory. Father Corbex was moaning in pain, and sweat was streaming down his backside, as he struggled to stay on his feet. His body was still trying to get rid of the foreign elements, the semen turned gold inside his rectum, and blood kept soaking his thighs as it trickled out while his body attempted to push out the foreign objects, over and over. He was tired, blinking away the sweat pouring down his forehead.
“Please…” he kept begging, “please, make it stop. Please…!” Father Corbex went on. But John paid him no heed. The priest shuddered as another throe hit him, making him push. A golden piece covered in blood fell down to the floorboards underneath him with a plonk. His sighed in relief. Maybe he’d live to see another day after all.

Father Rutherford had fallen silent. He was so tired, and his mind went rambling over and over, like a mouse caught on a treadmill, trying to make out how and when it would be his turn. Father Rutherford very much wanted to escape himself. Whenever he closed his eyes, the faces and images of the dead haunted him, condemning him with their eyes. The cries of lone gulls sounded like the wails of bloody infants in his ears, and he tried to shake the cries away whenever the gulls circled the boat looking for a piece of flesh from the carcass hanging at the stern of the ship. Father Rutherford wanted to cover his ears, anything to shut the noise out. He couldn’t reach with his hands, and it made him angry. And something else. Horny. It couldn’t be. It had to be the demon’s work. He tried to fight it, tried to think of other things. But the gulls kept screaming at him of his crime, speaking in tongues, laughing of him, calling him a whore for being immobilized in such a fashion. ‘Whore,-whore,-whore’ they kept repeating, their squawking turning into clearly pronounced words. Father Rutherford felt his penis growing hard, felt his balls tighten and curl up in the sack. He all of the sudden felt a hand on his ass. It was a simple touch, yet it sent Father Rutherford reeling into a horniness he’d never before encountered. He moaned, believing he’d come right there and then, unconsciously spreadi æ-ng his legs, offering himself without giving it a second thought. The gulls kept screaming at him, explaining to him with their repetitive voices just what he was. He lost his head in the lust, moaning loudly as a thumb found its way to his hole, gently pressing its way inside, massaging the clenching muscles. The strange sensation was exhilarating, and Father Rutherford welcomed the diversion.

“You mustn’t, Rutherford!” Father Corbex shouted at him desperately, “he’s a demon! Don’t give in to him, Rutherford!” But it was too late. Rutherford screamed as John entered him with something much larger than his thumb. The priest ended his cry in a moan at the sensation of being filled for the first time ever and the pain quickly subsided as John started thrusting. “Please Rutherford, listen to reason! Deny him and pledge allegiance to Jesus Christ, turn before he perverts your soul as well!”

Father Rutherford didn’t hear. All he could think of, was the delightful feeling inside, a feeling he’d denied himself for so long, for so many decades. This sparrow was indeed a joy to be with. He moaned anew, louder this time.

“My word, is that a moan I hear? I must be doing something right, what you say, Father Corbex? Your colleague here seems to be enjoying it!” John laughed, thrusting harder. Father Rutherford shut his eyes, almost dribbling of ecstasy. “Heh, now come now, my Crimson! Give him some slack or you’ll blow his mind all at once!” said to the boat. She immediately let go of her grip, a mental grip Father Rutherford hadn’t even felt coming upon him, and as she did, the lust lifted its veil, and a painful and disturbing sensation settled in Father Rutherford’s hole, and it all became awkward. He tensed, wanting to escape the pain, wailing at the intrusion. He saw her hulls move, the floorboards alive, almost like they were breathing, and the woodwork turned into demonic faces which grinned devilishly at him. He recognized them all, and they all accused him with hungry eyes. Accusing him of murder.

John soon shot his load into Father Rutherford, and again, his sperm turned to hot gold, searing in the priest’s rectum. The Crimson Lotus rejoiced as the Father was stricken with panic. She decided to influence his mind just a little bit more, setting a fancy into his head about her hulls coming alive with arms which reached out for him, nearly grabbing him. The priest began to kick and scream, trying to get lose. John grinned from ear to ear, turned back to the wheel and shaking his head over the mischievous lady.
He released them after a day of more rape, and put them to work, telling them to swab the deck and teaching them to work her ropes and her sails, telling them time and time again that if they failed to do good to her, she would retaliate. Father Corbex was the sane one. His internal wound would not stop bleeding though, and he often slipped in his own blood while trying to avoid John’s whip cutting through the air above his head. Whenever they failed to obey John’s orders, the ropes would come alive, tying them to the mast with their noses grinding into the wood, and the whip cut deep into their backs. As different as night and day they were, for Father Corbex would not stop reciting Our Father, desperately trying to convince God or himself or both that he was indeed a good Christian. For there were knots growing out on each side of his temples. After a few days the knots turned into horns, growing longer, and into the unmistakable shape of goat horns. He was terrified, his hands always searching to his forehead, and his heart would drop to his toes every time he searched and they were still there. He became obsessed with belonging to the good side, looking up to the sky, shouting at God for leaving him, praising his God in one moment then cursing him the next. And always the blood. For John would not stop having him, sometimes for hours
– one orgasm after the other, biding his time, filling the priest up real good. It amazed John to see how easily the human mind was warped, for sometimes when he used Corbex to his pleasure, Father Rutherford would go quiet at first, then burst out and attack Corbex in rage, jealousy glowing on his face.

One of the principal sins. Jealousy. The Crimson Lotus would ha real laugh during those moments as the two priests, who used to confide in each other, turned into animals, fighting over John. But to John, their outbursts only reminded him at another task at hand, one which he still didn’t know how to deal with. The Thyrion. Was Jack all right? Had the Thyrion attempted to get to him in the meanwhile? Where was Jack now? He searched for his father across the seas in his mind, seeing the Pearl far away in the distance, bound for England as planned. John needed to be there, or Jack might be hanged. Or attacked or murdered. Or – or…the possibilities seemed infinite.

“Lotus, my lady, we’re bound for England. I have to catch up with Jack, you understand that, love?” A wave of the affectionate consent of a lover washed over him, and he needed no other reply.