The Dread Lotus Ch. 01

The silence is all but deafening, hanging like a shroud across the salty air after the chaos of the battle. It's cut only by the rhythmic lap of water, the creaking of wood, and the gentle crackle of flames as they begin to devour our ship. I've heard of battles at sea lasting for hours upon hours, as tenacious Captain's pitted their ships doggedly upon one another, but ours was over in minutes.

Not that I actually witnessed all that much of it. The moment I heard the call from the crow's nest I had been on alert, and then when I saw those blood-red sails cresting the horizon, their distinctive wing-like shape, and saw the first colossal splash as a cannonball had struck the waves just off the starboard bough, I'd fled below decks. I'd peered through a gap, watching them draw nearer, and in horror had realised we were turning to face them. We might have outrun them, if we'd caught the wind just right, but Captain Dragur had clearly been out for blood. When the first cannonball had slammed into our stern with an explosion of fractured wood, I had hid, cramming myself into a cubby, and listened, terrified, to the cacophony of the battle as it was thrust suddenly upon us. Blasting cannons, explosive impacts, the clash of swords, the screams and the shouts.

I'm not ashamed, I'm no fighter. I was on that ship because I had nowhere else to turn, not because I truly fancied myself a pirate. I've never even been in a proper fight. To put it simply, I am - was - nothing more than a street rat. I grew up in Kingston, just an urchin, stealing and pulling tricks to scrape by, and while I'd encountered my fair share of pirates, their ways at sea were hardly familiar to me. I'd never even been on a ship until I'd stepped afoot the Baroness' Charm.

I never lived a life of luxury, but I did alright for myself, making the odd coin singing at bars or throwing dice. It wasn't a terrible life, I actually rather enjoyed it, and likely would have gone on enjoying it, had I not gone and made the tremendous mistake of falling madly and utterly in love. Her name was Eliza, a comely, auburn-haired beauty, who just happened to be the daughter of one of the richest plantation owners in Kingston.

We'd met after I'd leapt a fence while running for dear life, an often enough occurrence, and had practically fallen right into her lap as she lay reading beneath a tree on her father's property. From the moment I'd looked into those emerald eyes I'd known it was love. We'd spent months meeting in secret, shy trysts at first, stealing kisses, and then rather suddenly giving into our burning lust and exploring each others bodies with all our teenage abandon.

But we'd been found out. Of course we had, and our little fling had gone up in flames, and I'd realised that unless I wanted to end the day hanging by my neck I had to make myself scarce, and fast. I'll be honest, I always harboured a small desire to one day take to the seas, to join a ship's crew and find out what all the fuss was about.

So that's what I'd done. I'd joined the first ship that would take me on. The Baroness' Charm, captained by the bearded, pot-bellied and foul-tempered Dragur. I've spent the past two months adjusting rather roughly to life at sea, and finding that a life of piracy wasn't quite as exciting as I'd always imagined. Until now, I suppose. I was treated poorly, basically a glorified cabin boy to the crew, even at nineteen, made to clean and cook and scrub the decks and...

Well, I won't bore you with the details. The important thing was that I had escaped a hanging, and that I was alive.

Although that could very well be about to change.

I shouldn't have been surprised when they found me, and dragged me out from my little hidey hole. I hadn't fought; what good would it have done? Towering Easterners, light brown or off-white skin painted with dark war tattoos, light leathers draped over bulging fat and rippling muscle, necks adorned with necklaces of bones. I suppose it's probably a good thing they found me, now I think about it, because the ship is very much aflame, set alight the minute I'd been dragged onto the plank thrown across from their rather exotic-looking vessel.

They dragged me out past the carnage, bodies laid strewn across the deck, splintered wood jutting out, bright blood painting the planks. Now, I try not to whimper as I'm dumped where my crewmates kneel, swords at the napes of their necks, shooting me sour black scowls.

"Coward," Black Pete spits, baring yellowed teeth, murder in his eyes. "Yer a fuckin coward, Jacoby."

Someone else spits, muttering darkly in agreement, as if this whole mess is somehow my fault.

I just look at the deck, unsure if it's even worth being ashamed, or terrified, or if I might as well just face death like a man, like the other's appear to be doing.

One of the large sailors who'd dragged me over thuds across the deck, sweeping his beady eyes across the gathered prisoners. He grunts, and barks a command in his native tongue. I don't recognize all the words, but one stands out easily enough.

Lao.

Just like it had on the ship when I'd heard the name called, when those scarlet sails that now ripple above me had first appeared on the horizon, a shiver runs through me. A strange, cold dread that had clutched at my heart, as someone had shouted, "It's the Dread Lotus! It's Zheng fucking Lao!"

The Black Mistress of the sea. We'd all heard the stories of the violent, wrathful, tyrannical pirate queen, her nigh-unbeatable ship and its crew, her appetite for blood and death. And the other stories, whispered in low voices, of how she made pacts with demons, brought men back from the dead in arcane rituals fueled by the sacrifice of young virgins, of how she invited demons into her body as she indulged in all sorts of sick, twisted and...unholy pleasures. I'd been told of her particular interests, of how she takes slaves by the dozen, slaves forced to tend to her voracious carnal desires, her twisted sexual needs, unspeakable things that would make even the blackest and saltiest of sea-dogs blush.

And then, I'd been told, when she grew bored of her slaves, the crew ate them, roasting them alive.

Another shiver runs down my spine as I kneel on the deck, on that terrifying monster's ship, even though a part of me knows they're probably nothing but tall tales. Just rumours, nothing more. We're not here to be sacrificed to demons, far more likely she'll just kill us the old fashioned way.

I suppose that's a little more comforting, although not much.

The crew falls silent, both ours and that of the Dread Lotus', theirs made up of both men and woman, I notice. The men are large, or wiry and scarred, while the woman all wear dark expressions, all fierce and lithe, draped in blood-red cloth. I stare at the deck as a door creaks open behind us, and light footsteps sound across the wood. I don't look up at first, just see the dark shape from the corner of my eye. I don't want to look, to even set eyes upon this creature, but something compels me to risk a glance.

I'm not sure what I expected. Horns, red eyes, scales perhaps, something terrifying and inhuman. The Black Mistress stands amidst our kneeling group, observing us with dark, slanted eyes, her lashes long and black as coal, a shadowy dusting painting the hollows beneath them. She's slight, no taller than I, her body lithe and toned with subtle muscle. She wears blood red cloth wrapped about her slender body, not quite a dress, more of a shawl, and fastened by a series of black leather straps that form a loose armour. Her skin has a dusky, yellowish cast, and is adorned with a rippled network of dark ink along her bare arms and slender neck, twisting, incompressible patterns. Her raven hair is tied in two bundles to either side of her head, a few dark strands hanging across her slender face.

Terrifying, perhaps, but very much human.

She turns slowly, surveying our group, eyes narrowing, her thin lips pressed tightly. A thin shard of white bone pierces her small nose, while more tattoos dot her sharp cheeks. Her slender fingers hold a collection of rings, glinting in the sunlight, and she rests one hand on the pommel of a strange black cutlass. I see more knives strapped to her back as she turns, another sticking from her high boots.

I know that I'm staring, and realise the moment she sees that she might cut my eyes out for the slight, but I can't look away. I'm not repulsed, as I feared I would be. This isn't the terrifying, ghastly creature I had dreamt up. I am afraid, don't get me wrong, I'm trembling. Her fierce gaze and casually threatening demeanor gives me the impression she would plunge that sword into me at a moment's notice, perhaps simply to see how I would react, perhaps simply for the pleasure of it.

But something about that fear, that sense of danger is...strangely captivating. She stands shrouded in a strange, dark beauty, weaved through that vulpine form she wears, one that makes me tremble in fear even as I stare. Those straps binding the red cloth to her do so tightly, accentuating her slender form, her narrow waist, the soft curve of her hips, the swell of her small breasts, the subtle curve of her backside. There's a savage grace about her, something both predatory and oddly...sensual. It stirs something in me, a strange mix of dread and...

Desire.

Her dark gaze turns suddenly to me, head cocking as she regards me, as if sensing my thoughts, and I look hurriedly away, my cheeks colouring.

I'm spared from further consideration as someone is dragged out from the kneeling crowd by a pirate with a shaved head spattered with dotted tattoos, and I realise it's Captain Dragur. He's badly beaten, his face bloody and bruised, a dark red stain blossoming through his tunic, and he's thrown roughly to the deck. Zheng Lao wanders over to him, her steps precise, languid, and cocks her head as she regards him, lip curling in distaste.

"So, you are the Captain," she mutters in a tight voice, raspy over her dark lips, slick with venom, and something indescribable that sends an oddly enticing shiver through me. Her English, while accented, is more than passable.

Dragur spits blood at the black boots that bind her legs, strapped all the way up to the tattered hem of her scarlet shawl. "Fuck off, whore."

She clicks her tongue. "I will suffer one insult, and one only, Captain. Keep in mind, I did not fire until I saw you turn to attack me."

"I said...fuck...off...whore!" he spits the words slowly. "You can fucking burn you sadistic devil-witch!"

Lao observes him, eyes narrowed to slits, although she looks a little bored by the display, rather than insulted. She huffs in a little breath, shaking her head slightly. I barely see her move, she does so with such speed. That black blade is drawn in a blur, and I see it flash before him, catching the sunlight dimly as it opens a scarlet path across his neck, slicing the end of his ragged beard neatly off. His eyes bulge, and he sputters blood as I gasp and pull back, bumping into the knees of the pirate behind me, who shoves me forwards. She jerks her head, and two of her crew drag Dragur to the side and haul him over with a splash.

I stare at the place he vanished, my eyes wide. I've seen men killed before, but not like that. The air beyond the railing is thick with smoke now, as our ship crackles as the flames lick at the dry wood. I swallow, eyes darting back to Lao as she calmly wipes the blade on her dress, the blood invisible against the red material, and holds it at her side. There's a small spatter up her right cheek.

I swallow again, my mouth dry. She turns and paces between us again, this time stopping before Welt, an absolute brute of a man, his shaved head bleeding from a shallow cut. She looks at him as she speaks, holding her sword out, its blade caressing Welt's stubbled cheek.

"I will give you all a choice," she says in her soft, acidic voice, "a simple choice. You may stay as guests on my ship, you will be treated accordingly, and you will live long enough to be sold into slavery."

"Fuck you!" Black Pete spits from across the circle.

She sighs, then nods her head. Black Pete is skewered through the chest from behind, another curse frozen on his scarred lips, and he's promptly hauled overboard. We all stare at the deck.

"Now, who will take me up on my generous offer?"

"If we don't," Delightful, our cook, mutters, "you'll kill us?"

"No, I am not needlessly cruel."

"Then...what?"

She jerks her head to the ocean. "I will leave you to the mercy of the sea."

Delightful swallows, and I hear a few of the others begin to mutter.

"Rather die at the hands of the sea than her."

"Twisted bitch'll probably string us up and cut us open if we stay onboard."

Lao cuts through the hushed murmurs, raising her sword before her, "What will it be, then?"

Only half a dozen or so hands raise shakily, including mine, which I thrust up almost eagerly. I'm terrified of the idea of being sold into slavery, and terrified of the idea of remaining on this ship, but it does just edge out my fear of slowly drowning. I can't exactly swim, after all. A few of the others curse and spit at our cowardice.

Lao just nods. "Good. Shackle them. Toss the rest in the sea, let the sharks fight over them. Let them keep their weapons, don't say I didn't give them a fighting chance." She flashes us a venomous smile, showing a hint of teeth as her lips curl back.

Men begin coming round with shackles, as those that did not volunteer are roughly manhandled towards the edge. A few struggle, but are quickly overcome by Lao's crew. I watch as a muscled woman with a mass of scars for an eye roughly kicks our cannon-master, Salty, in the gut as he attempts to spit on her. Lao makes to leave, pacing back towards her door, as if the whole matter is beneath her.

I breath a small gasp of relief, but it turns cold in my lungs as clarity seeps through me, twisting soon to fear and wild panic. What have I done? Voluntarily thrown myself into slavery. Here I might be made to work the plantations, but in whatever distant land the Dread Lotus sails for, how are slaves treated? I could be beaten and worked to my death labouring on some great monument, sent into the bowels of the earth to mine, never to see daylight again.

Oh God, have I made a terrible decision?

I look frantically to where my crew is being gathered, ready to be tossed over, and wonder if it's not too late to join them. I hear the clanking of shackles behind me, and my wild eyes dart about. Surely there'd be a chance in the sea, a chance someone else would happen upon us, would rescue us. Surely I could at least float long enough for that. Surely...

I open my mouth to shout, to beg to be tossed over instead, but hold my tongue as Lao stops suddenly and turns back, like a shark catching a drop of blood in the water.

"Wait."

Her crew falls still, many gripping mine. She sweeps her dark gaze across us again, running her tongue in a slither across her lip. "I do happen to have a position available, for someone to join my crew." She wanders between us, inspecting us in turn, eyes searching, a dangerous glint in her shadowy iris'.

"What position?" Long Jack asks nervously, his face a mess of pox-scars.

Lao spits a bitter peal of laughter. "Not for you." She looks at the man beside him, well into his fifties, his face a lumpy mess. "Nor for you."

She stops before Jost, one of the few aboard I might consider a friend. Young like me, with a light beard and sun-bleached hair. She nods. "Hmm, him."

He's hauled to his feet, eyes wide with uncertainty and fear. She takes a few more steps, then nods to Horace, a roguish seaman from a southern land I'm unfamiliar with, coppery skinned, his hair a mess of black curls. He's hauled to his feet as well.

My heart hammers, wondering what this position could possibly be, and what the criteria for her selections are. Neither man are particularly large or strong, surely unsuitable for hard labour. Finally, her steps slow, and my mouth dries as I realise she stands before me. I slowly raise my head, even as my instincts scream at me not to. Her thin lips split in a smile, flashing me those predatory teeth. She reaches out a hand, cupping my trembling cheek, and scrapes a long, sharp nail against my soft skin. She smiles a little wider as I flinch away. "Aren't you a pretty thing. Him too."

I feel hands under my arms, hauling me up. Lao waves a finger. "Let's see what they're hiding.

Hiding? It's all my flustered mind can think as I vaguely register that she's picked the three youngest of the crew, or at least the youngest who could also reasonably be described as good looking.

What could she possibly need...

I'm too stunned to notice the hands around the waistband of my leather trousers before it's too late, and along with Jost and Horace, my pants are tugged roughly down to my ankles, exposing us to the gathered crew.

I go rigid, the sea breeze cool on my bare ass, my soft cock dangling against my leg. My mouth works silently, and I make a move to cover myself, but my hands are yanked roughly behind me. My eyes dart between the others, to Jost's sizeable manhood, even when flaccid, and the similar individual sticking from the nest of wild black curls between Horace's dark legs.

I know my own cock probably looks rather pathetic in comparison. As my dear Eliza often told me, it was a marvel just how much my organ grew when erect.

"W...what is this?" Jost demands, his voice a little wild. He struggles against the hands holding him, achieving little other than to set his cock swinging. "What do you want from us?"

"I am simply inspecting captured goods," Lao informs us with that same wicked smile.

We're all kicked in the back of the legs, driving us roughly to our knees. A horrifying thought runs through my head, an image of her clutching my severed penis and using it in some arcane rite. My blood runs cold, and I feel my head shaking.

She walks up to Horace, and reaches out and grasps his flaccid cock, tugging it towards her. He grunts, glaring up at her with open defiance. "Hmm."

She releases him, and moves on to me. I force myself to look her in the eyes, but she only frowns at my manhood, and gives a wry smile. "A shame," she mutters softly.

A part of me deflates a little, even as relief washes through me. At least, I think I'm supposed to be relieved.

She moves onto Jost, and gently nudges his cock with the toe of her boot. It twitches, growing a little harder. "Hmm, eager already? I guess you'll do. If you accept, of course."

"If I accept?"

"Of course, everything that happens aboard this ship happens willingly."

He glances around, a flash of fear and uncertainty filling his face, and just as he opens his mouth a voice calls out, "If it's a cock ya want, ye Chinese whore, well, I've got one for you!"

She turns and frowns at the man who called out, the large and solidly built boatswain named Callou. He's bald, maybe thirty, with meaty arms and a large forehead. He glares at her with a defiant smirk, as if daring her to challenge him.

"Not my usual type," Lao murmurs, tapping her fingers against the hilt of her sword, "brutish, but hardly abhorrent. Let's see if you are all...what is the word...bluster?"

She clicks her fingers, and one of the woman in red steps up and hauls him to his feet, and his trousers are tugged down, revealing quite possibly the largest cock I've ever seen. It's a thick behemoth dangling between his pale legs, bulbous purple head poking from the bundled hood of his foreskin, a heavy set of balls hanging low behind it. He shakes his ass, tossing his meaty girth around as he sneers about. "Well? Too much for ya, devil-witch?"

I see Lao's brows raise as she considers the man. "Hmm, my my, that's more like it. I suppose you'll clean up alright, if I don't have to look at your face. Do you pledge your servitude to me?"