The oceans rose and swallowed the world. What remains belongs to those who take it — with blade, rope, and seed.
Extreme post-apocalyptic pirate erotica • public use • captive-to-queen • knife play • breeding • salt-crusted dominance • 18+
They came at dawn — five black-sailed ships cutting through the mist like knives. Lyra fought with a broken oar until Captain Rook himself pinned her to the deck, boot on her throat, and smiled down with storm-grey eyes. “You’re cargo now, girl.” That night she was stripped, chained to the mast, and passed between twenty men while the fleet cheered and the sea roared approval.
He took her in the captain’s cabin while cannon smoke still drifted. Fucked her raw against the map table, knife to her throat, carving his initials into her hip as he filled her for the first time.
Three days chained naked below deck, used by any crewman who paid in rum or bullets. She learned to come on command.
A hurricane. Rook lashed her to the wheel with him, fucking her through hundred-foot waves while lightning turned the sea white.
Rescued a mute, tattooed woman from a sinking raft. She repaid the debt by eating Lyra to orgasm in front of the entire crew while Rook watched, hard again.
After victory, the fleet formed a living raft of lashed ships. Lyra was placed naked on a central platform and bred by every captain in turn — twelve men, twelve loads — while the crews watched from the rails and placed bets on whose seed would take first.
Years later the Black Armada sails under a single crimson flag bearing her mark. Lyra stands at the prow of the flagship, belly round with the next generation of sea-wolves, Rook’s hand on her throat from behind, knife tracing old scars. Every ship that sees her banner drops sail and offers tribute — or is burned to the waterline.
The world is water.
She is its only queen.