Chapter One
"Your what?"
My lover turns his head towards me against the ornate wooden headboard, his dark chest hair matted with the sweat that covers his stout muscular body. We're relaxing after our usual intense lovemaking. I'm equally as sweaty and tired, but now I'm re-energized with shock. As I sit up quickly, the thin sheet falls away from my lean hairy body.
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| Me, James Porter. |
William looks at me with a frustrated look, "Wedding, JamesPorter. We are speaking of my wedding. Were you even listening to me? Are you so tired that you cannot focus?”
“Oh, I am focused now, William. I am very focused.”
“Wonderful. Now, I would have you as my best man, but unfortunately your current station precludes it. Sir Henry is quite insistent that John, as the new Lord Greystoke, fulfill the role. Do you think you could prepare him in time? I know that summer seems a long way off, but -”
“Prepare?”
“You know how stubborn John is. I can hardly have my best man amble down the aisle like a gorilla in nothing but a small leather flap and tie. He refuses even the smallest request, such as trimming his hair to a more civilized style. You are the only one to whom he will listen."
I hesitate. Stunned and confused. I finally reply, "I am sorry, but you want me to teach Tarzan -"
William puts his large powerful hand on my bare chest, interrupting me, "John. Not Tarzan. Not any longer. The family is insisting on calling him John. You simply must adapt, JamesPorter."
"Adapt. Yes, it appears that I must learn to adapt to quite a few things."
William lies back again. He says matter-of-factly, "Do not worry. I am already finding you a wife, as well. I have several candidates in mind for you to escort to my wedding. Beautiful women from titled families that desperately need a sizable dowry such as you can provide. With the approval of Sir Andrew and the Greystokes, it should take no time at all to pair you with someone suitable. By the end of next year, your time in the underclass will be over."
"I see. Thank you for telling me."
“I hear that tone. What does it mean, my love?”
“It means that I appreciate you sharing that I only have one more year of freedom before you ship me off to be shackled to some high society shrew. 1923 sounds like a wonderful year for my future to die.”
“You are being rather childish.”
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| William. |
It’s not like we have freedom here. Not like in the jungle. My mind wanders as I think of Tarzan’s little treehouse. That was freedom. No responsibilities beyond survival and pleasure. There would be no forced weddings there. No abandonment of lovers. Nothing but the simplest of life’s needs. Water. Food. Shelter. Sex. Oh, the sex. My cock stirs remembering the sex.
William Clayton comes up behind me. He wraps his thickly muscled arms around my waist and pulls me against him. I am crushed against his hard body as I lean into him. The handsome and muscular aristocrat simply holds me, but he is so strong that it feels like I am being crushed. I savor the feeling of embrace while lamenting its end. Of course, he would wait until after we have made love to tell me this tragic news. He is talking, but I cannot hear him over my thoughts.
I finally close the doors then abruptly pull away from him. I must have a drink, but we long ago finished the decanter in my bedchamber. The nearest liquor is in the library downstairs.
"You are angry with me. Why?"
"Do not be silly, William. I am not a child. I understand how this world works. I am sad. I am disappointed. But I am not angry." I slide on my house shoes and pull on my robe, tying it as I move to the door.
William says, "I want you to stay here. You seem confused, I want to explain."
"I am not confused. There is nothing to explain, William."
"JamesPorter, listen to me."
I spit out, "No. I have heard quite enough from you for this evening."
With that, I leave him alone my bedchamber. This is first time I have disobeyed William since he invaded my room months ago and took over my life. I suddenly realize that I have allowed him far too much control. I did this because he said we would always be together and I have enjoyed all he has to share. Our sexual games have opened new ideas and experiences to me. Now, I am cast aside, left with nothing but a broken heart.
I make my way to the library, telling myself not to be upset. I would not trade my time with William for anything. He has been a strong and patient tutor and being with him has been exhilarating and fulfilling. And I have been unfaithful to him with his cousin Tarzan - I mean John - just as he has apparently been unfaithful to me with this mysterious bride. The difference is that I have not - well, I - no. There is no difference, except that he has tolerated my dalliances and I am being far less understanding.
I am in no position to judge him, but I still feel hurt.
The huge country manor is quiet and dark. I have been a guest here long enough to navigate by the moonlight cascading through the tall windows, easily making my way down the massive staircase and through the endless rooms. Once inside the cavernous library, I pour myself a drink then down it in one gulp. I suddenly hear someone enter through the terrace doors from outside.
It is Tarzan. He has been roaming the estate as he so often does at night. Even though it is a chilly evening, the tall, majestic muscleman wears only a black leather loincloth and knee-high black leather boots. His muscles are large and his tanned body is covered in a sheen of sweat. He has his knife strapped to his side, even though he would never need such a weapon here. My heart lifts as I instinctively grab a blanket then wrap him in it.
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| Tarzan. John Clayton. Lord Greystoke. |
I reach out and rub his muscles, "In my travels, I have learned that this helps to break the chill. I imagine the jungle never got this cold." Tarzan admits that this is new to him. I smile, "Just wait until it snows. We shall need to get you some new roaming attire, my friend."
I explain snow to the jungle man as I start a fire. As we stand before the flickering flames, I caress his muscles to warm him up. I enjoy the sense of normalcy, which take my mind off my troubles. Tarzan is also John Clayton, Lord Greystoke. On an adventure with his parents, he went missing as an infant in Africa, presumed dead. The lone surviving crew member watched over him but passed when John was still a child. Miraculously, he survived and thrived, growing into a tall, powerful man capable of handling the mightiest of beasts. The natives named him Tarzan and it is how he knew himself until he was discovered by a party of explorers that included me. I am the reason he is here, having led his family to him.
Tarzan and I have a strong bond. We met when he saved my life. I saved his in return. We have been intimate and still are. And we share a dire secret of what happened to my former employer, the man who taught me about the world and provided the means for me to have a significant enough dowry for one of William's aristocratic cows. In many ways, I am as much an outsider here as Tarzan. His lineage forces them to accept him, just as my role in his return and inherited wealth does the same for me.
I would leave this place immediately, if not for Tarzan. I made a commitment to him when I encouraged him to leave the jungle and come here. He trusts no one more than me and I care for him more deeply than I can explain. If not for my relationship with William, I would certainly - well, this is irrelevant. William will soon be a memory. Married and living his proper life.
Tarzan puts his hand on my face, "You are sad."
I stare into his eyes. They are so deep, yet without a hint of guile behind them. Tarzan is a hedonist without a care in the world. This is an adventure for him. I suddenly feel adventurous myself. I ask my friend if he has warmed up enough to head back out. I want him to show me where he goes at night. He smiles and we head off into the darkness.
Chapter Two
Tarzan and I run over the lands by starlight, but even though this is his second journey tonight, I cannot keep up with him. My robe provides little protection for my otherwise naked body. I am quickly exhausted and cold, while Tarzan is still full of energy. I amazed by him. He actually carries me to the stables. In just days, the jungle man has bonded with the horses. If I didn't know better, I would swear he is having a conversation with them.
As he converses with the animals, I remove my robe and shoes then collapse onto a soft blanket over a pile of hay. I spread my legs and enjoy the freedom of nudity. When Tarzan sees me, he removes his knife and boots, leaving the loincloth on. He knows I love it so. The beautiful savage leaps on top of me as I knew he would. William might be more interested in the fairer sex now, but Tarzan wants what he wants. And tonight, it is I.
I cover us in a blanket, our bodies warming each other. We lightly kiss, using our hands to explore each other. Any other man would recoil at the scent of dried sweat and sex on me, but Tarzan is aroused by it. He is a primal being, unconcerned with social convention. He will have me any way that I am. It is a refreshing attitude, especially tonight.
Tarzan tries to advance us to sex, but I slow him down. We have until dawn and I intend to use every moment to bask in the passion of a man who honestly wants me. Any feelings of guilt that I have harbored about having a physical relationship with Tarzan while loving William are gone. He was planning a marriage before we ever even met and never bothered to tell me. He led me to believe a lie. Well, now there are no more lies and there is no more William.
Tarzan's body feels wonderful on top of me. I rub his smooth, hard muscles. He and his cousin are nothing alike, except for the fact that they are both powerful men who overwhelm me with their granite-hard bodies. I can resist the jungle man no longer. He pulls his loincloth pouch down. I reach down and grip his magnificent organ. He is huge and I long for him.
I manipulate his manhood and he is ready. Tarzan forces me onto my stomach. I moan as he mounts me, roughly sliding inside me. William’s girth is impressive, but I gasp as I am spread open even wider. I feel my troubles fade as Tarzan pounds his engorged penis deep, causing me to cry out with pleasure. I beg him to go harder and faster, savoring every driving thrust.
I grip the blanket tightly in my hands then bite the edge of it to endure the rough and primal pounding. Tarzan moans and I know he's close. Suddenly, he slows down and I feel his warmth inside me. He adds his seed on top William's, but I prefer to think of it as washing William's away. When he finishes, he falls on me and kisses the side of my neck. When he tries to rise, I ask him not to. The jungle man lies on top of me and I just enjoy the feeling.
Tarzan whispers in my ear, asking if I can breed him. He thinks of everything in base terms. I push up and he rolls off me onto his back. I brush his long sweat-soaked hair from his handsome face. I cannot help but kiss his lips as I caress his powerful arms. He whimpers under me, begging like a dog for supper. I love how this mighty muscle man has no fear or shame as he gives into me.
I slide down his body, tasting his smooth skin. He is delicious. I play with his body, tracing every contour and savoring every moment. The jungle man purrs under me. He loves this sensual play, never having experienced it before me. His previous encounters were functional and unromantic, driven only by lust. Now, he is insatiable.
I finally have to have him. I roll him onto his front. He lifts his buttocks upward, presenting to me like an animal in heat. He is flawless. I move in behind him and position myself. I enter him quickly. He growls with pleasure as I take him. I ride him, thrusting deep until my pelvis slaps into his ample behind. Tarzan encourages me to go faster and harder. I happily oblige.
We are lost in the moment until I finally erupt inside him. My body shakes as I share my seed with him. He whimpers and growls in his unique way, expressing his utter satisfaction. I collapse onto his back and we just lie there, lost in our lust.
After some tender cuddling under the blankets, we make love two more times before heading back to the main house and going our separate ways.
Chapter Three
"I waited for an hour for you to return."
I reply in a cool tone, "Did you? Perhaps you should not have. Perhaps you should concentrate on your upcoming nuptials."
William looks around to make sure we are alone. He sighs, "Enough, JamesPorter. You would think I would deserve some level of faith and respect from you."
"You would think that.”
“You cannot run off with John every time we have a disagreement.” My eyes narrow. He calmly says, “Do I not deserve some reciprocity for my understanding? I tolerate it because I appreciate your unique connection.”
“A connection that I was honest and upfront about before I professed my love for you. My ‘dalliances’ have never threatened our future.”
William ignores my feeble attempt to parry more blame onto his broad shoulders, “And I trust you when you say that you love me. I deserve the same level of trust from you.”
“I loved and trusted you completely. I trusted you more than anyone in the world.”
“Were that true, you would trust me now.”
“I allowed you to bind me. To blind me. To virtually own me. All the while telling me tales of a life together that you knew would never happen. But that was before I learned about your wedding. A wedding you hid from me until you needed me to train Tarzan like he was -"
"John."
"No. He is Tarzan to me and always will be. Your family will simply have to adapt."
William sighs at my petulance. He grabs my arm roughly. William is strong and solid, much more powerful than I. Since I am incapable of resisting his strength, I allow him to lead me into his personal study. He locks the door behind me. I fold my arms as he paces in front of the door. He is angry, but so am I. When he finally speaks, it is quick and passionate.
I listen as he explains why he must get married. How and why it will not affect our relationship. I soften as he explains the purpose of marriage more like a business transaction. With his loss of position due to the return of the rightful heir, the wedding is on shaky ground, but his father is keeping it on track. William would have been Lord Greystoke when his father, Sir Henry died. Now all of that runs through Tarzan. This marriage will ensure his place in society, just as the one he is planning for me will.
I am unrelenting, “Society be damned. I do not care about the judgment of the titled class.”
"Your marriage will ensure your place with me, James. With a title for you, we can go anywhere and do anything. Together. That is simply not possible now. You may have inherited substantial wealth, but you are still a commoner. Already people are questioning your continued presence now that your task is over. They wonder how deep is their debt to you. And how long they must allow one such as you to live with us. Only John’s infernal stubbornness protects you, but even that will end one day."
William assures me that his heart lies with me and as married noblemen, we will continue to enjoy time together. Travel. Play. Anything we want. I do see the logic. If I marry a woman of stature, I will be an equal. If I do not, my time with William will become … controversial. We are together now because of Tarzan, but once he is acclimated, I will be asked to leave and I will have no way into his circle. I hang my head, feeling foolish.
Sensing my change of heart, William pounces. He says, "Now that you understand, I believe that you owe me an apology, my boy."
I nod and smile, knowing what he means. I slowly strip out of my clothes to face him. I already have an erection. As I stand before him naked, I feel joyous knowing William is not abandoning me. He circles me, making me wait. When he is behind me, I hear him clear off his desk. I close my eyes and bite my bottom lip, telling myself to relax. A stiff smack to my bottom gets no reaction. I withstand a harder one. And a third.
William moves in front of me. He has a devious smile on his face. He grabs my penis and fondles it. It stiffens even more in his hand. He nods, satisfied by my excitement at the prospect of discipline. He steals a romantic kiss and whispers that he loves me, but quickly resumes his game. A hand on my shoulder lowers me to my knees. He grabs my chin and raises my head. We exchange a glance as he uses his other hand to open his pants.
I need no direction or instruction, but I wait for permission. When I receive it, I lean in, with my hands locked behind me. One of the earliest tests I passed was proving that I no longer needed my hands bound. I could be trusted to self-bind my hands, controlling my passions. I part my lips and engulf the soft dangling organ. As soon as I wrap my lips, it quickly grows inside my mouth, filling me with its impressive girth.
William gently caresses my head as I obediently service him. His erection is the only encouragement I receive and all I need. I worship my lover’s thick organ slowly and lovingly. I moan with delight. When he pulls me off, I sit back and wait as still I can. I stare at William’s engorged member as it stares back at me. My behind clenches in anticipation.
I feel the hairy aristocrat run his hand into my hair. His grip tightens and I’m lifted up by his hand. I am led by my hair to the desk and forced to lean over it. I stretch out over the large slab of wood with leather expertly inset. It is cold on my bare torso. I reach out to grab the other side and hold on. William slides his hand over my buttocks. He fondles it and parts my small white cheeks. I moan.
I receive a hard open hand to my right cheek. Much harder than the earlier ones. I actually relax as he swats my behind. I feel it sting. This is my punishment for not trusting him. I deserve it and tell him so. He responds by tanning my smooth white flesh. I stifle my cries, which is difficult, but earns his approval. He praises me as he disciplines me.
Even though I cannot see my behind, I know it is good and red. I feel him grip my hips and pull my cheeks apart. When his thick manhood presses against my hole, I smile and moan. William slides inside me. I collapse forward onto the desk, my body going limp. His thick organ fills me and I feel blessed by his love. I do love him and I will do whatever I can to keep him.
William breeds me, rhythmically thrusting inside and outside of me. I grip the desk, losing myself in the feeling only he can give me. He is smaller than Tarzan, but he is more skilled. It feels different. It is more than his technique. It is our love. My lover fills me with his seed and the warmth spreads through me. I thank him for it as he continues to pump.
When he is finished, we get dressed in silence. I apologize again, telling him that I will never doubt him again. He smiles and pulls me into a hug, “I hope that is true. Because I love you, JamesPorter. More than I ever thought possible.”
Chapter Four
“Going out for another romp through the grounds tonight, Tarzan?”
“Yes, James. With my cousin. He said that he wants to join me.”
With William? I am surprised. I resist the urge to ask to join them or for more details. It is none of my business. William did tell me that he would be late this evening, but he asked me to wait up for him. I smile and change the subject. We speak about William’s upcoming marriage. It is a concept that confuses Tarzan, but he is willing to properly participate. For me.
I head out of the library, closing the door behind me. In the long hall, I just stare at the opulence of this home. If I get married, will I live in a house so grand? William has reviewed my holdings and says they are formidable, but my fortune is so recently acquired that I really have no concept of it. Or of this life. As Mr. Moorhead’s assistant, I was taught how to behave amongst the aristocracy, but not how to live like them. I am as much an alien in this world as Tarzan.
It all takes my mind to Mr. Moorhead and his tragic death. I find a quiet place and collapse onto a chair. My heart is suddenly overwhelmed by sadness. I still love my former employer, an unfortunate victim of jungle madness. He is remembered as a brave and admirable soul. I will protect his legacy until my death. Perhaps an endowment to the Victoria and Albert in exchange for recognition. Or perhaps something to a university. I must ask William about the possibilities.
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| The late Mr. Moorhead. My former employer and benefactor. |
After changing, I make my way outside, going shirtless under a short and tight black jacket with satin lining. I will be quite comfortable in my black riding pants, leather gloves and knee-high boots. I may be following Tarzan’s example, but this time I will be warm while I do it. I search the night sky. The moon is nearly full. It is not as brisk as last time, making for a pleasant and exhilarating chase. I start off on my own adventure, pacing myself so as to not tire myself out. Once I reach the trees, I carefully navigate the branches and brush by moonlight.
This is the furthest into the forest that I have been. The trees eclipse the moon, making for slow going. At least I will never run into them now. This is truly my own adventure. After almost an hour of adventuring, I turn back and I cannot see my path. Dear lord, I may be lost. Wonderful. It would serve me right, wandering in the darkness all night. And in all-black, no one will see me. Foolish. I am no tracker or spy, that is for certain. Luckily, I hear voices. Not Tarzan and William, though. Many voices. Almost a chant. What is that?
I move slowly and stealthily in the direction of the rhythmic drone. As I approach, I see a light. Many lights. Torches. And fires. I move forward, fortunate that any noise I am making is covered by the voices. The ominous voices. I see a circle of men. Two dozen men. Two dozen naked men in boots and masks. The masks are modeled after animals and constructed out of leather and metal. They cover their entire faces. They are all unique. As is each man. They are different heights, weights and, judging by their bodies, ages. Some are hairy. Some smooth. Some young looking. Some obviously older.
I should leave this strange scene. Quietly.
As I turn, I think I hear Tarzan. Here? He sounds angry. His words are muffled, drowned out by the chanting. I almost charge in, but I cannot afford to be careless. I must see what is happening first. I look up. The tree. I can climb it and I shall see everything. Brilliant. I scale the trunk, grateful for my boots and gloves. It becomes much simpler when I make it to the lowest branches. I climb higher until I can see what is going on without being seen.
But what is going on? It appears to be some kind of ritual. A tall man in a gold lion mask moves to the center of the circle. He is the only one adorned in a robe. A gold and black robe that looks lavish as it flows and flips in the light breeze. It almost looks alive. He raises his arms and from his skin, I realize that he must be quite elderly. The crowd goes silent at his command.
I cannot see William or Tarzan. I pray that they are not in trouble. Perhaps they stumbled upon this bizarre ritual and there was a conflict? Whatever this assemblage is about, I doubt they will welcome intruders. The naked masked men are pale, but most are reasonably fit. They carry themselves with confidence, shoulders back and chests out. Their clean, flawless skin suggests that they are affluent men. Aristocrats. Some have full or partial erections.
The robed man speaks, “We are The Eminence. We are masters to all and slaves to none. We are born to rule.” Cheers. “Kings and Princes kneel before our power. Tonight, our newest pledge brings his offering to us.” Cheers. “One that has eluded our influence.” Boos. “But no longer. Tonight, The House of Greystoke is ours.” Loud cheers.
I see a very tall naked man in a silver lion mask steps forward into the circle. He is magnificent. 6’6”. Muscular. Young skin. And with a fully erect manhood larger than any I have ever seen, even Tarzan’s. It is bound at the base by a silver ring. Oh my. He is - oh no. Fear and anger overwhelm my lust. Silver Lion pulls on a leather strap and suddenly Tarzan stumbles forth into view. I gasp. He struggles, but the powerful jungle man is forced to the center of the circle.
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| Silver Lion. |
“Tonight, our youngest member proves his worthiness. He will tame this savage on behalf of The Eminence. Tonight, this beast’s training begins at the hands of Silver Lion. And in seven days, The House of Greystoke will finally and rightfully exist to serve The Eminence.”
Silver Lion forces the writhing jungle man to his knees. The young giant strikes Tarzan across the temple with a wicked backhand. It sends the handsome savage to the forest floor. Silver Lion grabs a handful of hair and drags Tarzan back to his knees. I can see fire in his eyes as he looks up defiantly at his captor. Another hard strike sends my friend back down. I gasp again, my own face hurting with empathy for this horrific scene playing out before me.
Tarzan is limp as he is dragged up. I can see a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth where the bit must have cut him. I am frantic as I watch, unsure what to do. I could run back to the house. Gather the staff. But what could they do to prevent this? What can anyone do? If only William were here. I pray that he is all right, but his absence makes me fear for him.
I look to climb down to find help, but I suddenly see three masked men circling below me. They are searching. I hear them debating whether they heard a noise. Was I that loud? I am invisible in the tree, but I am also trapped. Damn. I curse myself. In my heart, I want to fight. Tarzan would leap into the fray for me, but I know that I would accomplish nothing, other than perhaps getting myself killed or enslaved by this malevolent menagerie.
My pragmatism feels like cowardice as I look back to the circle of evil. Two men unbind the jungle man’s arms. Tarzan immediately springs forth, flying at Silver Lion. The larger, more powerful man grabs him by his collared throat, stopping his charge as he lifts him into the air then drives him downward to the clearing floor. The impact stuns the long-haired hero.
Tarzan is dragged up by his neck, lifted and driven back into the ground. He lies limp as the huge hand tightens around his collared throat. The jungle man twitches and fights for breath, but he cannot power free from Silver Lion. My friend is dragged up then dropped with a stiff right hook across his temple. The ease with which the giant manhandles Tarzan’s muscular and powerful body stuns me.
The young masked muscleman uses the leash to force the half-conscious Tarzan upward. Silver Lion chops his hand onto the jungle man’s neck, sending him down to hands and knees. I hear his deep voice for the first time, “That’s right, savage. Kneel before your master.” I do not recognize it, but it is muffled by the mask.
I look down. The men are complaining about the cold air now that they are away from the fire. No wonder. They are naked. Fools. Two of them are confident it must have been an animal. Mostly, though, they wish to see the spectacle of Tarzan’s subjugation. The third lingers, still curious. Could I overpower him and escape in time? I look back to the gathering, thinking.
Tarzan’s mighty muscles tense and he leaps up again, grabbing his larger enemy around the waist. The jungle man lifts the young giant off the ground into a bearhug. He growls through the bit as he shakes him as the crowd gasps in shock. I hold my breath, hoping that this is a turning point. The taller man grips Tarzan’s shoulders as he drops his feet to the ground for support.
Silver Lion suddenly forces his arms inside of Tarzan’s. He dramatically unleashes his own roar as he flexes his mighty muscles. The jungle man’s arms are parted, pulled from the taller man’s body, the bearhug broken. The young giant reverses the hold, lifting Tarzan up into his own bearhug. The jungle man cries out in pain, his moans altered by the bit, but the pain is clear.
The cruel crowd cheers on their man as he resumes control. I try to will Tarzan to fight back and overcome this challenge. I have no idea what was done to him earlier or how he ended up bound like an animal, but I suspect he is not at full capacity. This so-called ‘Eminence’ does not seem like the type of group that cares about such things as sportsmanship or fairness.
Tarzan is weakening in the ever-tightening clutches of the young giant. Silver Lion is proving his mettle, just as Gold Lion said he would. Damn. The third man below me has finally moved off to join his allies, but the villains are still so close. Can I get down without alerting them? If I don’t, what will happen to Tarzan?
Chapter Five
I am frantic in the tree, desperate and helpless. Tarzan is succumbing the power of Silver Lion’s bearhug. The jungle man assaults the young giant’s head, but his hand bounces off the mask. I see it is bleeding, cut by the metal adornments. The villainous monster shakes Tarzan as though his magnificent muscle weighed nothing. What kind of man is this Silver Lion? He is inhuman!
Silver Lion throws the weakened jungle man to the ground. He places his foot on the moaning muscle man and raises his fist into the air. The crowd of cruel masked men cheers their pledge’s domination of Lord Greystoke. My friend looks so weak and helpless as he is treated as sub-human by these masked monsters. I must do something. I must.
The young giant declares, “Look at this pathetic creature. I offer him to you as proof of my worthiness. Know, brothers, that under my direction, this ape known as Lord Greystoke will be broken and trained to wield his undeserved position as Lord Greystoke and the resources that come with it as we command. He will kneel when we tell him to kneel. He will offer himself to us on command. We own him, my brothers.”
No!
Suddenly, Tarzan spin under Silver Lion’s foot. He topples the young giant down and pounces on him. He unleashes his fists into the sculpted physique of the evil aristocrat. The crowd gasps as the jungle man attacks with ferocity. Silver Lion absorbs the assault then bucks up, throwing Tarzan off him. Both men rise. Tarzan charges in, successfully tackling the larger young man down.
The two men fight on the ground. They roll back and forth. Their muscles strain and tighten as they struggle for control. The jungle man is ferocious, but I can see that he is losing. Silver Lion blocks Tarzan’s fists while connecting with his own. He forces Tarzan onto his back then stuns the jungle man with two fists to the face. Tarzan’s latest rebellion is quickly ended as he lies dazed under his conqueror.
Silver Lion drags the jungle up by the leather collar around his neck. He grabs the helpless muscle man by his throat with both hands then once again lifts him into the air. This time, Silver Lion holds his prey aloft. Tarzan struggles, but he can do nothing. He goes limp, choked out by the force of the massive hands and the weight of his own body. Once again, he is discarded like trash.
The young giant snarls, “I shall enjoy breaking you, savage.”
One of the other men hands Silver Lion a long stick with wire looped at the end. A garrote. The bigger muscleman forces the unconscious jungle man to his knees. The garrote is placed over his head and tightened above the leather collar. It cuts into the smooth flesh around the thick muscular neck. Tarzan immediately wakes and gasps, his senses on high alert once again.
The jungle man fights in the garrote, but he is helpless against the weapon. Silver Lion laughs as his prey fights, only causing himself more harm. When Tarzan finally stops fighting, the young giant uses the garrote as a leash, forcing the choking jungle man forward to the robed leader. Tarzan is held on his knees before the man in the gold lion mask.
Two other men with red and black fox-like masks move in and expertly bind his hands behind him. The foxes slide a metal pole between his elbows and back then bind it to keep his arms and shoulders pulled back and useless. His ankles are shackled. Finally, a leash is attached to the leather collar, which is ceremoniously handed to gold lion. Appalling. The garrote is for control, the leash is for symbolism. Silver Lion hovers behind close in case of resistance, but Tarzan is still catching his breath. He is in no shape or position to fight anyone at this point.
With his prey secured and compliant, Gold Lion reaches out a wrinkled hand and tenderly runs it over the helpless man’s long hair. He circles the kneeling muscleman, the mask obscuring any expression. He finally says, “Look at me, John Clayton. Look at your master.”
The jungle man raises his head, his face showing his hatred for this tall robed monster. Gold Lion runs his finger along the jungle man’s cheek and jawline as one might when looking at a piece of furniture. He turns the head back-and-forth, inspecting his prize. He asks Silver Lion, “Where will they think he is?”
“We have already established that he will be ‘visiting London’ with his cousin.” With William? Is he truly party to this? Silver Lion says, “No one will look for him.”
“What about the commoner?”
“He is irrelevant.”
“You are wrong. Do not underestimate him.”
“Then allow me to eliminate him.”
“No. Plans are being put in place to marry him. If we can steer him to a desirable family, he may have a use. If he is properly trained.”
“As you wish, Master Order.”
Gold Lion looks down. He declares, “John Clayton. Lord Greystoke. As you have heard, you now belong to us. You will be tamed. You will be trained. From this point on, you exist only to serve the Eminence. Your power is our power. Your title is our title. We will be your mind. You will be our voice, speaking only our wishes. Your body Is under our control.”
Tarzan struggles, “I will never serve you!” SMACK! The firm back hand strikes the jungle man across the face. He turns back to the leader and growls but says no more.
I am frantic. What can I do? I am one small man. Even with Tarzan’s might, he is bound and helpless. I cannot hope to free him and escape. But I cannot abandon him to this evil cult. As I run through every scenario I can imagine, my decision is made for me. One of the men on the far side of the circle suddenly points right at me. I hide my face, but I know that will not work.
Time to run. I slide down the tree as masked men enter the forest in my direction. One of the closer men in a bird-like mask makes it to the tree, but I simply leap down onto him. He cries out as I hurtle towards him. I crash down onto his naked body, boots first. He collapses under me, cushioning my fall. I leap to my feet as others grasp at my jacket. Luckily, I break away.
I run faster than I have ever run before. The naked men chase me, their boots crashing through the brush. I retrace my path, allowing me to outrun them. My dark attire will both hide and protect me as branches slash into me and hopefully, into them. I finally see the lawn. I break for the tree line and the grass. My legs cry out in pain, but I ignore them.
Suddenly, I am tackled to the ground. A naked man in a silver greyhound mask mounts me. He is thin and pale, easy for me to throw off. We rise, but I lash out with a boot to the side of his head. He lets out a cry and collapses to the side. Their masks might protect them from fists, but boots are another thing altogether. He struggles to rise, but another boot puts him down.
I turn to escape, but I have to spin around to get my bearings. I am immediately surrounded by five enemies. They are among the smaller and younger ones. It gives me hope. I have learned how to fight. I turn my gloved hands into fists as the naked men circle around me. They have time. The longer we stand here, the more likely their numbers will grow.
Confirming my fears, one yells, “Over here! We have him trapped!”
I hear boots trampling behind me. It is now or never.
Chapter Six
I charge forward, fists swinging as I aim for the coldest and weakest looking among them. A hairless snake-masked man smaller than me and shaking. I charge forth and he braces. I plow through him easily, but the others close in too fast. I am grabbed by the arms. I fight and spin, slamming my fist into one man’s Adam’s apple under his unrecognizable bird mask.
It is a melee as they beat on me, but my jacket softens their blows. Until one connects with the back of my head. I fly forward onto the ground. Through my foggy eyes, I see a pair of boots in front of me. I look up the thick, powerful legs to the thick, fully engorged manhood and up to a hairy muscular torso, chiseled arms and a very appropriate black bear mask.
 |
| Black Bear. |
The hairy muscleman grabs hold of my hair and drags me up. My arms are grabbed and my jacket is stripped from me. Black Bear unleashes a powerful fist to my midsection. I bend forward and drop to one knee, coughing. He moves in closer. I dive at him and tackle him to the ground. The powerful beast throws me off him with ease.
We both rise. I look for escape, but we are surrounded by even more men. They stay back, leaving me to Black Bear. This is not William. It could not be. He is very similar to my lover, but this is not him. Even in moonlight, I am confident that I would recognize his body and manhood. I would know his scent. His posture. This man is very similar, but he cannot be him.
My opponent throws his fists out. Like William, he is a boxer. I block and dodge them, but I realize he is playing with me. Moving me around. Tiring me out while his allies surround me and move in for the kill. Perhaps this another way that Black Bear is not William. My lover would know better than to underestimate me.
I allow him to move me around, feigning helplessness. Having surveyed the crowd and our locations, I have a plan. I raise my fists in a defensive boxing position. As Black Bear moves in for real, I lift my boot square into his manhood. He gasps and bends forward, freezing in place. I grab his mask and tear it off. His face is in complete shadow, but the assembled ‘Eminence’ gasp at the unmasking. I spin the mask then strike Black Bear across the face with it, drawing blood and dropping him to the ground.
While the circle is in shock, I sprint for the oldest and weakest section. I throw my body at them. My momentum is too much and I barrel through with ease. I land outside the circle in a crouch then burst forward. The chase begins again. I feel the cold on my torso, but my adrenaline more than compensates for it. I have been cold, more tired and even more scared. As a teenager in the trenches during the Great War, I lived cold, tired and scared.
I feel rocks pelt my back. I ignore them, but then they hit my legs. I get tangled up and trip. As I rise, I am tackled from behind. Damn. Men hold me in place while a man in a purple bird-mask punches my torso. His fists are hard and his blows skillful. Obviously, he has trained in boxing. I kick my boot up, but he dodges, having learned from watching Black Bear go down.
Speaking of Black Bear, I hear a gravelly voice, muffled and distorted by the mask. He says, “Step back. This one is mine.”
The hairy muscleman circles in front. He has put his mask back on, but I can see a trail of blood dripping down his neck and chest. We lock eyes as a small man in a squirrel mask uses my jacket to wipe the blood. I never stop squirming but with men now on both my arms, both my legs and round my waist, I am helpless. The weaker men have been replaced by stronger ones and I am outmatched at every angle.
The naked brute looks at me with cruel eyes as his fists open and close. I swallow hard, knowing that I am in trouble. I cry out for help. We are too far from the house or stables, but in the cool night air, perhaps my voice will travel. Even if it does, help is a long way off. Black Bear steps into a right jab to my stomach. I cough and nearly throw up. He begins pummeling my body with fists. I fight, but I can do nothing.
Black Bear takes his pound of flesh and much more. He aims his fist at my temple and very nearly knocks me unconscious. The hairy brute steps into me. He grabs my manhood in my pants and squeezes. I cry out in agony as he manhandles me. I look at him, my mouth hanging open and all I see is a brutish masked man, his eyes in shadow. It is scary.
“I’m going to kill you. Slowly. Painfully.”
The hand on my manhood crushes me and I am blinded by pain. He lets go then draws his masked head back. He drives it forward, butting my forehead and I black out.
Chapter Seven
I wake up on a cold stone floor.
Am I dead?
No, I am not dead. I am too sore to be dead. I am hungry and thirsty. But I am not dead.
Why not?
I struggle to move. I cannot. I look around. I am in a cage. A cell. A dungeon. Metal bars surround me. Wrists and ankles shackled to the one stone wall behind me. I pull, but they are metal chains and leather-wrapped metal restraints. I am completely naked, except for one item. In my mouth is a ball of some kind, which is secured behind my head. I test the restraints, but they are solid. I cannot reach my mouth to remove the gag.
Through the bars, I can see a dozen cages. There are four other men held. Including Tarzan. He is directly across the hall. Trapped as I am. He is awake and fighting, but even his great strength cannot hope to break steel imbedded into stone. I grunt loudly and he looks up. We lock eyes and I try to say I am sorry. He cannot understand me but seeing me makes him fight harder to escape. Unfortunately, he is still unsuccessful.
I do not see William. He is not a prisoner. That gives me some hope. Unless he did not survive The Eminence’s capture of Tarzan. No, William is alive and searching for me. Like us, the other prisoners appear to be all attractive young men. Two have full leather face masks on, but their bodies are smooth, well-muscled and tight. The other two are unchained and unmasked,
Beside me, the prisoner is perhaps 18. He has red hair, pale white skin and freckles on his shoulders and face. He is very cute. I realize that he is completely smooth from the neck down. And not only is he unshackled, his cell door is not even closed. I call to him and he does not even look my way. He just sits cross-legged on the stone floor, staring forward. Whatever has entranced him, it is powerful. Still, he is an opportunity and I must try to take every one I can.
I stop trying to get the red-haired beauty’s attention when a naked man wearing a black leather hood marches down the hallway. His mask is not in the shape of an animal, it is just a hood that leaves his eyes and mouth visible. He is impressively muscular and stocky, his torso and limbs covered in fur. In addition to the mask, he wears only a black leather codpiece strapped on over his hips and up the crack of his behind. He has on tall black leather boots to his knee, a black leather and silver harness over his chest and short black leather gloves on his large hands.
Behind him is Silver Greyhound. The one who first chased me down. His taut body is naked in boots and his mask. From his chiseled legs and lean sculpted muscles, I can see clearly how he caught me. I press back against the wall, preferring to observe at this point. Tarzan continues to struggle, but neither man looks his way. Their arrogance is unmatched, viewing the jungle man as nothing. I hope that we can prove their assessment wrong very, very soon.
The man in black leather snaps his fingers, “Nevets.” The passive beauty looks up at him. The man commands, “Rise.” The prisoner immediately obeys.
The men enter the young man’s cell as he rises to his feet. Silver Greyhound moves around the stationary young man, nodding as he appraises him. He reaches out and tugs on the young man’s red hair, teasing and twisting the fiery locks. No reaction. Silver Greyhound caresses the smooth chest and stomach. No reaction. He fondles the dangling manhood. He inspects the supple white buttocks, even parting the cheeks to slide a finger inside. Still, no reaction.
Silver Greyhound nods, “Well done. I like this one. He is even more beautiful than the last.”
“He is, my lord.”
Silver Greyhound snaps his fingers, “Nevets.” The young man tightens up, standing at attention as we did in the army. He says, “I am your master, boy. You will obey me.”
“Yes, master.”
The silver-masked bastard steps forward again. He says, “Kneel.” The young man drops to his knees. “Kiss my boot.” The helpless redhead obeys. “Worship me.” The mindless slave raises his head and hands, caressing the lean sculpted legs then moving in to suck his master’s growing manhood. I feel for him, for he has clearly been manipulated into this somehow. He has no free will of his own. The mindless slave lovingly works, but I know this is involuntary.
Silver Greyhound orders the beautiful young slave to rise and grab the bars. The redhead does so, eagerly offering his behind. The masked aristocrat slides his hard shaft inside. He reaches forward and pulls the boy back by his hair, his cock sinking even deeper. It is as though this young man is nothing but a toy to these immoral monsters. Silver Greyhound breeds his boy, mercilessly pounding the smooth buttocks. He quickly reaches climax, seeding his slave.
When he is finished, the cruel bastard backs up, nodding with approval. He casually says, “Boy. Run into the wall.”
I gasp as the slave obeys, slamming into the stone. he collapses backwards onto the floor, hitting his head on it. The poor young man lies unconscious in a heap from the double impact. His beauty is unfaded, his smooth flawless skin and supple muscles unmarked. I hold in my vomit at the disgusting display.
Silver Greyhound waves his hand, “He will do. Clean him up and send him to my London home. They are expecting my new houseboy.”
The man in the black hood nods, “He is a unique beauty. Redheads who meet your high standards are difficult to find. I do hope he lasts longer than the last one, my lord.”
“And if he doesn’t, Dungeon Keeper? You and your men are paid handsomely to find and train these creatures. What we do with them is none of your concern.”
“Of course, my lord.”
They leave. I cannot take my eyes off the mindless young man lying there. Only a few years younger than I. So beautiful. And yet, it is though his life is worth nothing now. I have never felt such revulsion. Is this their plan for Tarzan and I? Moments later, I am forced to watch as two muscular men in similar black leather hoods and accessories carry the unconscious boy out. Obviously to prepare him for the horror of being a toy for Silver Greyhound.
Suddenly, I notice that the trainer has returned. Where did he come from? I realize that this labyrinthian prison must have many entrances. He unlocks and enters my cell. I tense. His stare raises my hackles and I feel fear. I already know that he is a supremely confident man devoid of morality. And I know that he is a dangerous man. And not just because of the earlier display. No, I can see it in his eyes and in his naked body. He moves differently. It is almost like he floats, swaying back and forth, like a demon on earth. Seductive yet scary.
The trainer reaches out and grips my flaccid manhood between his thumb and index finger. He idly inspects it, lifting and twisting it. He cups my balls then weighs them with his hand. He nods. The back of his hand slides up my torso to my chin. He turns my head. I know there is no point in fighting this inspection. Any damage I might do will not get me free.
As if reading my mind, the trainer says, “Smart boy. Your indoctrination does not have to be a painful experience. We can be gentle, as well.”
I refuse to reply. I have no idea what this man knows about me, but if he thinks I will be easy to train then he is a fool. I have been expertly bound by my lover, almost as if in preparation for this moment. William. Oh William. Where are you? I swallow hard as I think of him. Is he alive? Did he get lost in the woods? Does he believe that Tarzan and I have run off to London?
The trainer sees my sadness. He pats my cheek, “Buck up, boy.” He gestures to the boy’s empty cell. “At least you’re not going to end up like that one. No, your life as a slave to The Eminence will actually be quite pleasant. Married off to one of the noblest families. Your wealth and position advancing their cause. All under the direction of your secret master.”
I shake my head.
“Oh yes. Most of the time, you will actually be completely unaware of your servitude and quite independent. It will not be so bad.”
I growl.
“Amusing. You might enjoy the process. Some do. The bondage. The torture. And even if you don’t, once I am done with you, you will be perfectly blissful in your ignorance of who and what you truly are.”
I steel my will again and go emotionless. He smirks but I am emboldened by the fact that there are things that this Eminence does not know. He thinks bondage and domination will change me. He does not understand the games I have been playing. But he will find out.
Chapter Eight
“Remember me, boy?”
I feel a strong hand grip my hair and lift my head. I try to focus. I feel weak and groggy. As I look up the powerful legs to the thick manhood and hairy muscular torso, I am confused. William? Has he come for me? Come to save me? I am forced to look at his face. HIs masked face. Oh. My eyes narrow as Black Bear stands before me. I focus and realize that it is not my lover.
In the light of the dungeon, I can really see the physical similarities between Black Bear and my lover. Perhaps they are related. This could be some cousin. Similar, but not the same. William’s brown eyes could never be so empty of joy. His body hair forms a different pattern. And he could never disgust me as this monster does. As he surveys me, Black Bear idly runs his hand over his chest fur, changing its pattern.
I am bent over in a set of stocks, my head and arms secured. Tarzan is across the room in the same state. Our torture began yesterday. Or today. Hours ago. Or minutes. Or days. I have no concept of time. This is our third session in the dungeon. I think. My mind reels as I try to think about all that has happened. I must maintain a sense of reality. Of time. If I ignore this imposter and think about what is happening, I can keep my mind my own. I will never succumb to their training if I just focus.
The first thing I remember is that after Dungeon Keeper left, his men loosened my chains so I could sleep on the cold dungeon floor. When I finally did sleep, it felt as though only moments had passed, I was awoken again. Still exhausted, I was forced to rise. My gag was removed and then I was fed two spoons of gruel and given a small amount of water. My body was fondled and inspected. Much like my physical when I joined the military, it was clinical and unpleasant.
While chained to the wall, I looked over at Tarzan. Dungeon Keeper’s servants entered his cell. They shaved the hair around his manhood. Then under his armpits. They carefully and slowly stripped him of all the hair below his neck. I watched helplessly as they worked. They mocked his weakness. Filled his mind with lies about how he was no longer a man. How he was a boy. Their boy. I tried to tell him to ignore their words, but my mouth was still so dry.
Once finished, they washed him down. His manhood garnered special attention for its impressive dimensions. They removed the gag and asked him questions, but he stayed silent. Every few moments, he would struggle against the chains. They held. The men replaced the gag in his mouth, telling him that he would speak to them soon. Tarzan growled defiantly.
The muscular men began pummeling his powerful torso with their gloved fists. The jungle man grunted and moaned. They took turns, ruthlessly tenderizing his pectoral and abdominal muscles. I struggled in my bonds, trying to draw their attention away, but it was no use. These monsters were perfectly focused on their task of breaking the beautiful body down.
I winced as they worked. The sounds of their fists pounding him echoed through the dungeon. They slapped him. Taunted him. He would struggle and fight. They would begin again. They continued until he fought no more. Not because his will was broken, but because he was exhausted. Not that they cared why. I understood. This was just the beginning of their efforts.
One man knelt down and began to toy with the jungle man’s penis. My friend moaned as he was forced to an erection. I watched as the kneeling man methodically stimulated him with his hands and fingers and mouth. The other one joined in, assaulting the bruised and battered torso with gentle caresses. These men told Tarzan he was their toy. Unfortunately, they were right.
Together, they worshipped the jungle man, lovingly owning his manhood. Once he was at full mast, one of them revealed a shiny silver cylinder. He showed it to the jungle man before sliding it behind him. Tarzan moaned as it was forced into his buttocks. The bound muscleman moaned. I recognized that moan. The sexual torment was working.
Never was Tarzan allowed to release his seed. As he gasped and bucked, they stopped. One man slapped the erect penis, batting it around. Again, they mocked him as he was reduced to whimpering. I tried to send energy and strength to him, but it was futile. Of course, I also knew that I would need all my strength for this was to be my fate, as well.
The men resumed the brutal abuse on his body. This time, he could not fight. Not at all. He grunted and moaned as his powerful physique was tortured. They stopped then went back to his erect penis. He howled as they controlled him, his head thrashing, his long hair flying. Once again, I saw no orgasm. Only his bright purple organ bouncing, silently begging for release.
When the mighty muscle man could barely stand, they released him from his shackles. He collapsed into their arms. I waited for him to attack. For him to pummel them then race over to save me. Together, we could find an escape. But he did not. They had exhausted him to the point where he could not fight. I instinctively fought in my bonds as they dragged him away.
My heart broke at seeing the mighty jungle man manhandled and manipulated by these monsters. I also feared for him. Could he withstand this ‘training’? If this was still the first day, as I suspected it was, then they were accomplishing their goal. His stamina was exceeded. His strength taken. And I knew that he would be more open to their lies and suggestions.
I stood in my cell for hours. Or minutes. Waiting for my turn. My adrenaline was high, but it ran out. I felt tired. Was it me? Or perhaps the gruel? I could not stand. I collapsed then awoke here. In this dungeon. I was strapped to that large wooden cross and abused as Tarzan was. Shaved below the neck. Physically then sexually tormented. Weakened and stimulated.
I was mad with pain when they finally allowed me to release my seed. Then they would not stop. They milked me as a cow. Over and over until I was unable to produce any seed at all. Then back to my cell. Chained. Given minimal sustenance. Allowed to sleep. Awoken before I could fully refresh. The process repeated for both of us. Then again to now. Yes, I remember.
Now, in the stocks, I am here. As long as I remember, I have my mind. I am still facing Black Bear, my monstrous enemy. I wish I had done worse to him when I had the chance. A kick to his balls and a possible scar above his eye is far less than he deserves.
Now with my focus back and my eyes trained on him, Black Bear sees my recognition. Even with only his eyes visible, I can tell that he is smiling at me. Arrogant sod. He is obviously here to mock me. Or kill me, as he promised. No, not kill me. If that was the goal, I would be dead. The leader of this group said I could be useful. As long as I am useful, I will be alive.
My penis is being caressed and fondled. One of Dungeon Keeper’s muscular servants is doing the same to Tarzan, so I can guess that the other is below me. I try to will my erection soft, but I cannot. His hand is too skilled and he is using some kind of balm that both tingles and allows his hand to slide with ease. I feel something tied around the base of my cock and balls, it is both constricting and weighing down my manhood.
“I am happy to see that you remember me.” Black Bear approaches me. He touches his mask at the temple, “I remember you, too. You may think that you are a lucky man. You are not. While I may not be permitted to kill you, I do get to own you once you are trained. I will be your master as you, your wealth and your marriage serve us. You will answer to me as you live your life. And my scar will be nothing compared to the mementos I shall leave you.”
I feel a chill down my spine. He moves out of sight, but I quickly feel hands on my hips. Without warning, my ass is split by his thick organ. I groan loudly as he enters me. Black Bear laughs, “How does it feel, welp? To be bred by a man?”
I hold back a laugh. If he only knew. Instead, I know I can use their ignorance for my own purposes. I cry out louder and beg him to stop. I tell him it hurts. Across the room, Tarzan looks at me. We lock eyes and I wink at him as I continue my performance. Black Bear taunts me as he drives deeper and deeper into me. I thrash, but I am held. He mocks me, which tells me that my performance is suitably convincing.
Black Bear owns my ass, but he can never own my spirit. He is a brutal lover, pounding my hole with relentless abandon. I whimper for real as he savagely takes me. Under me, the mysterious hand works my cock. Slowly and softly. Too little for me to unleash my load. I am on the precipice of eruption but denied by the expert hand. I gasp and beg for release for real.
I feel warmth inside me as Black Bear completes the breeding. The hand leaves my privates and I nearly collapse in the stocks. It is all I can do to keep my legs. My penis stays fully erect as the men leave me. Across the room, I see more animal mask men enter. They circle and appraise Tarzan and I. We are poked and prodded like prized livestock. Which is what we are.
Most of the men assemble behind the jungle man. A very pale overweight man in a bronze tiger mask with black leather forming the stripes moves behind Tarzan first. He is virtually hairless, save for small clumps of silver hair around his genitalia and in the middle of his chest. I watch as I feel my own ass being toyed with. I cannot see who is doing it, but I understand what is happening. We are the new recruits. We are being initiated. These men will be our masters.
Tarzan and I lock eyes. Bronze Tiger forces his way into the jungle man’s mountainous buttocks. The mighty muscle man howls as he is penetrated, mimicking my earlier performance. As I did, he howls and cries as he is bred by this man. The animal men squeal and clap with delight. They are ecstatic as they take our ‘virginity’, unaware that we have both had bigger and better.
As we are used over and over, my mind wanders. I remember Tarzan’s tale of the tribesmen who used him similarly. It gives me hope that he can withstand this torture. While I intend to pretend that their manipulation is working, perhaps even to the point of being released as ‘a slave’, I am unsure that my jungle friend is capable of such guile. I only pray that he is.
A half dozen men use my ass. None are as big as Tarzan, but the continual pounding and milking under me is taking its toll. I need to fire my seed. I gasp and moan for real as my manhood cries out for release. The breeding I can handle, but the milking has my mind spinning. Especially with so little sleep and food. These men have a plan. I must endure it.
The leader in the black hood and Silver Lion enter to check our progress. They just watch admiringly as we are used and abused. Ten men have taken their turn with Tarzan and he still has several men waiting. Behind him now is a short and lean man in a black snake-like mask. I marvel at his manhood, which is long, thick and disproportionately large compared to his diminutive chiseled body.
The trainer asks Black Snake to come in front of Tarzan. The masked man agrees. At Dungeon Keeper’s request, the short and lean man flexes his biceps. “Look at this man, Tarzan. Smaller than you. Weaker than you. And yet, he is your master now. He is a man. You are a pet.”
Black Snake reaches out, roughly grabbing Tarzan’s hair. He forces the jungle man to look at him, “What a pretty thing you are. I think you shall make a lovely pet. Bringing me the newspaper in your teeth. Performing tricks for my guests. Wrestling with their dogs. On hands and knees, providing a place for me to rest my boots while I relax by the fire. A perfectly obedient animal.”
Dungeon Keeper nods, “Your wish is our command, my lord.” He looks Tarzan in the eye, “But for now, this man will tear your ass apart with this monster between his legs. Show him how you can howl, dog.” Black Snake waves his long thick penis at the helpless jungle man.
The men continue to mock the trapped muscleman for his weakness. The difference between the smaller man and the jungle man is stark, but it does not matter. Black Snake is in charge. Tarzan’s muscle means nothing. Black Snake proves his mask is well-earned as his ‘python’ powers up to full mast. He circles back then forces his massive organ inside the jungle man.
While skinny Black Snake takes the much bigger and stronger jungle man, our trainer observes Tarzan’s face. The muscleman does indeed howl through his ball gag as he is used. The pain looks very real, but I know Tarzan has had much larger inside him in the jungle. The thin man thrusts in deep, making sure my muscular friend feels the full power of his ‘snake’. Silver Lion gives both men his approval, congratulating them on breaking Tarzan so fast.
They check on me second. My mouth hangs open and my eyes plead for release. I whimper and grunt as my ass is taken for a seventh time. Silver Lion nods, but Dungeon Keeper says, “Do not be fooled. This one is resisting, my lord. If I could trouble you to take a personal interest in his training?”
Silver Lion fondles his cock as he appraises me. It is the largest organ in the room, even bigger than Black Snake’s or Tarzan’s. The young giant replies, “If it will speed things along, I will stoop down to seed this pathetic peasant.”
“Thank you, my lord. Your grace is unmatched.” To the man under me, he says, “Another thirty minutes of denial then milk him until he is drained. We shall need to watch him.”
In response, I can only gasp and shake my head. How could he know? I genuinely plead for sexual release, but he only laughs at my mumbled pleas, “You will have to do better than that.”
Silver Lion is behind me. I legitimately cry out as he enters me. Even as open as I am, the young giant is far superior to any who have ever come before, including Tarzan. I gasp in pain as he brutally ravages my hole. I fight to focus, but the milking and the huge rod inside me have my mind distracted and racing. I quietly whimper as I am cruelly raped by the massive monster.
Dungeon Keeper taps my cheek, “It has been a while since we have had a real fighter in our midst. I expected the jungle man to be the challenge. I am pleasantly surprised it is you, boy.”
Chapter Nine
Once again, I am awoken too early. I have had five sleep cycles and five trips to the dungeon. Each time has felt longer as we have been physically abused, sexually stimulated, denied release then milked until past the point of exhaustion. My orgasms ache when they are finally allowed, but more importantly, they steal my consciousness. They are not allowing us to fully rest. I am sure less time has passed than I think.
Tarzan and I are in cells beside each other now. We are still gagged, making it difficult to communicate, but I try to encourage him with a series of grunts and poorly formed words. He seems to understand, replying in kind. Whether we are truly connected, it energizes me to believe it. My body is betraying me and my manhood is throbbing constantly, even when I am here.
Dungeon Keeper emerges from the shadows with his assistants. While the servants head to Tarzan, the leader approaches me slowly, looking me up and down. I try to focus, knowing that he will stop at nothing to break my will. From behind him, he pulls out a leather-wrapped handle with nine leather straps dangling from it. He slaps it across his gloved hand as he sashays towards me.
“Do you know what this is, boy?” I shake my head. “It is called a cat-o-nine-tails. It is a wonderful toy. All my boys enjoy it. Eventually. Do you think you will enjoy it?” I shake my head. He smiles, “You continue to lie. Some might find your lack of honesty tiring, but I find it quite refreshing. You truly are a wonderful treasure. A man who enjoys what I have to offer.”
One of his men says, “Sir, Tarzan is prepared.”
“Good. He is ready for the next phase. Place him in the chair.”
“And this one?”
“This one is ... not ready for the chair. But he will be.”
I am dragged back to the dungeon and strapped to a rack. My arms and legs are outstretched and entirely vulnerable. The metal frame is sturdy and uncomfortable, with metal bars running across my back and legs. I realize that the contraption moves from lying to standing, allowing them full access to my body. The physical torture is wearing me down, but I am emboldened by the knowledge that I am frustrating their plans. By now, William must be searching for me. I must hold on until he arrives to save me.
Other than constant thoughts of William, I also keep my sanity by focusing on Tarzan. Across the room, he is strapped to a strange wooden chair. As he is seated, he is impaled on an even larger than usual silver cylinder in his buttock. It appears to be the least physically taxing torture so far. If that is the next phase, I wonder what it is. My muscular friend shifts in the chair, his beautiful chest heaving as he adjusts to it.
As I hang on the rack, awaiting my punishment, I helplessly watch as a solid leather hood is placed over the jungle man’s head. It has two tubes at the nose. They are attached to a tank which must contain some kind of gas. The ears are extra padded. Thick padded mitts are placed over his hands. My eyes narrow as I struggle to understand what they are doing.
Silver Lion and Black Bear enter the dungeon. The hairy beast’s uncanny resemblance to my beloved William no longer surprises or confuses me. Now, it energizes me. They look at us then approach Dungeon Keeper. Silver Lion questions why I am not in the chair. I strain my ears to hear the whispered response. The trainer explains that I need some more physical work before I will be ready for the mental work. So that is the next phase. They are going to try to twist Tarzan’s mind.
The young giant approaches Tarzan. He circles him and nods, “Pathetic savage. Since the moment I first laid eyes on you, I have waited for this day. In your loincloth, more animal than man. You are affront to your heritage, undeserving of your station. You are weak, but now you will finally serve your true purpose.”
Black Bear laughs, “Don’t bother. He can’t hear you. That gear takes away all his senses.”
My eyes go wide. I realize the hell Tarzan must be in. He has lived his entire life relying on his senses. They have been honed to survive in the jungle. To see details we miss. To hear the slightest rustling of leaves. To smell the approach of danger. And using his tactile sensitivity to navigate. The jungle man has the most advanced senses I have ever seen on a man.
Black Bear sees my expression and laughs. Dungeon Keeper approaches me as Silver Lion stays fixated on Tarzan. His interest seems almost personal. I have a thought, but I cannot form it. I can only focus on Tarzan. The assistants are once again toying with his body, but without his senses, he is instinctively shifting and reacting to every touch, hard or soft.
The jungle man’s mighty body dances and his massive muscles twitch and jump as he is ruthlessly tormented. All his power is useless. I see that his penis is fully engorged. It bobs and pulsates as he moves. His head sways and I know he is gasping, unknowingly breathing in whatever they are pumping into the mask. They will surely drive him mad with this torture!
The trainer whips my torso with his cat-on-nine-tails. I cry out, trying to stay focused on the helpless jungle man. He does it again and again, turning my body red. I thrash in the rack. He uses random sudden strikes to break my concentration. As he attacks my smooth behind, I wail as he works. The leather cuts into my flesh, but the pain cuts into my brain.
Black Bear says, “I made a special trip to see this, boy. To see you whipped. I hope it hurts.” I ignore him and he follows my stare, “Fool. Your love for the ape is your greatest weakness, boy. It’s why he makes you watch.”
Dungeon Keeper interrupts, “My lord. It is best to keep some things from the slaves.”
The hairy masked aristocrat says, “Do not presume to give me orders. There is nothing he can do with the information. And it is worth it to see his face as he realizes that you have uncovered his secret. His lust for the savage. And how we are using it against him.” Black Bear grabs my manhood, “Love makes you weak, boy. As long as you love, you cannot win.”
I lose control, muttering something through my gag.
Black Bear is curious enough to pull it out for me.
I stare into his evil eyes, “I am already winning, you sorry old sod. As soon as they assigned me to you, I won. I’ve no more felt your limp prick inside me than I felt your limp fists on my body. Your impotence as a man is why I am still being whipped on a rack instead of brainwashed in a chair.”
I realize that I have made a dreadful mistake, revealing myself, but I cannot take it back. With all the physical torture, I am losing my ability to be rational. Or have lost it. Although it is not as though Dungeon Master was ever truly fooled by my performance. Perhaps I have done nothing more than admit an obvious truth. I cannot know. I only know it felt good to mock this beast.
Black Bear’s hairy muscles tense and he angrily unleashes his fists into my body, daring me to call them limp again. I am relentlessly pummeled as he swears he will kill me, Master Order be damned. From behind, Silver Lion grabs him and pulls him back. My attacker growls but holds back. The young giant is more than a match for him and it gives Black Bear pause.
The hairy brute angrily says, “How dare you! You are the least of all of us. Not even a full member until that one is trained. Now step aside!”
“I serve The Eminence and obey Master Order. If you wish to take this in front of the tribunal, I will explain what has happened here. All of it.”
As I see the inner politics of The Eminence at play, I grunt out, “I see you are as ineffectual here as you were in the forest. No wonder it was so easy for me to outsmart you, you lumbering lower class oaf.”
Black Bear lunges at me, but Silver Lion easily restrains him. The hairy brute turns to Dungeon Keeper. He points accusingly, “You are failing! I want him broken. NOW!”
The trainer nods, “It is happening, my lord. Slowly, but this is a process. It will happen.”
“Not good enough. NOW! NOW! NOW!”
Silver Lion steps between them, “Calm yourself. You are empowering the prisoner.”
Black Bear settles down. The young giant looks at me carefully. I stare back but remain silent. We hold our stare for a long time. I know those eyes, but I cannot remember. He breaks the stare first and I relish the small victory. Each triumph emboldens my will. He escorts the furious hairy beast out of the dungeon. With order restored, Dungeon Keeper turns to me. The chaos has heightened my focus and given me clarity.
I say to him and his men, “They will kill you. All three of you.”
“Pardon?”
“You are as much a slave to them as we are. You are utterly worthless to them. Utterly replaceable. One day soon, they will simply eliminate you.”
“Be quiet.”
I speak quickly, “Are you the first Dungeon Keeper?” He does not reply. “I thought not. What happened to the one before you?” The masked man is frozen. I warn him, “You and your men know too much to ever walk away.” The trainer and his assistants just stare at me. “We need to escape. The five of us. Together.”
“Together?”
Behind Dungeon Keeper, his assistants are watching and listening, ignoring their tasks with Tarzan. I have their attention. I must win them over while I have the opportunity. Who knows when I shall be both ungagged and this lucid again?
I reply, “Yes. You have awakened something inside me, sir. The same way you have in those two men over there. They serve you willingly, because you are ‘master’. I, too, would serve you willingly. If the food was better, I’d rather enjoy this experience, sir.”
“There is no escape. There is nowhere these men cannot find us.”
“You are wrong. These arrogant windbags hold no sway beyond this place. I have formidable resources. Resources untied to England or titles or land. We can go anywhere. I will take Tarzan back to Africa. The four of us can go with him or perhaps off to America. And you can be a true master. Instead of a slave.”
Dungeon Keeper shakes his head, forcing the gag back into my mouth. I see doubt in him, but not enough. He turns to his assistants, “Get back to work.”
Chapter Ten
“Did you mean what you said?”
I swallow my serving of gruel then whisper, “Yes. I meant it.” The muscular hooded man scoops out another helping. “Please. If your master will not listen, you must act to save him. If you are truly loyal to him, you must save him. Please, contact William Clayton at Greystoke Manor and inform him of my whereabouts. I beg you.”
The assistant feeds me the rest of my meal without speaking. I notice that my meal is much larger than usual. And the water is plentiful. I accept the change as a positive sign. Nourishment will help me keep my mind. His silence is infuriating, but I must have patience. I must hold on. Every moment I resist this torture increases the possibility of rescue.
And we need to be rescued soon. While I am maintaining focus, I fear Tarzan is succumbing to their tactics. His physical power is useless as they continue to torment him mentality. The deprivation of his senses is near complete. He still wears the gloves and mask from this morning. Or this evening. Or yesterday. I cannot know. All I know is that he has not seen, heard or smelled me for far too long.
We are dragged back to the training dungeon. I try to act weak to hide my increased strength as I am moved from device to device in a desperate attempt to break my spirit. As I am used and abused, I focus only on Tarzan. If I can understand what they are doing, perhaps I can reverse it when we are rescued. My beloved William will rescue us.
Tarzan is bound spread-eagle inside a large metal ring. It spins and rotates in every direction. His body is entirely exposed. The assistants disorient him by moving him upside down and all around. I get dizzy just watching. I can only imagine how it feels for him. When they stop him, they work his manhood. His body is still impressive, but it is clear that he is changed. He no longer fights. He is a toy.
The assistants free the mighty muscleman. He stumbles like a drunkard. With no eyes, ears or hands, he can do nothing but stagger as he is forced into the stocks. A support is placed under his chiseled stomach to keep him standing. The tubes are reattached to the nose and mouth of the mask, filling Tarzan’s lungs and body with the nefarious gas.
The jungle man’s body tenses as they remove the padded coverings from his ears. Finally, he can hear. They quickly replace them with long tubes that lead to a mask behind resting Tarzan. They remove the eye covering and place a box-like contraption around his head. It looks like large goggles. A light shines behind it, illuminating inside the box.
One assistant moves behind him and slides on the mask over his mouth. I can hear him talking, although I cannot make out the words as they travel down the tube into Tarzan’s brain. I am sure they are sweet and seductive as he allows the jungle man to hear something for the first time. Tarzan’s mind will be hungry for stimulation. Unfortunately, it is the wrong message.
Assistant number two places a photograph in the box. I shake my head as Tarzan is now forced to see some kind of mind-altering visual to go with the verbal assault. The assistant moves himself to sit at the jungle man’s dangling manhood. He begins to play with it. Tarzan’s body twitches and I can hear muffled moans from the mask. Oh, these diabolical monsters!
My mind can hardly keep up when I see that the assistant behind the powerless muscleman is fondling his own cock. He is erect as he forces himself inside Tarzan. The circle is complete as Tarzan is assaulted across all his senses. He can only see and hear their corrupting and enslaving messages, feel their rape and taste and smell their toxin.
I watch helplessly as he is indoctrinated into their cult. Meanwhile, Dungeon Keeper is assaulting me as I mindlessly react. He stops, recognizing the futility of his efforts. I am turned so that he may get right into my face. He says, “Enough. You are delicious, boy, but you will not be my first failure.”
I mutter through my gag. He removes it. I say, “This is no failure, sir. You have made me your boy. I am just your willing boy. Is that not better, master?” His eyes narrow at my insolence. “I promise that when the time comes, I will behave as you wish. I will kneel or bend over or run into a wall for you. None of them will ever need to know. It will be our secret, master.”
Before Dungeon Keeper can reply, we are joined by Eminence members. I cannot see who, but I allow my body to go limp. He moves to greet them. They see my powerless pose and compliment him on finally breaking me. My head is lifted by my hair. My mouth hangs open and my eyes roll back in my head. I weakly beg for mercy with a single whimper, “Please.”
They circle and survey me before leaving to check on Tarzan. I maintain my act until Dungeon Keeper returns. He says, “They are gone.”
I lift my head and smile, “It is as I said, master. Only you need know the truth.”
The Dungeon Keeper scowls at me and walks away, spinning me so I can once again see Tarzan. They ruthlessly torment him. When they finish, they take him away. The friendly assistant must stay with him, because only the other one returns. He and the trainer wear me down physically with sexual assaults. I do not enjoy it. My balls ache and my penis throbs. My mind reels, but I keep it. I do not know how long it goes, but long enough that Tarzan rejoins us.
The jungle man is led in by a chain. He is still blind, deaf and dumb, stumbling along as he pulled forward. He staggers to the middle of the room. Once again, his ears are freed then covered with tubes. He is placed over a thick soft mat. The friendly assistant speaks into the tubes as the Dungeon Keeper and other assistant control his body.
They push him to his knees. They lift him. They push him down again. Over and over, he is raised and lowered. Their pushes become softer until eventually, he is kneeling with no push. When he lands, they reward him with a bit of food through the mouth of his mask and a tug on his engorged penis. They repeat it and repeat it. I can hardly bear to watch.
From his knees, he is forced forward. The same pattern. Soon, he is leaning forward. He crawls on all fours for them. He lowers his shoulders and thrusts his behind up. When he does that on his own, he is rewarded with a silver cylinder up his behind. This training goes on and on for what seems like hours. They start again and he does every move unassisted like a good pet.
Tarzan is led away again and the two remaining captors resume their abuse of me. I can barely feel the erotic torture. They pass my breaking point and I beg for mercy. For real. They mock me for enjoying Tarzan’s performance. I thrash around, denying their claim. They accuse me of wanting him for a pet on my own. They taunt me and twist my love for the jungle man to break my will. I will not break, but my body has other ideas. Tears stream from my eyes.
Dungeon Keeper looks me in the eye. He licks away a tear then smiles, “You will not need to pretend after all, boy. I always find a way to win.”
I endure another round of punishment. Any additional strength I gained from a meager increase in my rations is gone. I feel exhausted, but I fight to keep focused. This relentless and ruthless assault is a sign of desperation. Of Dungeon Keeper’s fear. Of his doubt in his own abilities. If I can withstand it, he will have no choice but to accept my offer if he wants to live.
During my torment, Tarzan returns for more mental conditioning. The friendly assistant can lead him singlehandedly now. The jungle man follows obediently. He allows them to hook him up to their infernal contraptions. He assumes the positions willingly. I must admit that seeing his transformation from mighty king to submissive slave saps more of my strength than all the other torture I have endured. Oh Tarzan. My poor sweet Tarzan.
By the time I am dragged to my cell, I cannot even stand. My body is covered in the dirt of the dungeon, which is caked on by perspiration and semen. I am not fed or given water. I need both. Tarzan is led back to his cage by a leash attached to a collar. His wrists and ankles are no longer shackled. He remains masked, but his body is completely free. It is his mind that is bound now.
I must black out, because when I next open my eyes, the jungle man is lying asleep on the floor in the cell beside me. I hear keys jangling and boots on the stone floor. I hear whispering, but I cannot understand the words. I feel my hair being grabbed and my head lifted. I open my eyes ever so slightly. The hairy muscular legs. The thick penis. The hairy powerful torso. My love.
I moan, “William.”
My head is lifted and I see the Black Bear mask. No, no, no. I truly am losing my mind. Finally, it is happening. I cannot discern the subtle differences between my lover’s body and this beast’s. Perhaps I cannot remember them. I am confused. I sob, distraught at the idea that I have forgotten William and my memories have been replaced by this bastard.
As I stare into the eyes behind the mask, I suddenly see William’s eyes. NO! I will not give in to their torture! I will not! My anger wells up and I am filled with energy. Irrational, crazed energy. I thrash in the chains, grunting and cursing at the hairy beast before me. Black Bear puts his hand over my mouth. I close my eyes. As I breathe in, I realize that he even smells like William now. I lose my strength, that burst was all that I had.
The friendly assistant gives me food and water. I take in as much as I can. When I can speak again, I tell Black Bear, “I see through your lies. My senses may be fooled, but my mind never will be.” I am sure he has no idea what I mean, but I am speaking more to myself than to him.
Black Bear says, “Calm down and be quiet, JamesPorter.”
JamesPorter? I open my eyes and look again, “William?”
Chapter Eleven
“We must move quickly, my lord. The other slaves could be returned at any moment.”
The friendly assistant supports me as William moves into Tarzan’s cell. He carefully removes the deprivation mask. The jungle man awakens with a start. He swings wildly. The hairy muscleman barely dodges. I get my feet and stumble forth between them. I hug my friend and he calms down, hugging me back. I ask if he is all right and he nods, never taking his eyes off Black Bear.
Black Bear lifts his mask, revealing his handsome and familiar face. William says, “We can have a reunion later. This bizarre disguise only allowed me in. Now that you are free, it is useless. It will certainly not allow me out with you two in tow. We must flee.”
I lead Tarzan forward. His senses are quickly returning and he is physically capable. Moreso than I. I explain that, with the assistant’s help, William has infiltrated the dungeon, replacing the real Black Bear to free us. The jungle man asks no questions, merely trusting in me and desiring his escape. As we exit his cage, we hear boots moving down the pathway.
The friendly assistant leads us another way, but we immediately hear cries of “Escape!” Boots echo through the stone caves, confusing us as to where they are coming from. We successfully turn and move away from them, evading capture. The assistant reaches a door, but as he walks through, Tarzan declares, “James, we are being herded like the tribes do to the animals.”
Sure enough, as we cross the threshold, we are in a large chamber. Stone walls. Ornate tapestries hanging from the ceiling. Swords, shields and coats of arms decorate the room. I assume they represent the families behind this cruel cabal.
There are nearly two dozen men standing before us. Gold Lion, The Eminence’s Master Order stands in front of a throne, his long robe hanging open to reveal his naked body underneath and he holds a large scepter. Silver Lion kneels before him, head bowed. He wears Tarzan’s family knife around his waist. There are a dozen others, some familiar, some not. They are standing watching the ceremony.
We turn to flee, but the door is closed and locked behind us. From other entries, Dungeon Keeper, the other assistant and ten more masked men enter the room. The four of us are trapped. Because of their masks, I cannot tell if they are surprised to see us. They certainly do not look afraid. Of course, they outnumber us 6 to 1.
William peels off his mask, the deception no longer necessary. He challenges them to do the same, “So, this is The Eminence? My, how the legends have inflated your reputation. The dark and mysterious cabal is nothing more than a perverts' society. You are a sorry lot. Especially you, Sir Andrew. Doing this to your very own grandson?”
Gold Lion laughs and puts his hand on Silver Lion’s shoulder, “I have only one grandson. This savage is no more my family than the peasant with whom he fraternizes. You belong with us, William. I offer you the chance to replace your cousin Thomas as Black Bear permanently. Join us and we shall return your legacy to you.”
I turn to Tarzan, finally putting voice to the thought I could not form, “The cousin you went adventuring with was Phillip, not William?” He nods. I see his muscles tensing. His primal side is rising as he stands before the men who captured and tortured him. I look at Dungeon Keeper, “You did not find a way to win this time. They will surely kill you now. My offer to escape together still stands. They may be more, but we are mightier.”
Dungeon Keeper shakes his head, “I would not be so sure.”
Black Snake steps forward. The thin man with the large manhood raises his hand and snaps his fingers, “Nazrat!” Beside me, Tarzan tenses and stands up straight.
“Come.”
The jungle man pushes past us towards him. I grab at his arm but he pulls free. William questions what is happening, but I cannot speak from shock. Tarzan stands before the much smaller man, obediently waiting for instruction.
“Kneel.”
Tarzan mindlessly drops to his knees before his new master. Black Snake grabs his hair and commands him to turn to face us. I step forward as the friendly assistant retreats, perhaps realizing that he has chosen the wrong side in this fight.
Dungeon Keeper and Silver Lion move forward to flank the brainwashed jungle man. The young giant mockingly says, “You were saying how much mightier you are?”
Silver Lion withdraws Tarzan’s knife. Black Snake orders his slave to rise and take the blade. He does. The next order is to kill us. William and I move away. The crowd parts, forming a circle around us to watch us die. They brace to prevent any escape, but William and I know better. Turning our backs to Tarzan will be certain death. My hairy lover crouches in defensive posture as the mighty muscleman approaches expertly brandishing his weapon.
William moves to protect me from Tarzan as he comes at us with the knife. He slashes wildly, backing us up to the edges of the crowd. They push us forward into the slashing blade. We are about to die. I channel unknown strength and push my powerful lover out of the way to face the jungle man face-to-face. I thrust my bare chest out at him, inviting him to kill me. As Tarzan raises the dagger, William pulls at my arm, but it’s too late. Tarzan will kill me.
Except that he cannot.
As the blade hovers over me, I reach out my hand and put it on his chest. Tarzan lowers the knife. In spite of all that these diabolical devils have done, the man I know and love is still inside. The jungle man spins suddenly and hurls the knife at Gold Lion, his maternal grandfather. It flies through the air, perfectly aimed by the expert hunter who has lived his life hunting in the dangerous jungle with nothing more than a blade.
The knife sinks deep into Gold Lion’s shoulder. The older man collapses to the ground with a scream. Phillip races to help him. Sir Andrew’s mask is off. He stares at the three of us in shock as blood trickles out the wound. We stare back defiantly. The old man understands that his plan to own us has failed. Phillip grabs the leader’s white robe, tearing it off. He wraps it around the wound and applies pressure.
I tell the wounded old man, “Tarzan will never be yours. Not now. Not ever. Neither will I nor William. For we love each other and your manipulations will never overcome that. Black Bear said love was our weakness. He was so very wrong. You have lost, Sir Andrew.” I look around the stunned crowd, “Allow us to leave in peace before more damage is done.”
The leader snarls, “I never lose. With these two dead, the House of Greystoke will have no heirs beyond Sir Henry. If I cannot rule it, I will eliminate it. Kill them all.”
With that order, we are swarmed by the surrounding twenty acolytes. The friendly assistant rejoins us, his shifting loyalties tilting back in our favor. I shall not criticize him, for we need his power. Dungeon Keeper and the other assistant back away, confused and unsure. My hope rises as the numbers continue to shift towards us.
The naked masked men move in quickly, but clumsily. While they still outnumber us five-to-one, they are encumbered by their masks. They have no coordination and certainly do not possess our level of fighting prowess. Tarzan and William are powerful expert fighters. And even weakened, I am capable. More capable than many of these aristocratic servants of evil.
We quickly whittle down their numbers. I see out of the corner of my eye, Phillip walking towards the far door with his grandfather. I warn my colleagues. Tarzan immediately breaks from the pack and charges at his young cousin. William, the assistant and I continue to battle the masked men. Even with the loss of Tarzan, we are holding our own.
Many of the aristocrats have backed off, unwilling to sacrifice themselves for the cause. Fallen bodies of unconscious acolytes surround us as a warning of what fate awaits them. Only a few are still in a fighting mood, despite Sir Andrew’s continuing demands that they kill us. With the odds continuing to improve, Dungeon Keeper and his assistant wisely come to our side.
Tarzan reaches Phillip, leaping on his back and driving him to the ground. The young giant’s silver lion mask breaks on the stone floor as he falls down hard. The remaining acolytes continue to fight. They cannot win, but they can delay. They scatter, a few screaming like frightened women as they go on the defensive in an attempt to avoid a thrashing.
Phillip throws Tarzan off. Even at his best, I know the jungle man would struggle against the young giant. Now, I am uncertain if he has any chance at winning. The naked cousins fight for their lives as they aggressively attack one another. Phillip gets on top with his hands around Tarzan’s neck, but the mighty jungle man manages to push them away and send his fist up under Phillip’s jaw. The bigger muscleman falls to the side, shaking out his head.
Tarzan leaps on top of his prey. He wraps his incredible arms around Phillip’s neck and squeezes like a python. The young giant flails his arms. His face goes red as he pushes up to his feet. He suddenly runs Tarzan back into the stone wall. The impact stuns the mighty jungle man. Phillip turns to pummel his smooth body with deadly fists.
William surveys the situation. He tells Dungeon Keeper to finish the aristocrats off while he helps Tarzan against the young giant. I follow, but William points at the struggling Sir Andrew, “Phillip is but a servant, JamesPorter. We need to cut the head off this serpent.”
My lover moves to Tarzan and Phillip while I take the fight to Sir Andrew himself. Ordinarily, I would never attack an old man, but in this case, I shall relish it. I tear off his mask and throw it aside. He braces against the wall, one arm bandaged and useless with a knife still stuck in it. He extends his other hand and looks at me with his soft eyes, the ones that greeted Tarzan in the jungle.
“Please, I surrender.”
I pause. He kicks out at my manhood, but I am prepared. I easily dodge his kick. I dive in with fists to his abdomen then I lean against him. I grab the hilt of the impaled knife and press on it. He cries out and goes limp, “You old fool. Have you learned nothing about me? I may be a peasant but I am now and always will be your better. Now, tell Phillip to stand down or die.”
Suddenly, I see a blur out of the corner of my eye. I turn to that William has been leveled by a staggering punch from the young giant. Tarzan is on his hands and knees behind him. As I feel blood-warm steel pressed against my flesh, I realize that I have focused on them for too long.
Sir Andrew has withdrawn the knife from his shoulder and now holds it against my throat.
Chapter Twelve
“ENOUGH!”
Sir Andrew’s booming voice gets everyone’s attention. Bodies freeze as they turn to see the tall octogenarian behind me with Tarzan’s blade at my neck. William takes a step forward but gets stared down by the desperate old man.
The jungle man is less intimidated. He picks up a sword that fell during his struggle with Phillip. He comes up behind the distracted young giant, pressing the blade into his back. Tarzan says, “Let James go.”
I say, “I would listen to him, old man. Tarzan is jungle-raised and not bound by the same code as we are. You only have two heirs left and it could very quickly be down to Tarzan.”
Sir Andrew growls, “Why would you ever think that I would not sacrifice one grandson for The Eminence? You have no concept -” I look at Tarzan and mouth my consent. He nods.
Tarzan drives the sword forward, causing Phillip to leap forward. I simultaneously use the moment to push Sir Andrew’s arm from my neck. I rip the blade from him and turn to face him. His face is one of shock. He gasps for breath as he reaches for his cold heart. No one moves as the old man turns gray and collapses. He twitches then fades. I check that the old man is truly gone. He is.
Phillip cries, “NO!”
The young giant turns and I can see blood streaming down his back. He charges the jungle man, who discards the sword to meet the challenge. They embrace and struggle, reminding me of the sumo wrestlers of Japan. William comes to me to make sure I am all right, but I never take my eyes off the two musclemen. Phillip’s defiance is the last gasp of The Eminence, but it makes him no less dangerous.
The powerful cousins grapple for control. Phillip’s strength is matched by Tarzan’s ferocity. I have seen the jungle man’s primal rage unleashed and I know what he can do. It literally saved him from Mr. Moorhead’s murderous madness. The smaller muscleman leaps up, driving his bare feet into Phillip’s chest. The force sends him flying backwards while Tarzan lands on his feet in a crouch.
Tarzan races in. He throws his mighty body at his prey, using it as a battering ram to drive the bigger young muscleman backwards. Phillip lands hard with Tarzan on top of him. The jungle man pounds on the giant’s body, pummeling it with animalistic fury. It is all he can do to curl up for defense. My enraged friend grabs hold of Phillip’s hair and drags the shocked man up.
The young giant is thrown into the stone wall face first. He bounces back into Tarzan’s arms. The jungle man wraps his arms around the bigger muscleman and squeezes him in a bearhug. Phillip cries out as his injured midsection is crushed by the enhanced strength of his opponent. Still, no one moves. No one fights. All we can do is watch this spectacle.
Tarzan throws Phillip to the stone floor. When he lands, I can see that the puncture wound has opened up. I implore Phillip to surrender and end this, but he rises and challenges Tarzan again. The young giant charges in, arms swinging and fists flying. Tarzan is ready for him, blocking the brutal blows and ducking low. He grabs Phillip around the waist and squeezes again.
Phillip lets out a blood-curdling scream as the jungle man’s locked hands press in on the wound on his back. Tarzan crushes the helpless muscleman, showing him no more mercy than his cousin showed him in their first forest encounter. I see the young giant going limp. He gasps for breath as his arms weakly swing down to club Tarzan’s back.
The jungle man runs him into the stone wall. As Tarzan steps back, Phillip slowly slides down the wall, leaving a bloody streak above him. He collapses onto his ass, his head falling to the side. I can see him still trying to will himself up as his naked cousin stands ready to engage him should he succeed. Phillip falls to the side, unconscious, bleeding and dying.
I race to Tarzan. I hug him and soothe him, telling him it is over. He hugs me back, but says, “Not yet, James.” He breaks from my hug and spins around to face the remaining crowd. He roars at them, letting out a piercing jungle cry as he beats his chest. The remaining conscious masked men drop to their knees, signaling their submission.
The friendly assistant approaches carrying a sword. Tarzan tenses but I feel no threat. William thanks him for contacting him and leading him here. The hooded man thanks us for freeing him. Suddenly, we hear a new roar. We turn to see a weak and bloody Phillip charging at us with a raised sword. Before we can act, the assistant pushes between us, impaling the young giant. I turn away from the gruesome sight.
Moments later, men storm into the room. I recognize them from the Greystoke estate. It is Sir Henry’s loyal manservant Angelo and a half-dozen stablemen. They aim guns at the kneeling men. They circle the room. Angelo points his gun at Dungeon Keeper and his other assistant, ordering them down to their knees with The Eminence. I say nothing, unable to rationally consider whether there is any merit to their conversion when compared to the evil of their crimes. I have given them their lives. Do they really deserve more?
 |
| Angelo. |
“I am sorry, sir, but there were armed guards, locked gates and doors and this place is an actual maze. We didn’t have an escort. We only found you now thanks to John’s cry.”
William says, “Tarzan’s cry. He is Tarzan. We shall have to adapt to that.”
Epilogue
The sounds of the jungle warm my heart. Tarzan and I walk, hand in hand, towards his hut. It has been a long journey, but here we are. Back where it all started. We embrace tightly as I feel tears in my eyes. The jungle man squeezes me even tighter. It feels wonderful. His decision to return here is for the best. As is my decision to stay in England with William.
After our ordeal, we took months to recover and re-focus. The scandal of The Eminence was hidden from the public, but without Sir Andrew, the cabal has faded for the moment. The other members were shocked and scared by the reality of death. And the threat of more. Sir Henry believes it is over for this generation, but he says that it has been over before.
We all recognized that Tarzan would never enjoy England. He willingly abdicated his title. I agreed with his decision and it will simplify everything for everyone. Ironically, he gained a title as Sir Andrew’s only living heir. There was no one to give it to, so instead I will control the estate with William’s help and use the money to generously support charities. Orphans, animals, veterans and education for the underclasses will be amongst the beneficiaries.
William Clayton is once again in line to be Lord Greystoke. His wife is so ecstatic by the change in station that she cared not that I was whisking her husband off to Africa so soon after their wedding. For the record, my new fiancé didn’t care, either. She barely acknowledges my existence. Her father wants my money, but she has made it quite clear that arranged marriage or not, she intends on living an independent life and I have told her that I respect that. True to his word, William chose perfectly for me as I will soon officially be a member of the aristocracy in a mutually loveless marriage. With any luck, one of her lovers shall give us a child.
As Tarzan and I hug, I wonder if I will ever see him again. Jungle expeditions are neither inexpensive nor simple to plan. This feels as though it could be a permanent goodbye.
We finally separate. William joins us. He wipes my tears with his thumb. I can only nod. I know the jungle man is happiest here, but I will miss him dearly. I drop a sack of supplies at the base of the treehouse. Tarzan asks us to wait while he sees what has happened to his home in his absence. I am fine with remaining on the ground. I am physically and emotionally exhausted.
Tarzan scurries up the vines, giving me wonderful final upward look at his firm buttocks. William grabs me from behind and pulls me close. He kisses my neck as I squeeze his forearms. I survey the landscape as we wait. It is majestic. I close my eyes and listen. The birds. The wind. The trees. Many noises I cannot recognize. There. A river. I open my eyes and look in that direction. Nothing but foliage. I breathe in deeply. The thick jungle air fills my lungs as it envelopes me nearly as tightly as William’s arms.
I joke, “Perhaps we should build a vacation home here.”
William laughs, “Perhaps.” He pauses then whispers, “It is a paradise. Now that you are here, now that you must say goodbye, do you have any regrets?”
I know what he is asking. Do I regret choosing him over Tarzan? The complexity of civilization with its loveless arranged marriages, classist rules and social mores over the simplicity and freedom of the jungle? I probably could be very happy for a short period in this paradise with my very own beautiful savage. I certainly love Tarzan. But not like I love William.
I turn to face him and answer truthfully, “No, no regrets at all, my love.”
The End
An extremely satisfying ending to the saga. Wonderful!
ReplyDeleteWow, thanks. I’m happy to read that as I completely rewrote it this week and was questioning if I should’ve just postponed it.
DeleteI really like the dynamic between James and William. That William's a real catch and seeing him respect his cousin's name at the end was very sweet. Great end to the story!
ReplyDeleteThanks. I appreciate the comment.
DeleteDungeon Keeper and Silver Lion and Black Bear...I mean apart from the serial-story-ness, it was still really hot! :)
ReplyDeleteWait, that word "still" sounds wrong in there--I MEANT that your stories are hot even without specifically being wrestling stories.
Delete...and I liked the ending. 'Cause William, woof! :)
Thanks! I knew you meant something good, but I’ll admit to re-reading your comment to understand it. LOL. I really wanted to upend the usual Tarzan-Jane dynamic and make William a viable rival. I didn’t know who James would choose at the start, but I made William so viable that it just felt right that he ended up winning. :)
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