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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/mushroom-heads/mushroom-heads-3 | Date: Tue, 13 Feb 2024 10:23:07 -0500 From: Mark Smith Subject: Mushroom Heads: The Last of Yas. Chapter 3, Celebrity I've cum more times thank to NIFTY than any lover ever. Show them how much the cummunity means to you and send them some cash. (link https://donate.nifty.org/) CONTENT: An explicit gay retelling of the Last of Us. Will Joel be able to keep Eli safe? And from what? Sci-fi / Fantasy Slash Fiction Incest (in later episodes) celebrity If you like this story, consider sending your feedback to bodyworkbymarknyc@gmail.com I'm looking to write the whole show and want to hear from you. Connect online at @Gayfan_Erotica on x Treat me to a cup of coffee or some lube. $storiesbymark on cashapp CHAPTER 3: ELI, LEAVING THE QZ, "Keep your fucking head down." Joel hissed as he grabbed me by the belt loop and pulled me to the ground. I hit the ground hard. Joel was more substantial than he looked, and he looked strong. Not as big as Martin, but still impressive. If he wasn't so much of an asshole, he might be nice to look at, but every time he glanced my way, I thought he might want to stab me. "Cut the kid some slack, Joel; He's never been outside the QZ before." Said Trey with an edge of softness. Now Trey was a beautiful man. Could have even been a model back in the day. I kept finding myself distracted. Imagining Trey's arms around me, the feel of his stubble on my cheek, and the scent of his pits in my nose. Joel might have been the enormous hunk of the two, but I could already tell the guy was an asshole--one of those fragile masculinity guys with biceps rather than brains. "Coddling him will just get us all killed," Joel said, looking back at Trey. He had barely acknowledged that I was there as we made our way out of Boston. "Listen, kid. The most dangerous thing we're gonna come up against for the next few hours is FEDRA soldiers, not infected. They will shoot to kill. So stay quiet, stay low, and do exactly what myself or Trey say, or we will fucking leave you to die." We were huddled next to an old school bus. We were doing our best to stay out of the soft evening rain that had begun to fall. Before we left, I had put on a new pair of clothes, some boots, and a thin rain jacket, but it wasn't doing a great job of keeping the water out. It kept running down my neck and chilling my back. The world outside of the QZ was nothing as I imagined. It was as if a colossal battle had erupted one day, and then everyone had just walked away the next. Cars, trash cans, broken signs, and other vestiges of a world destroyed and littered the area around us. It was hard to imagine that this city had been home to almost half a million people. Some people said fewer people were living in the US now. Trey was still giving Joel a stern look. I wasn't the only one who thought Joel was an asshole. He reminded me of the dicks at FEDRA with the worst guard details, like Anthony Kane. Kane had been assigned night watch to the FEDRA cadets, and he got a perverse pleasure waking us up every night, banging his nightstick on our doors, screaming we had an infected breach, just to laugh as we all jumped to our emergency stations in our underwear. Sneaking out past him the night I had been bit had been the bright spot in an otherwise shit circumstance. I knew his superiors would have chewed him out for losing a cadet. "Let's go," Trey said, pulling me from my memories. He gave me a soft glance as Joel began leading the way, weaving between broken-down cars. We moved in silence for what felt like ages. I stayed between them. Sandwiched between these two hunks, I felt tiny. At one point, Joel heard something, and he quickly stopped. I hadn't been paying enough attention, and I stumbled into him. I tried to move, but he threw his left hand behind himself, palmed me on the back, and pulled me close. He brought one finger to his lips and held us there for minutes. In the distance, explosions and the sounds of distant gunfire rocked the night. I could feel the strength in his muscles and was awed by it. "What was that?" I whispered. "FEDRA clearing out some Infected, I bet. Probably bombing the old train station; rumor has it that theirs a big nest there." Trey whispered, listening to the sound of machine guns. "Let's give it a minute and ensure they don't come closer. As we waited, Joel kept me pressed to him; I could feel his body heat. It was nice to be pressed against something warm, with the chill rain all around us. His back and his ass were solid muscle; it was like being hugged by a rock. Finally, Joel released me. Almost as soon as he had pulled away, I felt like I was missing something. I reached down and adjusted my cock. It hadn't gotten hard, but I had begun to chub up. I hated myself for being attracted to this asshole, but ever since Martin had failed to fuck me, I just felt so overwhelmingly horny. I still didn't want to die a virgin. Joel was absolutely not the man I was gonna give my virginity to, but Trey wouldn't be too bad of an option. Maybe we could sneak away from Joel. "Let's go." Said Joel. Trey patted me on the shoulder and glanced down at my crotch, seemingly knowing what I had been thinking about. "Focus on being quiet for now, kid." I blushed. He must have seen me getting hard when I was pressed against Joel. He slipped in front of me and scouted a few feet ahead before motioning me to come with him. We silently crept through the wreckage of a rain-sodden downtown Boston for another hour or so. Finally, we made it to a street that didn't seem as fucked as the roads we had been on. "We stop here to rest," Joel said. He was pointing to the doorway with a mermaid logo on it. It was a cafe on the Marriot Hotel's ground floor. It was hard to imagine that the big building towering above us was just for people to stay in when they came to visit Boston. Trey slipped in front of Joel and made his way into what had been a cafe, gun drawn. He quickly swept the room and motioned for us to join him inside. I took off my backpack with a sigh and sat down on the cold floor. The place was covered in broken tables, but someone had cleaned a section, so we all had room to sit down. "Will rest here till the rain stops. Get out of those clothes before you catch a chill." Joel said to me. I had started shivering somewhere along the way. He kicked off his boots and set them on the one table that hadn't been destroyed. "I don't have anything else to put on," I said. "Look, I'm not your dad; I won't tell you what to do. Stay wet, but I'm gonna dry my clothes." Joel dropped his bag and stripped off his shirt with that. He pulled his plaid button down over his head, and my mouth dropped open as he did. Joel was a hunk, more than I would have imagined being pressed into him. Beefy, with a chest covered in hair. His pecs were full. I bit my lip, imagining what it would be like to hold them. I was almost immediately disgusted with myself. The guy was a brute, nothing more, not someone I should be fantasizing about. He glanced down at me, clearly catching me checking him out. A look of irritation flashed across his face. "Strip, or you'll catch a cold, and it won't be infected that kill you," he said as he unbuckled his pants, letting them fall to the floor. I did as he said and quickly scrambled out of my clothes, tossing them at his feet. Trey did the same. Soon the three of us were just standing around in our underwear. "You wanna lose the tighty whities, boy?" he said, looking at me. Martin had told me not to tell anyone that I had been infected. If I took them off, he would see the bite marks and know I was infected. "No." "Suit yourself." Joel pulled his own underwear down. His cock swung in front of my face. He had big thick balls that hung low, and his cock was nestled amongst thick black pubes. He scratched his balls, and I swear I could smell the musk on them. His dick was thick and cut. Maybe 4 inches soft. I wondered what it looked like when it got hard. I bet the head swelled up. I imagined it pushing into my hole like Martin's had. Making me squirm on the head of his cock. If Joel notice me staring at his dick he didn't say anything, but Trey certainly gave me a grin. We watched Joel walk to a wall and flipped a switch. A soft glow illuminated the room from one unbroken light bulb in the back. "Powers is still working, so I'm going to go dry our clothes in the hotel dryers," Joel said as gathered up the clothes and walked towards the back of the cafe. "Stay here, stay quiet, and holler real fucking loud if you need me" With that, he stepped out of the room. "He act's like he's shit, but Joel's not a bad guy." Said Trey. I turned to look at him. He was almost as built as Joel was. He'd kept his boxers on. A sign of solidarity with me, I guessed. But I wish I had been able to glance at his cock. I kept wondering if it was as big as Joel's. "Okay." I didn't know what else to say. "He'll keep you safe. We're only an hour's walk from City Hall now." "Why don't we go now?" "Between here and there, there are a lot of infected. Easier to sneak by them during the day. Most of them are blind, so hiding in the dark doesn't help us. Better to wait for the sun." "Cool." We sat there in silence for a few moments. I pulled my legs to my chest, trying to get the cold out. "Come here," Trey said. "What?" "We'll share body heat." Trey patted the floor next to him. Sheepishly I slide myself over to him. Trey was leaning against an old display. He spread his legs and patted the ground in front of his crotch again. I scooted up next to him until he wrapped his legs around me and pulled me close so my back rested against his chest. He wrapped his big arms around me and rested his chin on my head. I started to feel warmer almost right away. I tried scootching back even more until I could feel the bottom of my spine pressed against his back. He let out a deep moan as I did. "I don't know what they taught you in FEDRA, but here's what you need to watch out for, kid. The infected fall into two main categories. Runners and Clickers. Now Runners are people who were recently infected. They are fast, vicious, and unlike the Clickers, they can see. If one is coming for you, the best thing to do is try to put it down. A blow to the head will do it. Use a ranged weapon or a piece of wood; just don't let them get too close. Now Clickers are what you really have to look out for. They are stronger than the Runners. Tougher too. Mushroom carapace grows from their head, which acts as a kind of armor. Makes it harder to get in a killing blow. But it blinds them. Clickers use echolocation. Unless you're well-armed, the best thing to do around a Clicker is find something to throw away from yourself and send them on a wild goose chase after that noise." "Okay." I wasn't paying much attention. Just focusing on what it felt like to be enveloped in his arms. Just his morning, I thought I would never be touched again, and now I'd had two handsome men hold me in less than 24 hours. I was glad I was wearing underwear because my cock began to stiffen at the memory of Martin fucking my throat. "That's why Joel is always trying to keep you silent. He can take down a Runner. But a Clicker is a different story." "Figured he wanted me quiet cuz he hates me," I mumbled. "He seems so angry." "Doesn't hate you, kid; he doesn't even know you; you just remind him of somebody, is all." "Who?" Trey looked at me and sighed a few times, debating what he wanted to say. "Not my story to tell," Trey said, rubbing his arms up and down my side. I liked the feel of his calloused hands on my bare arms. I pushed myself back into him as hard as I could. I felt so small and safe in his arm's I could have let that moment go on forever. His hands moved from my arms to my legs as he rubbed down my shins and thighs; the closer he got to my ass, the more soft moans escaped my lips. "You feeling better, boy?" He asked. His voice was a low grumble. "Yeah." I craned my neck and turned around to look up at him. Trey was smiling down at me in the dim light. He took one hand and gently pressed it against my head, pushing my face into his chest. "We'll keep you safe, boy," I mumbled something about thanks and let my hand come around to touch his stomach. It was taught and furry under my fingers. I let myself run them between his hair. Feeling the low rumble, he let out. "You haven't had anyone take care of you. Have you?" I didn't know what to say to his question, so I just nodded yes. "Been looking for someone to keep you safe?" "I... I..." How did I tell him being safe isn't something I ever thought I would be? To be safe, you needed at least a home and a family, and I had none of that. "I never got the chance to be a father," Trey said. I pulled away from him and looked up at him. "Never had the chance to keep a boy safe." I could tell my eyes were like a puppy dog's at that moment because he stroked my cheek once with the back of his fingers. "You sweet, sweet boy that just needs someone to love him." "Yeah." He snaked his hand between the waist band of my underwear. It felt so good. His fingers began sliding towards my back. I began to squirm in delight. Too late I realized what his fingers would fine. "Wait I. Ummm." But Trey's fingers had already touched my scar. "What's this." "It's ummmm.. Aaa..." I didn't know what to do. I thought of Martin telling me not to let anyone know. But surely I could trust this man. "You can tell me." He looked at me. "I know your special Eli. Martin wanting us to get you out of Boston made me realize something is very special about you. Is it this?" He rubbed my scar again. "Because I think it's this." I felt his fingers drift toward my hole. They gently touched the soft flesh. I felt myself quiver. "This world is dangerous. You need an older man to help keep you safe. Someone you can trust. Say anything to." My dick was growing hard again. I could feel the blood pumping in my ears. "Someone you can tell all your hopes, dreams, and desires. Even tell them what happened to you before. Would you like that?" I was about to answer when I heard the door to the cafe opened. I whipped my head around. Standing in full FEDRA gear was Anthony Kane, the guy who used to terrorize the other cadets and me at night. His machine gun was pointed right at us. "Well, isn't this a surprise? It's the run-a-way faggot that got me demoted." "Kane." I hissed. He was standing there in his soaking-wet uniform, looking like a drowned, harassed rat. I hated him; from his greasy black hair and harsh features, he was disgusting. "Breaking quarantine is punishable by execution, you know." I felt Trey pull me tighter against him. "And what's this, Daddy thinks he can protect you. I know you, Trey; what are you doing leaving the city with FEDRA property." "I'm not property," I said loudly. Hoping Joel could hear us all the way back in the hotel laundry room. He had left his gun in the room when he went to dry out clothes. "We feed you, we cloth you, we were training you for a job, and this is how you repay us, running away with a faggot drug smuggler? Shouldn't have been so sloppy to turn on a light, practically broadcasting your location. I should kill you both here and save myself the paperwork." "Easy, Kane. Let's talk about this. Kill me, and who will supply you with Oxy from outside the city." Trey said. He hadn't let go of me. "You drug runners think you're so special. I'll kill you, and someone else will just take your place. No, you need to give me something I need." He licked his lips and looked down at me. "Training this boy to take dick, I see?" "No," Trey said. His voice was cut with a cold rage. Kane had been pointing the gun at me the whole time. As soon as Trey spoke, he raised the barrel to point at his head. "Pity it's the only thing he'll be good for. Guess I'll just teach him a lesson." "No." "Yes." Kane licked his lips. "Cadet Eli, I'm gonna need you to crawl to me." "Don't do it, Eli," Trey said. "If you don't, I'm gonna kill your friend here." I still hadn't heard Joel come back in. I needed to buy him more time to help us out. "Which is really a shame since all your other friends are already dead." "What do you mean?" Trey Said. Clearly thinking of Joel. "The City Hall Fireflies. Can only imagine that's where you were trying to go, but guess you didn't hear. A big fight broke out there today between them and the infected." "When?" "Just a few hours ago. They're all dead. All of em." Kane laughed. "Fuck." Trey said under his breath. "So no one is coming to help you, and there is nowhere to go. Better start giving me what I want unless both of you want to join the ranks of the dead tonight." "It's okay, Trey," I said. "Let me go." reluctantly, I felt Trey's grip on me lessen. I looked up at Kane. I hated Kane. The man was a monster. The thought of him being the first one to fuck me filled me with disgust, but I couldn't let him shoot Trey. I just needed to buy us time. "Crawl." was all he said--pointing to a spot on the floor. "I SAID CRAWL FAGGOT." he yelled, pointing at the floor again. I made my way on my hands and knees to him. He looked down at me with a sneer and grabbed his crotch. "I'm gonna fuck you in front of your boyfriend," "He's not my boyfriend." "Well, your dick seems to think differently," he smirked. I looked down. My dick was hard in my underwear, straining against the wet fabric. The outline of my cock head was visible. "Then why does he look so upset that I'm gonna fuck you. He should be turned on. I know what he and Joel get up to." he said before spitting on me. "Now turn around and look at him." I did, still on my hands and knees. My ass was facing Kane as I looked toward Trey; I could see the rage building in him. "Such a pretty peach your boy has." I felt the cold barrel of his gun on the bottom of my spine. I'd realized too late what would happen. "Please," I muttered. "Please don't." If he pulled down my underwear, I knew he would see my infection mark and shoot me. "I'll do anything, anything else." I turned around and looked up at Kane. He had a vicious sneer. "Turn back around faggot I want you to look into your man's eyes as I fuck you." I turned back around and stared at Trey. At least I was going to die looking at a handsome man. If only Kane had shown up an hour later, I think I wouldn't have died a virgin. I felt him dig the barrel of his gun into my back, dragging it backward and pulling my underwear with it. It slowly crested the top of my ass. He pulled my underwear completely down and pushed the barrel of his gun against my hole. "What is that?" Kane said, surprised. He had seen the scar. He sent me sprawling across the floor with one swift kick to my ass. "Eli," Trey shouted. "What are you doing with an infected." Kane bellowed, pointing his gun at Trey. "Infected?" Trey said. I watched as his eyes left my face to glance at my ass; his face fell as he looked at me. "Oh, Eli, I'm so sorry." "No, no, I'm not infected," I screamed. "Please. No!" "Too bad, Eli. Besides that bite, you've got one juicy ass." I turned around and looked at him as he leveled his gun at me. "Any last words." "Please. I'm not infected." I begged. I thought I would be stronger in the end. "Sure." He said with a wicked grin. "Bye, Eli." right before he could pull the trigger, A loud roar filled the room as a naked Joel lept from behind the counter in one swift move. He landed on Kane, knocking him to the floor. A flurry of shots rang out from his machine gun as it and Kane clattered to the ground. I scrambled backward as Joel slammed his fist repeatedly into Kane's head. Kane screamed at first, and then it became a gurgle, and finally, he went quiet. All I could hear were the sounds of Joel beating Kane to a pulp. I didn't know what to do. I stood there shocked, looking at this naked hunk of a man now covered in blood. "Joel... Please," said Trey with a cough. I turned towards him. He was lying on his side, holding his stomach. Red blooming all around him. "TREY," I yelled. That pulled Joel from his murderous rampage. He looked up from Kane and at his friend for the first time. "Trey, buddy, No." In an instant, Joel was at his side. "Trey, stay with me." Panic entered Joel's voice. "You've got to keep the kid safe." "No, we're returning to the QZ to get you to help." "I won't make it." "You don't know that." "Doesn't matter; you have something more important to do. Joel, the kids immune." "What?" Joel turned to look at me. My underwear was still pulled down. "You are, aren't you?" Trey said as he coughed up blood. "I.... I.." I thought of Martin telling me to tell no one. "Show him." Trey coughed again. Slowly I stood up and turned around, showing them both my ass. I heard Joel gasp. "Fuck." I turned around, and he had his gun leveled at me, still cradling Trey in his other arm. "I'm not infected. I promise. That's why Martin was getting me out. He thinks I could be the cure. The fireflies have a base in Utah; they think my blood is the key." I stared at them both. All of the words just poured from my mouth. "I was bitten eight days ago. And I didn't change." "That's not possible," Joel said. "No one's immune." "I am." "No." Joel cocked his gun. "Joel," Trey said. His breathing was coming ragged. "Look at him. Look at the scar. It's healed over... Why else would Martin promise us a FEDRA car and guns? This kid is not just some brat of some big wig Firefly. He's humanity's last chance." "No, I.." "Watch him tonight; if he changes, kill him. But he won't." "I can't.." "Listen, Joel, I never ask you for anything. But promise me this. Keep this kid safe. The Fireflies at city hall have all been killed. Get him to Bill and Frank. They can take the kid." "Trey, I can't do this without you."Joel's voice was steady, but it didn't mask the pain behind it. "You have to. Do this for all of us, Joel. We've done some bad shit in our times, but this is our chance, save this kid, and you wipe clean our slate. Please, Joel, don't let me die with a dark conscious. I need to know you will do this." "Trey. I..." "You won't lose me, Joel. I've been yours for years now. And I'll still be yours after I'm gone." "That's not fair." "Keep him safe. Get him to Bill and Frank.." They both looked at me once more. I started to shiver. "He needs someone, Joel. And we both know you're at your best when caring for someone. Just look at me." he lifted his hand and brushed Joel's face. His fingers left a trace of blood against his jaw. "Trey... I.. I..." Joel looked at his friend with wild eyes. "Yeah, I love you too." Trey groaned and pulled himself up to Joel. He kissed him once. And then let go, sliding back to the floor. "Thank you." he turned his eyes to me. "Now you keep this man from becoming a monster, you hear." "Yes, sir," I said. Joel turned to look at me. When he looked back at Trey, he was gone. His eyes vacant pools. The scream that came out of Joel was unlike anything I had heard before. Deep and primal. He sat naked, covered in his lover's blood, howling to the night sky. I just stared at him for what felt like ages--waiting for him to remember that I was there. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Tue, 13 Feb 2024 10:23:07 -0500
From: Mark Smith <bodyworkbymarknyc@gmail.com>
Subject: Mushroom Heads: The Last of Yas. Chapter 3, Celebrity
I've cum more times thank to NIFTY than any lover ever. Show them how
much the cummunity means to you and send them some
cash. (link https://donate.nifty.org/)
CONTENT: An explicit gay retelling of the Last of Us. Will Joel be able
to keep Eli safe? And from what?
Sci-fi / Fantasy
Slash Fiction
Incest (in later episodes)
celebrity
If you like this story, consider sending your feedback
to bodyworkbymarknyc@gmail.com I'm looking to write the whole show and
want to hear from you. Connect online at @Gayfan_Erotica on x
Treat me to a cup of coffee or some lube. $storiesbymark on cashapp
CHAPTER 3: ELI, LEAVING THE QZ,
"Keep your fucking head down." Joel hissed as he grabbed me by the
belt loop and pulled me to the ground. I hit the ground hard. Joel was more
substantial than he looked, and he looked strong. Not as big as Martin, but
still impressive. If he wasn't so much of an asshole, he might be nice to
look at, but every time he glanced my way, I thought he might want to stab
me.
"Cut the kid some slack, Joel; He's never been outside the QZ
before." Said Trey with an edge of softness. Now Trey was a beautiful
man. Could have even been a model back in the day. I kept finding myself
distracted. Imagining Trey's arms around me, the feel of his stubble on my
cheek, and the scent of his pits in my nose. Joel might have been the
enormous hunk of the two, but I could already tell the guy was an
asshole--one of those fragile masculinity guys with biceps rather than
brains.
"Coddling him will just get us all killed," Joel said, looking back
at Trey. He had barely acknowledged that I was there as we made our way out
of Boston. "Listen, kid. The most dangerous thing we're gonna come up
against for the next few hours is FEDRA soldiers, not infected. They will
shoot to kill. So stay quiet, stay low, and do exactly what myself or Trey
say, or we will fucking leave you to die." We were huddled next to an old
school bus. We were doing our best to stay out of the soft evening rain
that had begun to fall. Before we left, I had put on a new pair of clothes,
some boots, and a thin rain jacket, but it wasn't doing a great job of
keeping the water out. It kept running down my neck and chilling my back.
The world outside of the QZ was nothing as I imagined. It was as if a
colossal battle had erupted one day, and then everyone had just walked away
the next. Cars, trash cans, broken signs, and other vestiges of a world
destroyed and littered the area around us. It was hard to imagine that this
city had been home to almost half a million people. Some people said fewer
people were living in the US now. Trey was still giving Joel a stern
look. I wasn't the only one who thought Joel was an asshole. He reminded me
of the dicks at FEDRA with the worst guard details, like Anthony Kane. Kane
had been assigned night watch to the FEDRA cadets, and he got a perverse
pleasure waking us up every night, banging his nightstick on our doors,
screaming we had an infected breach, just to laugh as we all jumped to our
emergency stations in our underwear. Sneaking out past him the night I had
been bit had been the bright spot in an otherwise shit circumstance. I knew
his superiors would have chewed him out for losing a cadet.
"Let's go," Trey said, pulling me from my memories. He gave me a
soft glance as Joel began leading the way, weaving between broken-down
cars. We moved in silence for what felt like ages. I stayed between
them. Sandwiched between these two hunks, I felt tiny. At one point, Joel
heard something, and he quickly stopped. I hadn't been paying enough
attention, and I stumbled into him. I tried to move, but he threw his left
hand behind himself, palmed me on the back, and pulled me close. He brought
one finger to his lips and held us there for minutes. In the distance,
explosions and the sounds of distant gunfire rocked the night. I could feel
the strength in his muscles and was awed by it.
"What was that?" I whispered.
"FEDRA clearing out some Infected, I bet. Probably bombing the old
train station; rumor has it that theirs a big nest there." Trey whispered,
listening to the sound of machine guns. "Let's give it a minute and ensure
they don't come closer. As we waited, Joel kept me pressed to him; I could
feel his body heat. It was nice to be pressed against something warm, with
the chill rain all around us. His back and his ass were solid muscle; it
was like being hugged by a rock.
Finally, Joel released me. Almost as soon as he had pulled away, I
felt like I was missing something. I reached down and adjusted my cock. It
hadn't gotten hard, but I had begun to chub up. I hated myself for being
attracted to this asshole, but ever since Martin had failed to fuck me, I
just felt so overwhelmingly horny. I still didn't want to die a
virgin. Joel was absolutely not the man I was gonna give my virginity to,
but Trey wouldn't be too bad of an option. Maybe we could sneak away from
Joel.
"Let's go." Said Joel. Trey patted me on the shoulder and glanced down at
my crotch, seemingly knowing what I had been thinking about.
"Focus on being quiet for now, kid." I blushed. He must have seen me
getting hard when I was pressed against Joel. He slipped in front of me and
scouted a few feet ahead before motioning me to come with him. We silently
crept through the wreckage of a rain-sodden downtown Boston for another
hour or so. Finally, we made it to a street that didn't seem as fucked as
the roads we had been on.
"We stop here to rest," Joel said. He was pointing to the doorway
with a mermaid logo on it. It was a cafe on the Marriot Hotel's ground
floor. It was hard to imagine that the big building towering above us was
just for people to stay in when they came to visit Boston. Trey slipped in
front of Joel and made his way into what had been a cafe, gun drawn. He
quickly swept the room and motioned for us to join him inside. I took off
my backpack with a sigh and sat down on the cold floor. The place was
covered in broken tables, but someone had cleaned a section, so we all had
room to sit down.
"Will rest here till the rain stops. Get out of those clothes
before you catch a chill." Joel said to me. I had started shivering
somewhere along the way. He kicked off his boots and set them on the one
table that hadn't been destroyed.
"I don't have anything else to put on," I said.
"Look, I'm not your dad; I won't tell you what to do. Stay wet, but
I'm gonna dry my clothes." Joel dropped his bag and stripped off his shirt
with that. He pulled his plaid button down over his head, and my mouth
dropped open as he did.
Joel was a hunk, more than I would have imagined being pressed into
him. Beefy, with a chest covered in hair. His pecs were full. I bit my lip,
imagining what it would be like to hold them. I was almost immediately
disgusted with myself. The guy was a brute, nothing more, not someone I
should be fantasizing about.
He glanced down at me, clearly catching me checking him out. A look of
irritation flashed across his face. "Strip, or you'll catch a cold, and it
won't be infected that kill you," he said as he unbuckled his pants,
letting them fall to the floor. I did as he said and quickly scrambled out
of my clothes, tossing them at his feet. Trey did the same. Soon the three
of us were just standing around in our underwear.
"You wanna lose the tighty whities, boy?" he said, looking at
me. Martin had told me not to tell anyone that I had been infected. If I
took them off, he would see the bite marks and know I was infected.
"No."
"Suit yourself." Joel pulled his own underwear down. His cock swung
in front of my face. He had big thick balls that hung low, and his cock was
nestled amongst thick black pubes. He scratched his balls, and I swear I
could smell the musk on them. His dick was thick and cut. Maybe 4 inches
soft. I wondered what it looked like when it got hard. I bet the head
swelled up. I imagined it pushing into my hole like Martin's had. Making me
squirm on the head of his cock. If Joel notice me staring at his dick he
didn't say anything, but Trey certainly gave me a grin. We watched Joel
walk to a wall and flipped a switch. A soft glow illuminated the room from
one unbroken light bulb in the back.
"Powers is still working, so I'm going to go dry our clothes in the
hotel dryers," Joel said as gathered up the clothes and walked towards the
back of the cafe. "Stay here, stay quiet, and holler real fucking loud if
you need me" With that, he stepped out of the room.
"He act's like he's shit, but Joel's not a bad guy." Said Trey. I
turned to look at him. He was almost as built as Joel was. He'd kept his
boxers on. A sign of solidarity with me, I guessed. But I wish I had been
able to glance at his cock. I kept wondering if it was as big as Joel's.
"Okay." I didn't know what else to say.
"He'll keep you safe. We're only an hour's walk from City Hall
now."
"Why don't we go now?"
"Between here and there, there are a lot of infected. Easier to sneak by
them during the day. Most of them are blind, so hiding in the dark doesn't
help us. Better to wait for the sun."
"Cool." We sat there in silence for a few moments. I pulled my legs to my
chest, trying to get the cold out.
"Come here," Trey said.
"What?"
"We'll share body heat." Trey patted the floor next to him. Sheepishly I
slide myself over to him. Trey was leaning against an old display. He
spread his legs and patted the ground in front of his crotch again. I
scooted up next to him until he wrapped his legs around me and pulled me
close so my back rested against his chest. He wrapped his big arms around
me and rested his chin on my head. I started to feel warmer almost right
away. I tried scootching back even more until I could feel the bottom of my
spine pressed against his back. He let out a deep moan as I did.
"I don't know what they taught you in FEDRA, but here's what you need to
watch out for, kid. The infected fall into two main categories. Runners and
Clickers. Now Runners are people who were recently infected. They are fast,
vicious, and unlike the Clickers, they can see. If one is coming for you,
the best thing to do is try to put it down. A blow to the head will do
it. Use a ranged weapon or a piece of wood; just don't let them get too
close. Now Clickers are what you really have to look out for. They are
stronger than the Runners. Tougher too. Mushroom carapace grows from their
head, which acts as a kind of armor. Makes it harder to get in a killing
blow. But it blinds them. Clickers use echolocation. Unless you're
well-armed, the best thing to do around a Clicker is find something to
throw away from yourself and send them on a wild goose chase after that
noise."
"Okay." I wasn't paying much attention. Just focusing on what it felt like
to be enveloped in his arms. Just his morning, I thought I would never be
touched again, and now I'd had two handsome men hold me in less than 24
hours. I was glad I was wearing underwear because my cock began to stiffen
at the memory of Martin fucking my throat.
"That's why Joel is always trying to keep you silent. He can take down a
Runner. But a Clicker is a different story."
"Figured he wanted me quiet cuz he hates me," I mumbled. "He seems so
angry."
"Doesn't hate you, kid; he doesn't even know you; you just remind him of
somebody, is all."
"Who?" Trey looked at me and sighed a few times, debating what he wanted to
say.
"Not my story to tell," Trey said, rubbing his arms up and down my side. I
liked the feel of his calloused hands on my bare arms. I pushed myself back
into him as hard as I could. I felt so small and safe in his arm's I could
have let that moment go on forever. His hands moved from my arms to my legs
as he rubbed down my shins and thighs; the closer he got to my ass, the
more soft moans escaped my lips.
"You feeling better, boy?" He asked. His voice was a low grumble.
"Yeah." I craned my neck and turned around to look up at him. Trey was
smiling down at me in the dim light. He took one hand and gently pressed it
against my head, pushing my face into his chest.
"We'll keep you safe, boy," I mumbled something about thanks and let my
hand come around to touch his stomach. It was taught and furry under my
fingers. I let myself run them between his hair. Feeling the low rumble, he
let out.
"You haven't had anyone take care of you. Have you?" I didn't know what to
say to his question, so I just nodded yes. "Been looking for someone to
keep you safe?"
"I... I..." How did I tell him being safe isn't something I ever thought I
would be? To be safe, you needed at least a home and a family, and I had
none of that.
"I never got the chance to be a father," Trey said. I pulled away from him
and looked up at him. "Never had the chance to keep a boy safe." I could
tell my eyes were like a puppy dog's at that moment because he stroked my
cheek once with the back of his fingers.
"You sweet, sweet boy that just needs someone to love him."
"Yeah." He snaked his hand between the waist band of my underwear. It felt
so good. His fingers began sliding towards my back. I began to squirm in
delight. Too late I realized what his fingers would fine.
"Wait I. Ummm." But Trey's fingers had already touched my scar.
"What's this."
"It's ummmm.. Aaa..." I didn't know what to do. I thought of Martin telling
me not to let anyone know. But surely I could trust this man.
"You can tell me." He looked at me. "I know your special Eli. Martin
wanting us to get you out of Boston made me realize something is very
special about you. Is it this?" He rubbed my scar again. "Because I think
it's this." I felt his fingers drift toward my hole. They gently touched
the soft flesh. I felt myself quiver.
"This world is dangerous. You need an older man to help keep you
safe. Someone you can trust. Say anything to." My dick was growing hard
again. I could feel the blood pumping in my ears. "Someone you can tell all
your hopes, dreams, and desires. Even tell them what happened to you
before. Would you like that?" I was about to answer when I heard the door
to the cafe opened. I whipped my head around. Standing in full FEDRA gear
was Anthony Kane, the guy who used to terrorize the other cadets and me at
night. His machine gun was pointed right at us.
"Well, isn't this a surprise? It's the run-a-way faggot that got me
demoted."
"Kane." I hissed. He was standing there in his soaking-wet uniform, looking
like a drowned, harassed rat. I hated him; from his greasy black hair and
harsh features, he was disgusting.
"Breaking quarantine is punishable by execution, you know." I felt Trey
pull me tighter against him. "And what's this, Daddy thinks he can protect
you. I know you, Trey; what are you doing leaving the city with FEDRA
property."
"I'm not property," I said loudly. Hoping Joel could hear us all the way
back in the hotel laundry room. He had left his gun in the room when he
went to dry out clothes.
"We feed you, we cloth you, we were training you for a job, and this is how
you repay us, running away with a faggot drug smuggler? Shouldn't have been
so sloppy to turn on a light, practically broadcasting your location. I
should kill you both here and save myself the paperwork."
"Easy, Kane. Let's talk about this. Kill me, and who will supply you with
Oxy from outside the city." Trey said. He hadn't let go of me.
"You drug runners think you're so special. I'll kill you, and someone else
will just take your place. No, you need to give me something I need." He
licked his lips and looked down at me. "Training this boy to take dick, I
see?"
"No," Trey said. His voice was cut with a cold rage. Kane had been pointing
the gun at me the whole time. As soon as Trey spoke, he raised the barrel
to point at his head.
"Pity it's the only thing he'll be good for. Guess I'll just teach him a
lesson."
"No."
"Yes." Kane licked his lips. "Cadet Eli, I'm gonna need you to crawl to
me."
"Don't do it, Eli," Trey said.
"If you don't, I'm gonna kill your friend here." I still hadn't heard Joel
come back in. I needed to buy him more time to help us out. "Which is
really a shame since all your other friends are already dead."
"What do you mean?" Trey Said. Clearly thinking of Joel.
"The City Hall Fireflies. Can only imagine that's where you were trying to
go, but guess you didn't hear. A big fight broke out there today between
them and the infected."
"When?"
"Just a few hours ago. They're all dead. All of em." Kane laughed.
"Fuck." Trey said under his breath.
"So no one is coming to help you, and there is nowhere to go. Better start
giving me what I want unless both of you want to join the ranks of the dead
tonight."
"It's okay, Trey," I said. "Let me go." reluctantly, I felt Trey's grip on
me lessen. I looked up at Kane. I hated Kane. The man was a monster. The
thought of him being the first one to fuck me filled me with disgust, but I
couldn't let him shoot Trey. I just needed to buy us time.
"Crawl." was all he said--pointing to a spot on the floor. "I SAID CRAWL
FAGGOT." he yelled, pointing at the floor again. I made my way on my hands
and knees to him. He looked down at me with a sneer and grabbed his
crotch. "I'm gonna fuck you in front of your boyfriend,"
"He's not my boyfriend."
"Well, your dick seems to think differently," he smirked. I looked down. My
dick was hard in my underwear, straining against the wet fabric. The
outline of my cock head was visible.
"Then why does he look so upset that I'm gonna fuck you. He should be
turned on. I know what he and Joel get up to." he said before spitting on
me. "Now turn around and look at him." I did, still on my hands and
knees. My ass was facing Kane as I looked toward Trey; I could see the rage
building in him. "Such a pretty peach your boy has." I felt the cold barrel
of his gun on the bottom of my spine. I'd realized too late what would
happen.
"Please," I muttered. "Please don't." If he pulled down my underwear, I
knew he would see my infection mark and shoot me. "I'll do anything,
anything else." I turned around and looked up at Kane. He had a vicious
sneer.
"Turn back around faggot I want you to look into your man's eyes as I fuck
you." I turned back around and stared at Trey. At least I was going to die
looking at a handsome man. If only Kane had shown up an hour later, I think
I wouldn't have died a virgin. I felt him dig the barrel of his gun into my
back, dragging it backward and pulling my underwear with it. It slowly
crested the top of my ass. He pulled my underwear completely down and
pushed the barrel of his gun against my hole. "What is that?" Kane said,
surprised. He had seen the scar. He sent me sprawling across the floor with
one swift kick to my ass.
"Eli," Trey shouted.
"What are you doing with an infected." Kane bellowed, pointing his gun at
Trey.
"Infected?" Trey said. I watched as his eyes left my face to glance at my
ass; his face fell as he looked at me. "Oh, Eli, I'm so sorry."
"No, no, I'm not infected," I screamed. "Please. No!"
"Too bad, Eli. Besides that bite, you've got one juicy ass." I turned
around and looked at him as he leveled his gun at me. "Any last words."
"Please. I'm not infected." I begged. I thought I would be stronger in the
end.
"Sure." He said with a wicked grin. "Bye, Eli." right before he could pull
the trigger, A loud roar filled the room as a naked Joel lept from behind
the counter in one swift move. He landed on Kane, knocking him to the
floor. A flurry of shots rang out from his machine gun as it and Kane
clattered to the ground. I scrambled backward as Joel slammed his fist
repeatedly into Kane's head. Kane screamed at first, and then it became a
gurgle, and finally, he went quiet. All I could hear were the sounds of
Joel beating Kane to a pulp. I didn't know what to do. I stood there
shocked, looking at this naked hunk of a man now covered in blood.
"Joel... Please," said Trey with a cough. I turned towards him. He was
lying on his side, holding his stomach. Red blooming all around him.
"TREY," I yelled. That pulled Joel from his murderous rampage. He looked up
from Kane and at his friend for the first time.
"Trey, buddy, No." In an instant, Joel was at his side. "Trey, stay with
me." Panic entered Joel's voice.
"You've got to keep the kid safe."
"No, we're returning to the QZ to get you to help."
"I won't make it."
"You don't know that."
"Doesn't matter; you have something more important to do. Joel, the kids
immune."
"What?" Joel turned to look at me. My underwear was still pulled down.
"You are, aren't you?" Trey said as he coughed up blood.
"I.... I.." I thought of Martin telling me to tell no one.
"Show him." Trey coughed again. Slowly I stood up and turned around,
showing them both my ass. I heard Joel gasp.
"Fuck." I turned around, and he had his gun leveled at me, still cradling
Trey in his other arm.
"I'm not infected. I promise. That's why Martin was getting me out. He
thinks I could be the cure. The fireflies have a base in Utah; they think
my blood is the key." I stared at them both. All of the words just poured
from my mouth. "I was bitten eight days ago. And I didn't change."
"That's not possible," Joel said. "No one's immune."
"I am."
"No." Joel cocked his gun.
"Joel," Trey said. His breathing was coming ragged. "Look at him. Look at
the scar. It's healed over... Why else would Martin promise us a FEDRA car
and guns? This kid is not just some brat of some big wig Firefly. He's
humanity's last chance."
"No, I.."
"Watch him tonight; if he changes, kill him. But he won't."
"I can't.."
"Listen, Joel, I never ask you for anything. But promise me this. Keep this
kid safe. The Fireflies at city hall have all been killed. Get him to Bill
and Frank. They can take the kid."
"Trey, I can't do this without you."Joel's voice was steady, but it didn't
mask the pain behind it.
"You have to. Do this for all of us, Joel. We've done some bad shit in our
times, but this is our chance, save this kid, and you wipe clean our
slate. Please, Joel, don't let me die with a dark conscious. I need to know
you will do this."
"Trey. I..."
"You won't lose me, Joel. I've been yours for years now. And I'll still be
yours after I'm gone."
"That's not fair."
"Keep him safe. Get him to Bill and Frank.." They both looked at me once
more. I started to shiver. "He needs someone, Joel. And we both know you're
at your best when caring for someone. Just look at me." he lifted his hand
and brushed Joel's face. His fingers left a trace of blood against his jaw.
"Trey... I.. I..." Joel looked at his friend with wild eyes.
"Yeah, I love you too." Trey groaned and pulled himself up to Joel. He
kissed him once. And then let go, sliding back to the floor. "Thank you."
he turned his eyes to me. "Now you keep this man from becoming a monster,
you hear."
"Yes, sir," I said. Joel turned to look at me. When he looked back at Trey,
he was gone. His eyes vacant pools. The scream that came out of Joel was
unlike anything I had heard before. Deep and primal. He sat naked, covered
in his lover's blood, howling to the night sky. I just stared at him for
what felt like ages--waiting for him to remember that I was there.
</bodyworkbymarknyc@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/cole-el-elite | Date: Mon, 15 Apr 2024 08:00:00 +0100 From: PCW Tosh Subject: Cole el Elite Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence that this actually happened, but we can all dream. Stay healthy and practice safe sex! Happy reading. Cole el Elite Cole Sprouse sat at home watching Spanish teen drama Elite. The Riverdale star had to admit the Spanish TV series was incredibly raunchy. This new guy, Manu Rios...Cole's cock doubled within his boxers, watching the hunky actor, flaunting his beautiful slender body in nothing but swimming trunks, fuck! "Dude, control yourself." Dylan sniggered, glancing down at his brother's crotch. "Ok. One...he's hot. Two...stop checking me out you perv!" Cole chuckled. "I think we should go to Spain." Dylan replied, batting away Cole's disgust with a mischievous look on his face. "Sounds like a plan." Cole agreed. "Vamos a España." Cole commented on one of Manu's Instagram stories. The Riverdale star smirked to himself wondering if the Spanish actor even knew who he was, did they get Riverdale in Spain, and even if Spain got Riverdale, did Manu watch it?! Cole shrugged to himself and mindlessly began to flick through Netflix for something else to watch. "Gimme that." Dylan barked, taking the remote and cycling through the shows. "How about Friends?" Cole suggested. "Hate that show." Dylan scoffed, still irritated that the directors had picked Cole over him to be Ben all those years ago. A week later the Sprouse twins were on their way to Spain, travelling to the coastal city of Valencia. Their hotel overlooked Playa Malvarosa, providing the perfect location for the twins. The relaxing beach, the row of bars and the relaxing Spanish lifestyle was all they needed to get away from their busy schedules. On their first night in the city the twins made their way down to the harbour. Compared to the beach bars, this part of the city had a little more class. Multiple door staff, girls dressed in designer dresses and men flashing expensive watches. Heads turned as they joined the queue. The Sprouse twins were well known from the hit TV show the Suite Life of Zack and Cody. Posing for a few photos, the twins caused enough commotion to catch the attention of the manager who strolled up the queue. "Come with me." She called, pulling them out of the line and leading them to the front. "Pose for a few pictures and you can get in for free." She offered. The twins nodded to each other then stood to pose for a selfie with the manager and the entry supervisor. "Have fun." She beamed, nodding to the door staff who stepped aside to allow them in. The atmosphere within the club was bouncing with people dancing whilst clutching their drinks of beer, classy cocktails and expensive champagne. Dancers performed their elaborate routines on raised platforms with flashing lights to dazzle the party goers. Inside the fancy club, the twins made their way through the main dance floor and up to the rooftop bar. Stepping out into the warm night air, the rooftop was just as busy as the floor below; however the dancers' show had a spectacular fire display to add some extra heat to their performance. The twins made their way to the bar and ordered themselves a drink each. Once the barman had served their liberally poured cocktails, Cole took out his phone and took a picture of their drinks with the club's dancers in the background. Within minutes of posting the picture, Cole had thousands of likes bringing a proud smile to Cole's sweet face. "Hey, can I get a selfie with you?" a voice asked. Cole grinned, swinging around then his jaw hit the ground. "Heyyy." he gaped, looking back at the person requesting the picture. "Hey." Manu Rios repeated beaming wide. "Oh brother." Dylan mumbled. "Sure." Cole beamed, throwing his eyes towards Dylan as if to say, "I can't believe it, it actually worked." The Elite star squeezed himself between the Sprouse twins and counted them down for a cheesy grin selfie. Cole took the opportunity to press himself as close as possible to Manu, inhaling the Spaniard's strong aftershave. With his mind preoccupied Cole hadn't even been looking in the right place for the picture. "Cole, your eyes look strange." Manu giggled, showing Cole his face. "Shit, I'm sorry." Cole replied, his embarrassment hidden by the darkness of the lighting in the club. Dylan could see the energy between them, quiet and understated, but it was definitely there. "Would you like to come and join us?" Manu asked, pointing across to his group of friends. Dylan knew what was coming next, Cole looked at him with a pleading look in his eyes, "sure." Dylan nodded with a smile. The minutes ticked by with the Sprouse twins mingling comfortably with Manu's group of friends, some of whom they recognised and others not. The twins danced the night away, finding that whenever their drinks were empty another one was being handed to them. Beautiful Spanish girls ground themselves tight to the Sprouse's slim yet manly bodies. Cole's eyes however remained on Manu and he was sure the Elite star was giving him the eye right back. Manu excused himself from the group to sit down closely followed by Cole. "Fuck man, I'm shattered." Manu sighed. "I hear you bro, cool place though." Cole replied beaming back at the Spaniard. "You haven't got any places like this in America?" Manu asked with a hint of surprise. "Oh loads, but it's always better when you're on holiday." Cole grinned. "And you're with out with cool guys like yourself." Cole added, winking shamelessly. There was a brief pause, Manu reading Cole's facial expression to confirm the American was indeed laying the foundations to make a pass at him. "Yeah it's pretty awesome, I might go home soon though, what are you two doing tonight?" Manu asked. "Nothing special, we're on holiday." Cole shrugged. "Shall we continue the party at my place then?" Manu smiled, his blue eyes glistening in the moonlight. "I'd love that." Cole smiled. "Does your brother want to come?" Manu asked glancing over to Dylan. "Not if we are going to have a private party." Cole smiled cooly. "Fucking whore." Dylan giggled to himself looking around to find his brother had disappeared along with his target for the night. The remaining Sprouse couldn't complain, no sooner had Cole left, Dylan found himself tongue deep in a sweet brunette girl. } "Make yourself at home." Manu offered, showing Cole into his apartment and setting the light to a romantic dimness. The Elite star then set about completing the romantic mood by lighting some candles around the room. Even in the reduced light Manu looked absolutely stunning with his exotic Mediterranean features the Iberian actor was very easy on the eyes. Cole settled into a modern couch with massive cushions that looked red in the darkness. The Elite star didn't keep Cole waiting long, presenting a bottle of red wine and two glasses. The American watched on as Manu liberally filled up each glass then placed the bottle down in the middle of the table. Manu held his glass up for Cole to cheers. A light clink echoed around the room followed by a short silence as they enjoyed a brief sip of the full-bodied Rioja before returning their glasses to the table and looking into each other's eyes once more. "Beautiful." Cole smiled referring to the wine. "Not as beautiful as you." Manu breathed leaning in closer. Cole's cock thickened instantaneously and reaching for the advancing Spaniard he took Manu by his sides. In the blink of an eye, the Elite star had pounced for Cole's lips falling into the American's waiting arms. The Riverdale star caught Manu, rocking back and allowing Manu's weight to press him down to the couch and one of those large red cushions. The Spaniard's beautiful red lips went to work kissing hard at Cole's mouth who responded by offering Manu his tongue. Manu accepted, wrapping his arms around Cole's upper body so that as they kissed the young studs were pressed chest to chest. Cole ran his hands down the Spaniard's wonderfully toned back, studying the density of the muscles as he moved south. Manu responded to Cole's wandering hands by reaching up to unbutton his own shirt, quickly unpinning each button before throwing his shirt open then reaching across to the American's shirt. Cole read the signal and moved his hands back up Manu's back, retracing the route back towards the north stopping by the sleeves. Cole waited until the Elite star had finished unbuttoning his shirt and then tugged at the Spaniard's sleeves, pulling Manu's hands back and liberating him of his shirt. Freshly exposed, Manu leaned down into Cole and planted another long firm kiss on the beautiful American. The Riverdale star was only too happy to accept Manu's affection for the half dozen seconds the Spaniard afforded him. After 6 seconds of deep kissing, Manu peeled away from Cole's soft lips and began to descend the American's smooth body. As Manu's face retreated from Cole's, his hypnotic brown eyes looked up into Cole's, then back down at the Riverdale star's body as he applied another soft kiss then back up at Cole descending with each kiss slowly. Manu's forearm glanced across Cole's bulge before his fingers found the American's zipper. Cole could feel his heart rattling at an alarming rate with the excitement of the sexy European's attention. Manu made quick work of the zipper, throwing Cole's trousers open and locking on to the American's bulging boxers. "Oh Jesus." Cole sighed to the heavens as Manu took a nice firm handful of his bulge causing it to jump for joy. The sexy Spaniard didn't tease Cole for long, slipping his hand into the fly, he removed the American's hard 6.5-inch boner. Cole looked down his smooth body and watched Manu lower his face into view. "Jesus Fucking Christ!" Cole hissed as Manu ran his tongue down the American's hard shaft and closed his lips around Cole's boner, encasing the Riverdale star's erection in a warm cave of wetness. Manu began to roll his lips along Cole's boner, moving slowly and deliberately, listening to every moan and groan to slip from the American's lips as he got to work. After every few reps of the beautiful, cut 6.5-inch piece of meat, Manu circled his tongue around the head, watching Cole as he did so. Following a circling of his tongue, Manu circled Cole's tip with his lips watching the American shudder as the pleasure tingled through his head and up his spine. A pair of stunning green eyes looked up at Cole and watched the American as the owner's lips moved down his shaft. Manu then broke eye contact in order to give Cole a real blow. The Spaniard transitioned from teasing to deepthroating in a second to the delight of the Riverdale star. Cole gripped the couch tight, clinging on for dear life as Manu devoured his entire 6.5-inch rod. The Elite star was incredible, rolling his lips over Cole's pulsing cock while using his tongue to apply extra pressure and stimulate Cole's cut head simultaneously. The experience was sensational, one of the best blowjobs Cole had ever received and there was plenty more to come. Living out an opportunity he had dreamt of for years, Manu took full advantage of Cole's cock. The view up the smooth American was breathtaking and the taste of his cock didn't disappoint either. Manu glided along the gentle curve, swallowing the Riverdale star's salivating, pale meat which fed him with intermittent pearls of sweet precum. Cole's heavy breathing confirmed to the Spaniard he was hitting all the correct spots. Tightening his lips ever so slightly, Manu pulled the American's outer skin with a little extra vigour to the delight of them both. Not only had Cole's breathing deepened further still but his cock throbbed with interest inside the Elite star's oscillating throat. "I think it's your turn." Cole sighed to Manu, desperate for a break and confident in the knowledge that another minute of the Spaniard's oral work, they would be needing an intermission to refill his balls. With a hint of defiance, Manu held Cole's cock at the base and continued with a dozen more repetitions. Looking up at Cole again, Manu watched the results of his work as they energised the American's face. Cole winced and groaned in thorough delight as the Iberian showed Cole his beautiful Mediterranean features while showcasing his expert romantic talents. Mustering all of his mental strength, Cole finally pulled his crotch away from Manu's beautiful lips and throwing his extra weight at the Spaniard, he pinned Manu down to the couch with a passionate kiss of his own. Reunited, their lips danced again with added aggression as the intensity rose. Manu could feel the radiating heat of Cole's smooth, broad chest pressed against his body and the American fed him his tongue. The 24-year-old reached up to the sleeves of Cole's open shirt and guided them down the American's arms. Cole's shirt passed past his wrists allowing Manu to throw it aside triumphantly. With his upper body now free of any clothing, the 30-year-old began to descend Manu's slender body, unbuttoning the Elite star as he went. The Spaniard was stunning, his slim but muscular body was largely smooth with a nice trail of brown hairs tracking down from his belly button to crotch. A firm tug dragged Manu's trousers and boxer past his hips allowing the Elite star's uncut, 7.5-inch cock to spring free. Cole began by pulling away from the Spaniard's lips and latching onto Manu's neck to suck at the seductively smooth olive skin. Tracking his way down over the shoulder, Cole then kissed at Manu's naked torso, starting at the Spaniard's toned pecs and continuing down to Manu's belly button while his hands came to rest on Manu's pecs. Cole didn't dwell for too long on Manu's abs because the American was hungry and using his lips to steady Manu's shaft, the American swallowed all of the 7.5-inch pole in one ravenous gulp. "Ahhhh cajonessss!" Manu hissed as he watched Cole begin to bob. The American's skills were even better than Manu expected. Cole's pink lips applied firm pressure, pulling the Spaniard's foreskin up and down while his tongue followed his lips, sliding along the shaft and stroking Manu's head. The Mediterranean purred as Cole's speed began to increase, using his tongue to stroke Manu's bulb. The American's form was fantastic and sent tingles through Manu's sensitive body. Cole could take this moment to indulge in the sheer beauty of the handsome Mediterranean actor. The Iberian's body had been perfectly maintained, his pecs and abs peeking through his olive skin which was covered in the faintest coat of brown hairs. Looking down at Manu's skinny legs the coat of hairs thickened in a strong manly fashion, perfect for Cole to run his soft hands along. The American took particular joy in sliding his hands along Manu's thigh muscles which beefed up nicely. Cole still wasn't sure who would be on top right now, but it didn't matter, whether he were holding these thighs for leverage or his ass were cushioning the blows from Manu's thighs, Cole knew he would be a very happy boy. Hinting an answer to Cole's curious question, Manu reached down his body and placing a wet finger against his ring, the sexy Iberian penetrated himself. There was the slightest increase in volume of Manu's groaning. The sexy Spaniard cooed sweet notes of pleasure into the air as his finger wriggled into his chute while Cole's warm mouth worked away busily on his shaft. Manu felt amazing as he fully appreciated the American's subtle beauty. The actor who rose to fame as an innocent child had shed his impish features and become a wonderfully handsome man. That recognisable face had remained adorably cute and although he'd recently shaved his moustache and goatee, his smoothness was just as cute and attractive as he plunged down into Manu's shaven crotch to swallow the Spaniard's entire shaft. From the moment he'd seen Cole in the club, Manu wanted the Riverdale star and that sexy, smooth American body over him, pumping him full of that delicious American cock. Pulling his finger from his hole Manu wanted to try something new. The Elite star reached out for Cole's hand and upon finding it he pulled the American's hand towards his hole. Fumbling with Cole's fingers, Manu located the ones he wanted, guiding Cole's index and middle finger towards his hole. The Spaniard let go with an inch to go and allowed Cole to find his entrance. Pausing at the doorstep, Cole waited for Manu's ring to ease and after a breath and a relaxation of the Iberian's ring, Cole felt his fingers begin to sink into the warm void. Moments later, Cole's participation in an experiment was confirmed as a pair of Manu's fingers joined Cole's at the Spaniard's entrance. The Elite star pushed his ring out even harder and forcing his own finger in alongside Cole, Manu filled himself with a total of four digits within his tight hole. [Holy fuck that's hot!] Cole beamed to himself. The Riverdale star could barely concentrate on his original task, sucking the youngster's beautiful, uncut 7.5-inch shaft. Now his mind hand been made up for him, he was going to fuck Manu's nicely loosened hole with his thick, throbbing boner. "You getting your tight hole ready for my fat American cock?" Cole murmured, his voice heavily sedated by the level of arousal surging throughout his body. The international shorthand sound for yes was Manu's response, a strained "Hmm hmmm." through the pleasure of four fingers stroking his sweet insides. The last thing needed to complete the perfect warm up was for Cole's cock to return to Manu's lips. The Elite star reached for Cole's leg with his free hand and pulled at the American suggestively. The growing telepathic synergy between the two was encouraging as Cole automatically rotated his body while making sure he fingers continued to probe the Elite star's warm chute. Turning so that his body loomed over Manu's, presented the Spaniard's with his freely waving, cut boner. Manu reached up and pointed that beautiful boner towards his lips before devouring it once again. "Goddd yes." Cole called before swallowing Manu's cock once more to complete the 69. Their united fingers continued to jab their way into Manu's expanding ring while the Elite prepared Cole's delicious cock. The American looked back up Manu's slender body, appreciating the excellent condition the handsome Mediterranean had kept himself. Their digits probed and swirled aggressively within Manu's insides, spreading his ring the slightest bit wider every second as they tried to create as much room for Cole as they possibly could for his first penetration. The other side of the experiment was working well as Manu's blue eyes spun wildly, pleasured by Cole's meaty cock throbbing between his lips, Cole's beautiful lips returning to suck on his hard, uncut cock and their combined fingers loosening his quivering ring. A quick 15 seconds of sucking on Manu's cock was all Cole could really afford, dragging his pink lips along the embossed meat as it throbbed with happiness at his attention. "Ok, if I don't fuck you now then I probably won't have the juice to fuck you within a hot minute." Cole chuckled, pulling off the Elite star's delicious dick. Manu's reaction was instant and obedient, sliding once more down to the base of Cole's shaft then rolled back up to the tip slowly savouring every last second until he popped off. The Riverdale star moved Manu up onto all-fours with his legs spread, Cole knelt between the Spaniard's skinny legs and placed his hard cock against the bottom's waiting hole. "Ready?" "Si, fuck me baby." Manu purred, looking back at Cole as he spoke. The pair kicked their trousers and boxers past their ankles giving themselves the freedom to fully appreciate their beautiful nudity. Cole was treated to the sensational view of Manu's perfect arse staring straight back at him with two pale, round orbs looking at him expectantly. A smooth pink ring peeked between the two peachy cheeks, waiting for Cole to slide himself inside. That wonderful arse Cole had wanted ever since he'd first set eyes on it was now his to have and leaning forward, the American claimed his prize. "Yeahhh baby." Manu hissed as Cole's weight was more than enough to push the top's thick head into Manu's pocket and begin to advance within his forgiving insides. Shockingly, Cole found no resistance from the sexy bottom, first encountering a blocker when his neat crotch came to rest against Manu's tailbone. "Holy fuck that's hot!" Cole exclaimed. "Aye, kiss me Coley." Manu breathed happily. The American fell forward, pressing his lips against Manu's who took hold of his smooth face and fed him a mouthful of Spanish tongue. The top pulled his hips back and then stroked them forward to fill Manu with a shot loud enough to send a gentle smacking sound echoing around them. Manu's firm grip of his chin gave Cole a little more support as his lower half got to work on his main task. From the way Manu's body accepted Cole's cock, the top was convinced that Manu liked it long, deep and hard so with no caution whatsoever he pulled back his hips until 90% of his cock had been removed from Manu's hole and then piled his entire body weight forward until the bottom's arse blocked any further progress. And as Cole suspected the response from Manu was an animalistic nasal grunt without the slightest hint of protest. The sexy Iberian had no problem being fucked hard which Cole continued to do by repeating the motion every other second bringing more ravenous, sexual sound effects from the horny bottom. Two green eyes rolled straight to the back of their sockets as the entire weight of Cole's average-slim body landed hard against Manu's pale arse cheeks. The vibration of Cole's hot body thudding into his hungry cunt felt incredible to the bottom who marvelled in the feeling of power surging through his body at the will of Cole's beautiful, hard cock. A dozen shots of Cole's hot, sexy body later and Manu reopened his eyes, locking them onto Cole's incredibly handsome face. The moment was accompanied by another bone shattering thud as the American's body filled Manu from the inside with all the pleasure he could ask for. While their lips were locked, Manu couldn't scream with pleasure but the air Cole fucked out of him came with an audible cry of happiness that egged the top on. The adorable former Disney star was proving to be the exact opposite to his gentle image. Manu's body reverberated from every impact, the shockwaves transmitting as pulses through his own hard cock. The Iberian couldn't help but reach for Cole's body, taking hold of the American's hip in his right hand and a firm grip of Cole's juicy arse in his left hand. The Elite star grinned broadly feeling how tightly tensed Cole's peachy arse felt as it helped to ram him with another shot of rock-hard, Sprouse cock. It had all become effortless for Cole whose body used the momentum from each thrust to bounce back 5 inches in preparation for the next thrust. The sight below Cole was divine, the sexy Spaniard's ripped body shimmering from his own sweat and shaking from Cole's power as he fed Manu's his horny cock. [God my cock looks great!] Cole thought to himself watching his bare meat sliding deep into the groaning Spaniard, the bottom's sexy, pink opening looked so nice and tight as Cole pushed his weight forward again to a chorus of happy moans from Manu. A grateful sigh fell from Manu's lips as he looked up at the sexy top. The Spaniard felt so happy he'd scored Cole Sprouse and as the sexy American filled him full of cock, Manu decided he wanted a little more control. "Can I ride you?" "Si guapo." Cole grinned. The top continued his descent, pushing his lips against Manu's then doing the same with his crotch. Cole hooked an arm around Manu's chest and showed an impressive display of strength, lifting the bottom off the couch then falling onto his back but leaving Manu upright, Cole watched as the Elite star settled himself. Carefully rotating his body on Cole's cock, Manu never let the American's boner leave his hole as he brought them face to face. Now Manu had the stunning view below him of Cole's smooth, sexy body. The American's large, brown nipples called to the bottom and placing a hand on each one then spreading his skinny legs nice and wide, Manu began to ride Cole's addictive cock. Manu saw an opportunity to fulfil a stereotype he was particularly proud of, the seductive rhythm of the Spanish body. Putting all the toned muscles of his beautiful, olive body to work, Manu began to slide up and down Cole's bare boner while rippling his sexy torso. The minute Manu began to ride there wasn't a part of the Elite star that didn't look orgasmically sexy. Starting at his tight, bare hole, the skin looked so arousing as its lips sucked hard on Cole's pulsing shaft. Rolling up around 4-5 inches and then back down onto Cole's neat pubes, Manu's hole looked irresistibly sexy with every bounce. The bottom's nice, hairy legs were tensed, the thin lower legs holding Manu steady while his thicker thighs and hamstrings drew him up Cole's hard meat. The Spaniard's abs cock stood high and hard, windmilling slightly from the directionally fluidity of Manu's body as he moved up and down and back and forth all at the same time to trigger pleasure throughout Cole's throbbing shaft. Manu's griddled abs were tensed as he bounced, keeping the sexy Spaniard's upper body nice and steady as he impaled himself repeatedly with Cole's tool. Manu's bulging pecs were understatedly sexy, not overly large to give the Iberian a sense of physical dominance, just perfect for an athletic man who knew how to take a cock. The look on Manu's face however was the absolute clincher. The Spaniard had looked so sexy in his many raunchy scenes on Elite and right now that same look, those same insane, `fuck me' green eyes were fixtaed on Cole's face, biting his lip as he used Cole's body as his means to bring them both to orgasm Never one to allow anyone to do all the work, Cole met a falling Manu with a supportive thrust of his hips. "Ahhh, siiii." Manu purred delightfully. The Spaniard seemed inspired by Cole's assistance and with it his speed naturally increased. Manu grabbed hold of his own flopping, hard boner with a firm grip and began to stroke, upping the ante to the pleasure of both sexy young studs. Cole's right hand gripped Manu's side while his left gripped Manu's thigh, both hands squeezing tight to feel the bottom's muscles at work, propelling his sexy body along Cole's throbbing sword. The unexpected assistance from Cole ended any hopes of Manu prolonging their passionate embrace. The natural rhythm of Manu's body remained but he'd become lost in the overwhelming pleasure of Cole's boner stroking his tender sphincter. The wonderful warmth of his olive foreskin sliding over his sensitive head felt magnificent while Cole's bare cock speared up inside him. "Ahhh, cajónes!" Manu grunted as his fist began to falter and lowering his eyes down the Spaniard's delightful body Cole witnessed the Elite star spectacularly erupt. Pulling back his beautiful, olive foreskin, Manu exposed his swollen head allowing his slit the freedom to shoot his creamy cum across Cole's smooth pecs. The bouncing Spaniard caused himself to shoot at a variable trajectory as his cock exploded wildly both on the way up Cole's shaft and on the way back down. Manu's beautiful mouth fell open as he bounced, groaning long and hard to compliment his orgasm which squirted another batch of cum along Cole's smooth stomach. The sight before Cole was the sensationally arousing image he'd envisioned. To accompany the incredible tightness of his tensing arse hole, Manu's stunning body seemed to bugle with extra muscle as he groaned passionately to announce the next wave of cum to shoot out across Cole's increasingly sticky chest. "Si, cabrón!" Manu swore along happily as his nuts unleashed another load of hot jizz. The Latin rhythm never left Manu's body, accenting every bounce with an arousing ripple of his body from his hips up to his head. The weight of Manu's sweaty nuts grew lighter with every passing stroke. The Spaniard's milk looked deliciously thick as it landed in heavy drops across Cole's smooth stomach. "Mierda." Manu murmured as he lowered himself back down onto Cole's crotch, feeling the American's hard cock push more milk out of his uncut boner. The last of the Spaniard's seed fell from his head quietly as Manu sank down onto Cole's bare cock one last time and with a satisfied grin the Elite star popped off the sexy American. Rock solid and ready to burst, Cole's cock was begging for a release as it popped free of Manu's hole and snapped against his washboard stomach. "Shoot on my face." Manu beamed excitedly as Cole took hold of his boner. The American stroked himself rapidly as he raced for home while Manu lowered himself to the couch in a position where Cole could just about see his waiting face. Manu's handsome features were beyond irresistible, that reminder that Manu was in fact Patrick, a wealthy college boy who was incredibly mischievous but had sculpted a sensational body. The look of Manu's perfect face coupled with the memory of the Spaniard's perfect body bouncing along his cock thickened the American's mast for every tight stroke of his fist and within seconds Cole stroked himself into orgasm. "Ohhh...myyyyyy...Goddddddddddddd." Cole groaned as the pressure in his nuts became unsustainable and his eruption began with a blast so powerful his cum missed Manu's face completely. The Spaniard reacted by moving his face up into the line of fire and was duly rewarded with the second jet smacking him straight in the forehead. Once Cole's cum found Manu's beautiful face the rest followed like a crowd piling out of a football stadium at full time. "Ohhh FUCKKKKKK!" Cole screamed as he drowned Manu in his pearly seed. "Si Coley, siiiii." Manu sighed, widening the canvas for Cole to cover as his cream caked itself all over Manu's perfect face. The jet continued to flow, epic shots of thick white cum exploding from Cole's thickened tip. The feeling was glorious and after what felt like forever, the pressure in Cole's nuts had reduced. The swells of his head were no longer squirting as the remainder of his nuts frothed from his slit. The control Cole's balls had on his mind began to diminish. Breathing deeply, Cole looked down at Manu's cum covered face and fell down to the couch alongside the bottom. The Spaniard couldn't open his eyes yet but scooping his eyes clean, Manu could look back at Cole's face as it arrived next to his, beaming back with happiness. "Hey baby." Manu smiled. "Hey." Cole grinned, surveying the glazing of cum he had unleashed upon the Elite star's handsome face. Leaning forward, Cole locked Manu into a passionate kiss forcing his cum into both of their mouths. The response from Manu was a deep growl of aroused excitement as the salty flavour of Cole's cum mixed in with the sweetness of cocktails and red wine he had been drinking earlier that night. Their lips danced while Cole's cum hardened on Manu's face, the feeling was perfect, the taste was perfect, Cole was perfect, this was perfect. The following morning the pair awoke to a stunning Valencian morning. Bright sunshine lit the clear sky but as Cole looked across towards Manu, his sexy Spaniard was nowhere to be seen although something smelt incredible. "Buenos dias guapo." Manu beamed, striding into the room a few minutes later with a tray in his hand wearing nothing but a pair of yellow cotton shorts. "Morning." Cole croaked. "¿Tienes ambre?" Manu grinned, placing the tray of food on the table; a plate of toast, scrambled eggs, tomatoes, chorizo and seasoned mushrooms with a glass of orange juice. "Si guapo. Muchas gracias." Cole smiled gratefully. "De nada." Manu winked and disappeared again. Two more trips, Manu returned with his own breakfast, fresh coffee and a jug of water. If having incredible sex with this hot hunk wasn't enough, being treated to breakfast and Manu's beautifully toned body as the view made this the best morning Cole had ever enjoyed. } The door of the hotel room clicked followed by the appearance of Cole's face beamed so wide Dylan didn't need to ask. "Good night?" Dylan grinned. "Yup." "Touchdown?" Dylan chuckled. "And the extra point...breakfast in bed. " Cole beamed, adding the last part to confirm. "Very nice." Dylan smiled. "...didn't do too shabby myself." Dylan added throwing his arms over the back of his chair. "Oh yeah?" "Oh yeahhh, hot little Latina." Dylan winked. "Sprouses win again!!!" Cole laughed, engaging his twin in a celebratory high-five. END Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story. If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on pcwtosh@gmail.com and/or for updates: Instagram - pcwtoshx Twitter - @pcwtosh Here is the rest of my collection: Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy 18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones, The Twins Nextdoor, 13 Goo-uld Reasons Why, Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway, Now You See Cole & Big Apple Aussies. Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer. Ripped Roses, Jack's Web, Naughty Neigbours & Devils and Dragons. Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY, Swimnasium & Laugher of the Ice King. Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk & Deep Dipping in Dunkirk. Reese Wilkerson the Heartstopper. Stranger Boys: Stranger Mendes, Oral Things, Someone Stranger in the Fuller House, A Stranger Series of Events & Anal Things. Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY. No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86 & Riviera Rendezvouz. North American Swedes, Fly Eagles Fly & Maple Mashup. Tennis series: Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the Bahamas, Bulging Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple Leafs, Made in Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Sleeping Meadows, Team Building in Melbourne Park, Dominic and the Minaur & Rey of the Acropolis. Football series: Lilywhite Hoops, From Paris with Love, The Hero and the Zero, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Return to the Wolfpack, The Tails of Two Nike Stars, Bayern Boys, Barca Buddies & Not so Mellow in Yellow. Premier League Football Series F1 World Series Scrum Down - Rugby Series On Ice - Hockey Series England Cricket Boys Series Diving Squad Series Formula Football Series BoysPlay Mansion Series You can show your appreciation for all the guys at Nifty by donating here, https://donate.nifty.org/ | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Mon, 15 Apr 2024 08:00:00 +0100
From: PCW Tosh <pcwtosh@gmail.com>
Subject: Cole el Elite
Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence
that this actually happened, but we can all dream.
Stay healthy and practice safe sex!
Happy reading.
Cole el Elite
Cole Sprouse sat at home watching Spanish teen drama Elite. The Riverdale
star had to admit the Spanish TV series was incredibly raunchy. This new
guy, Manu Rios...Cole's cock doubled within his boxers, watching the hunky
actor, flaunting his beautiful slender body in nothing but swimming trunks,
fuck! "Dude, control yourself." Dylan sniggered, glancing down at his
brother's crotch. "Ok. One...he's hot. Two...stop checking me out you
perv!" Cole chuckled. "I think we should go to Spain." Dylan replied,
batting away Cole's disgust with a mischievous look on his face. "Sounds
like a plan." Cole agreed.
"Vamos a España." Cole commented on one of Manu's Instagram
stories. The Riverdale star smirked to himself wondering if the Spanish
actor even knew who he was, did they get Riverdale in Spain, and even if
Spain got Riverdale, did Manu watch it?! Cole shrugged to himself and
mindlessly began to flick through Netflix for something else to
watch. "Gimme that." Dylan barked, taking the remote and cycling through
the shows. "How about Friends?" Cole suggested. "Hate that show." Dylan
scoffed, still irritated that the directors had picked Cole over him to be
Ben all those years ago.
A week later the Sprouse twins were on their way to Spain, travelling to
the coastal city of Valencia. Their hotel overlooked Playa Malvarosa,
providing the perfect location for the twins. The relaxing beach, the row
of bars and the relaxing Spanish lifestyle was all they needed to get away
from their busy schedules.
On their first night in the city the twins made their way down to the
harbour. Compared to the beach bars, this part of the city had a little
more class. Multiple door staff, girls dressed in designer dresses and men
flashing expensive watches. Heads turned as they joined the queue. The
Sprouse twins were well known from the hit TV show the Suite Life of Zack
and Cody. Posing for a few photos, the twins caused enough commotion to
catch the attention of the manager who strolled up the queue. "Come with
me." She called, pulling them out of the line and leading them to the
front. "Pose for a few pictures and you can get in for free." She
offered. The twins nodded to each other then stood to pose for a selfie
with the manager and the entry supervisor. "Have fun." She beamed, nodding
to the door staff who stepped aside to allow them in.
The atmosphere within the club was bouncing with people dancing whilst
clutching their drinks of beer, classy cocktails and expensive
champagne. Dancers performed their elaborate routines on raised platforms
with flashing lights to dazzle the party goers.
Inside the fancy club, the twins made their way through the main dance
floor and up to the rooftop bar. Stepping out into the warm night air, the
rooftop was just as busy as the floor below; however the dancers' show had
a spectacular fire display to add some extra heat to their performance. The
twins made their way to the bar and ordered themselves a drink each. Once
the barman had served their liberally poured cocktails, Cole took out his
phone and took a picture of their drinks with the club's dancers in the
background. Within minutes of posting the picture, Cole had thousands of
likes bringing a proud smile to Cole's sweet face.
"Hey, can I get a selfie with you?" a voice asked. Cole grinned, swinging
around then his jaw hit the ground. "Heyyy." he gaped, looking back at the
person requesting the picture. "Hey." Manu Rios repeated beaming wide. "Oh
brother." Dylan mumbled. "Sure." Cole beamed, throwing his eyes towards
Dylan as if to say, "I can't believe it, it actually worked." The Elite
star squeezed himself between the Sprouse twins and counted them down for a
cheesy grin selfie. Cole took the opportunity to press himself as close as
possible to Manu, inhaling the Spaniard's strong aftershave. With his mind
preoccupied Cole hadn't even been looking in the right place for the
picture. "Cole, your eyes look strange." Manu giggled, showing Cole his
face. "Shit, I'm sorry." Cole replied, his embarrassment hidden by the
darkness of the lighting in the club. Dylan could see the energy between
them, quiet and understated, but it was definitely there. "Would you like
to come and join us?" Manu asked, pointing across to his group of
friends. Dylan knew what was coming next, Cole looked at him with a
pleading look in his eyes, "sure." Dylan nodded with a smile.
The minutes ticked by with the Sprouse twins mingling comfortably with
Manu's group of friends, some of whom they recognised and others not. The
twins danced the night away, finding that whenever their drinks were empty
another one was being handed to them. Beautiful Spanish girls ground
themselves tight to the Sprouse's slim yet manly bodies. Cole's eyes
however remained on Manu and he was sure the Elite star was giving him the
eye right back.
Manu excused himself from the group to sit down closely followed by
Cole. "Fuck man, I'm shattered." Manu sighed. "I hear you bro, cool place
though." Cole replied beaming back at the Spaniard. "You haven't got any
places like this in America?" Manu asked with a hint of surprise. "Oh
loads, but it's always better when you're on holiday." Cole grinned. "And
you're with out with cool guys like yourself." Cole added, winking
shamelessly. There was a brief pause, Manu reading Cole's facial expression
to confirm the American was indeed laying the foundations to make a pass at
him. "Yeah it's pretty awesome, I might go home soon though, what are you
two doing tonight?" Manu asked. "Nothing special, we're on holiday." Cole
shrugged. "Shall we continue the party at my place then?" Manu smiled, his
blue eyes glistening in the moonlight. "I'd love that." Cole smiled. "Does
your brother want to come?" Manu asked glancing over to Dylan. "Not if we
are going to have a private party." Cole smiled cooly.
"Fucking whore." Dylan giggled to himself looking around to find his
brother had disappeared along with his target for the night. The remaining
Sprouse couldn't complain, no sooner had Cole left, Dylan found himself
tongue deep in a sweet brunette girl.
}
"Make yourself at home." Manu offered, showing Cole into his apartment and
setting the light to a romantic dimness. The Elite star then set about
completing the romantic mood by lighting some candles around the room. Even
in the reduced light Manu looked absolutely stunning with his exotic
Mediterranean features the Iberian actor was very easy on the eyes.
Cole settled into a modern couch with massive cushions that looked red in
the darkness. The Elite star didn't keep Cole waiting long, presenting a
bottle of red wine and two glasses. The American watched on as Manu
liberally filled up each glass then placed the bottle down in the middle of
the table. Manu held his glass up for Cole to cheers. A light clink echoed
around the room followed by a short silence as they enjoyed a brief sip of
the full-bodied Rioja before returning their glasses to the table and
looking into each other's eyes once more.
"Beautiful." Cole smiled referring to the wine. "Not as beautiful as you."
Manu breathed leaning in closer. Cole's cock thickened instantaneously and
reaching for the advancing Spaniard he took Manu by his sides. In the blink
of an eye, the Elite star had pounced for Cole's lips falling into the
American's waiting arms. The Riverdale star caught Manu, rocking back and
allowing Manu's weight to press him down to the couch and one of those
large red cushions. The Spaniard's beautiful red lips went to work kissing
hard at Cole's mouth who responded by offering Manu his tongue. Manu
accepted, wrapping his arms around Cole's upper body so that as they kissed
the young studs were pressed chest to chest.
Cole ran his hands down the Spaniard's wonderfully toned back, studying the
density of the muscles as he moved south. Manu responded to Cole's
wandering hands by reaching up to unbutton his own shirt, quickly unpinning
each button before throwing his shirt open then reaching across to the
American's shirt. Cole read the signal and moved his hands back up Manu's
back, retracing the route back towards the north stopping by the
sleeves. Cole waited until the Elite star had finished unbuttoning his
shirt and then tugged at the Spaniard's sleeves, pulling Manu's hands back
and liberating him of his shirt.
Freshly exposed, Manu leaned down into Cole and planted another long firm
kiss on the beautiful American. The Riverdale star was only too happy to
accept Manu's affection for the half dozen seconds the Spaniard afforded
him. After 6 seconds of deep kissing, Manu peeled away from Cole's soft
lips and began to descend the American's smooth body. As Manu's face
retreated from Cole's, his hypnotic brown eyes looked up into Cole's, then
back down at the Riverdale star's body as he applied another soft kiss then
back up at Cole descending with each kiss slowly.
Manu's forearm glanced across Cole's bulge before his fingers found the
American's zipper. Cole could feel his heart rattling at an alarming rate
with the excitement of the sexy European's attention. Manu made quick work
of the zipper, throwing Cole's trousers open and locking on to the
American's bulging boxers. "Oh Jesus." Cole sighed to the heavens as Manu
took a nice firm handful of his bulge causing it to jump for joy. The sexy
Spaniard didn't tease Cole for long, slipping his hand into the fly, he
removed the American's hard 6.5-inch boner.
Cole looked down his smooth body and watched Manu lower his face into
view. "Jesus Fucking Christ!" Cole hissed as Manu ran his tongue down the
American's hard shaft and closed his lips around Cole's boner, encasing the
Riverdale star's erection in a warm cave of wetness. Manu began to roll his
lips along Cole's boner, moving slowly and deliberately, listening to every
moan and groan to slip from the American's lips as he got to work. After
every few reps of the beautiful, cut 6.5-inch piece of meat, Manu circled
his tongue around the head, watching Cole as he did so. Following a
circling of his tongue, Manu circled Cole's tip with his lips watching the
American shudder as the pleasure tingled through his head and up his spine.
A pair of stunning green eyes looked up at Cole and watched the American as
the owner's lips moved down his shaft. Manu then broke eye contact in order
to give Cole a real blow. The Spaniard transitioned from teasing to
deepthroating in a second to the delight of the Riverdale star. Cole
gripped the couch tight, clinging on for dear life as Manu devoured his
entire 6.5-inch rod. The Elite star was incredible, rolling his lips over
Cole's pulsing cock while using his tongue to apply extra pressure and
stimulate Cole's cut head simultaneously. The experience was sensational,
one of the best blowjobs Cole had ever received and there was plenty more
to come.
Living out an opportunity he had dreamt of for years, Manu took full
advantage of Cole's cock. The view up the smooth American was breathtaking
and the taste of his cock didn't disappoint either. Manu glided along the
gentle curve, swallowing the Riverdale star's salivating, pale meat which
fed him with intermittent pearls of sweet precum. Cole's heavy breathing
confirmed to the Spaniard he was hitting all the correct spots. Tightening
his lips ever so slightly, Manu pulled the American's outer skin with a
little extra vigour to the delight of them both. Not only had Cole's
breathing deepened further still but his cock throbbed with interest inside
the Elite star's oscillating throat.
"I think it's your turn." Cole sighed to Manu, desperate for a break and
confident in the knowledge that another minute of the Spaniard's oral work,
they would be needing an intermission to refill his balls. With a hint of
defiance, Manu held Cole's cock at the base and continued with a dozen more
repetitions. Looking up at Cole again, Manu watched the results of his work
as they energised the American's face. Cole winced and groaned in thorough
delight as the Iberian showed Cole his beautiful Mediterranean features
while showcasing his expert romantic talents.
Mustering all of his mental strength, Cole finally pulled his crotch away
from Manu's beautiful lips and throwing his extra weight at the Spaniard,
he pinned Manu down to the couch with a passionate kiss of his
own. Reunited, their lips danced again with added aggression as the
intensity rose. Manu could feel the radiating heat of Cole's smooth, broad
chest pressed against his body and the American fed him his tongue. The
24-year-old reached up to the sleeves of Cole's open shirt and guided them
down the American's arms. Cole's shirt passed past his wrists allowing Manu
to throw it aside triumphantly. With his upper body now free of any
clothing, the 30-year-old began to descend Manu's slender body, unbuttoning
the Elite star as he went. The Spaniard was stunning, his slim but muscular
body was largely smooth with a nice trail of brown hairs tracking down from
his belly button to crotch.
A firm tug dragged Manu's trousers and boxer past his hips allowing the
Elite star's uncut, 7.5-inch cock to spring free. Cole began by pulling
away from the Spaniard's lips and latching onto Manu's neck to suck at the
seductively smooth olive skin. Tracking his way down over the shoulder,
Cole then kissed at Manu's naked torso, starting at the Spaniard's toned
pecs and continuing down to Manu's belly button while his hands came to
rest on Manu's pecs. Cole didn't dwell for too long on Manu's abs because
the American was hungry and using his lips to steady Manu's shaft, the
American swallowed all of the 7.5-inch pole in one ravenous gulp.
"Ahhhh cajonessss!" Manu hissed as he watched Cole begin to bob. The
American's skills were even better than Manu expected. Cole's pink lips
applied firm pressure, pulling the Spaniard's foreskin up and down while
his tongue followed his lips, sliding along the shaft and stroking Manu's
head. The Mediterranean purred as Cole's speed began to increase, using his
tongue to stroke Manu's bulb. The American's form was fantastic and sent
tingles through Manu's sensitive body.
Cole could take this moment to indulge in the sheer beauty of the handsome
Mediterranean actor. The Iberian's body had been perfectly maintained, his
pecs and abs peeking through his olive skin which was covered in the
faintest coat of brown hairs. Looking down at Manu's skinny legs the coat
of hairs thickened in a strong manly fashion, perfect for Cole to run his
soft hands along. The American took particular joy in sliding his hands
along Manu's thigh muscles which beefed up nicely. Cole still wasn't sure
who would be on top right now, but it didn't matter, whether he were
holding these thighs for leverage or his ass were cushioning the blows from
Manu's thighs, Cole knew he would be a very happy boy.
Hinting an answer to Cole's curious question, Manu reached down his body
and placing a wet finger against his ring, the sexy Iberian penetrated
himself. There was the slightest increase in volume of Manu's groaning. The
sexy Spaniard cooed sweet notes of pleasure into the air as his finger
wriggled into his chute while Cole's warm mouth worked away busily on his
shaft.
Manu felt amazing as he fully appreciated the American's subtle beauty. The
actor who rose to fame as an innocent child had shed his impish features
and become a wonderfully handsome man. That recognisable face had remained
adorably cute and although he'd recently shaved his moustache and goatee,
his smoothness was just as cute and attractive as he plunged down into
Manu's shaven crotch to swallow the Spaniard's entire shaft. From the
moment he'd seen Cole in the club, Manu wanted the Riverdale star and that
sexy, smooth American body over him, pumping him full of that delicious
American cock.
Pulling his finger from his hole Manu wanted to try something new. The
Elite star reached out for Cole's hand and upon finding it he pulled the
American's hand towards his hole. Fumbling with Cole's fingers, Manu
located the ones he wanted, guiding Cole's index and middle finger towards
his hole. The Spaniard let go with an inch to go and allowed Cole to find
his entrance. Pausing at the doorstep, Cole waited for Manu's ring to ease
and after a breath and a relaxation of the Iberian's ring, Cole felt his
fingers begin to sink into the warm void. Moments later, Cole's
participation in an experiment was confirmed as a pair of Manu's fingers
joined Cole's at the Spaniard's entrance. The Elite star pushed his ring
out even harder and forcing his own finger in alongside Cole, Manu filled
himself with a total of four digits within his tight hole.
[Holy fuck that's hot!] Cole beamed to himself. The Riverdale star could
barely concentrate on his original task, sucking the youngster's beautiful,
uncut 7.5-inch shaft. Now his mind hand been made up for him, he was going
to fuck Manu's nicely loosened hole with his thick, throbbing boner. "You
getting your tight hole ready for my fat American cock?" Cole murmured, his
voice heavily sedated by the level of arousal surging throughout his
body. The international shorthand sound for yes was Manu's response, a
strained "Hmm hmmm." through the pleasure of four fingers stroking his
sweet insides.
The last thing needed to complete the perfect warm up was for Cole's cock
to return to Manu's lips. The Elite star reached for Cole's leg with his
free hand and pulled at the American suggestively. The growing telepathic
synergy between the two was encouraging as Cole automatically rotated his
body while making sure he fingers continued to probe the Elite star's warm
chute. Turning so that his body loomed over Manu's, presented the
Spaniard's with his freely waving, cut boner. Manu reached up and pointed
that beautiful boner towards his lips before devouring it once
again. "Goddd yes." Cole called before swallowing Manu's cock once more to
complete the 69.
Their united fingers continued to jab their way into Manu's expanding ring
while the Elite prepared Cole's delicious cock. The American looked back up
Manu's slender body, appreciating the excellent condition the handsome
Mediterranean had kept himself. Their digits probed and swirled
aggressively within Manu's insides, spreading his ring the slightest bit
wider every second as they tried to create as much room for Cole as they
possibly could for his first penetration. The other side of the experiment
was working well as Manu's blue eyes spun wildly, pleasured by Cole's meaty
cock throbbing between his lips, Cole's beautiful lips returning to suck on
his hard, uncut cock and their combined fingers loosening his quivering
ring.
A quick 15 seconds of sucking on Manu's cock was all Cole could really
afford, dragging his pink lips along the embossed meat as it throbbed with
happiness at his attention. "Ok, if I don't fuck you now then I probably
won't have the juice to fuck you within a hot minute." Cole chuckled,
pulling off the Elite star's delicious dick. Manu's reaction was instant
and obedient, sliding once more down to the base of Cole's shaft then
rolled back up to the tip slowly savouring every last second until he
popped off. The Riverdale star moved Manu up onto all-fours with his legs
spread, Cole knelt between the Spaniard's skinny legs and placed his hard
cock against the bottom's waiting hole. "Ready?" "Si, fuck me baby." Manu
purred, looking back at Cole as he spoke. The pair kicked their trousers
and boxers past their ankles giving themselves the freedom to fully
appreciate their beautiful nudity. Cole was treated to the sensational view
of Manu's perfect arse staring straight back at him with two pale, round
orbs looking at him expectantly. A smooth pink ring peeked between the two
peachy cheeks, waiting for Cole to slide himself inside. That wonderful
arse Cole had wanted ever since he'd first set eyes on it was now his to
have and leaning forward, the American claimed his prize.
"Yeahhh baby." Manu hissed as Cole's weight was more than enough to push
the top's thick head into Manu's pocket and begin to advance within his
forgiving insides. Shockingly, Cole found no resistance from the sexy
bottom, first encountering a blocker when his neat crotch came to rest
against Manu's tailbone. "Holy fuck that's hot!" Cole exclaimed. "Aye, kiss
me Coley." Manu breathed happily. The American fell forward, pressing his
lips against Manu's who took hold of his smooth face and fed him a mouthful
of Spanish tongue. The top pulled his hips back and then stroked them
forward to fill Manu with a shot loud enough to send a gentle smacking
sound echoing around them.
Manu's firm grip of his chin gave Cole a little more support as his lower
half got to work on his main task. From the way Manu's body accepted Cole's
cock, the top was convinced that Manu liked it long, deep and hard so with
no caution whatsoever he pulled back his hips until 90% of his cock had
been removed from Manu's hole and then piled his entire body weight forward
until the bottom's arse blocked any further progress. And as Cole suspected
the response from Manu was an animalistic nasal grunt without the slightest
hint of protest. The sexy Iberian had no problem being fucked hard which
Cole continued to do by repeating the motion every other second bringing
more ravenous, sexual sound effects from the horny bottom.
Two green eyes rolled straight to the back of their sockets as the entire
weight of Cole's average-slim body landed hard against Manu's pale arse
cheeks. The vibration of Cole's hot body thudding into his hungry cunt felt
incredible to the bottom who marvelled in the feeling of power surging
through his body at the will of Cole's beautiful, hard cock. A dozen shots
of Cole's hot, sexy body later and Manu reopened his eyes, locking them
onto Cole's incredibly handsome face. The moment was accompanied by another
bone shattering thud as the American's body filled Manu from the inside
with all the pleasure he could ask for. While their lips were locked, Manu
couldn't scream with pleasure but the air Cole fucked out of him came with
an audible cry of happiness that egged the top on.
The adorable former Disney star was proving to be the exact opposite to his
gentle image. Manu's body reverberated from every impact, the shockwaves
transmitting as pulses through his own hard cock. The Iberian couldn't help
but reach for Cole's body, taking hold of the American's hip in his right
hand and a firm grip of Cole's juicy arse in his left hand. The Elite star
grinned broadly feeling how tightly tensed Cole's peachy arse felt as it
helped to ram him with another shot of rock-hard, Sprouse cock.
It had all become effortless for Cole whose body used the momentum from
each thrust to bounce back 5 inches in preparation for the next thrust. The
sight below Cole was divine, the sexy Spaniard's ripped body shimmering
from his own sweat and shaking from Cole's power as he fed Manu's his horny
cock. [God my cock looks great!] Cole thought to himself watching his bare
meat sliding deep into the groaning Spaniard, the bottom's sexy, pink
opening looked so nice and tight as Cole pushed his weight forward again to
a chorus of happy moans from Manu.
A grateful sigh fell from Manu's lips as he looked up at the sexy top. The
Spaniard felt so happy he'd scored Cole Sprouse and as the sexy American
filled him full of cock, Manu decided he wanted a little more control. "Can
I ride you?" "Si guapo." Cole grinned. The top continued his descent,
pushing his lips against Manu's then doing the same with his crotch. Cole
hooked an arm around Manu's chest and showed an impressive display of
strength, lifting the bottom off the couch then falling onto his back but
leaving Manu upright, Cole watched as the Elite star settled
himself. Carefully rotating his body on Cole's cock, Manu never let the
American's boner leave his hole as he brought them face to face.
Now Manu had the stunning view below him of Cole's smooth, sexy body. The
American's large, brown nipples called to the bottom and placing a hand on
each one then spreading his skinny legs nice and wide, Manu began to ride
Cole's addictive cock. Manu saw an opportunity to fulfil a stereotype he
was particularly proud of, the seductive rhythm of the Spanish
body. Putting all the toned muscles of his beautiful, olive body to work,
Manu began to slide up and down Cole's bare boner while rippling his sexy
torso.
The minute Manu began to ride there wasn't a part of the Elite star that
didn't look orgasmically sexy. Starting at his tight, bare hole, the skin
looked so arousing as its lips sucked hard on Cole's pulsing shaft. Rolling
up around 4-5 inches and then back down onto Cole's neat pubes, Manu's hole
looked irresistibly sexy with every bounce. The bottom's nice, hairy legs
were tensed, the thin lower legs holding Manu steady while his thicker
thighs and hamstrings drew him up Cole's hard meat. The Spaniard's abs cock
stood high and hard, windmilling slightly from the directionally fluidity
of Manu's body as he moved up and down and back and forth all at the same
time to trigger pleasure throughout Cole's throbbing shaft. Manu's griddled
abs were tensed as he bounced, keeping the sexy Spaniard's upper body nice
and steady as he impaled himself repeatedly with Cole's tool. Manu's
bulging pecs were understatedly sexy, not overly large to give the Iberian
a sense of physical dominance, just perfect for an athletic man who knew
how to take a cock. The look on Manu's face however was the absolute
clincher. The Spaniard had looked so sexy in his many raunchy scenes on
Elite and right now that same look, those same insane, `fuck me' green eyes
were fixtaed on Cole's face, biting his lip as he used Cole's body as his
means to bring them both to orgasm
Never one to allow anyone to do all the work, Cole met a falling Manu with
a supportive thrust of his hips. "Ahhh, siiii." Manu purred
delightfully. The Spaniard seemed inspired by Cole's assistance and with it
his speed naturally increased. Manu grabbed hold of his own flopping, hard
boner with a firm grip and began to stroke, upping the ante to the pleasure
of both sexy young studs. Cole's right hand gripped Manu's side while his
left gripped Manu's thigh, both hands squeezing tight to feel the bottom's
muscles at work, propelling his sexy body along Cole's throbbing sword.
The unexpected assistance from Cole ended any hopes of Manu prolonging
their passionate embrace. The natural rhythm of Manu's body remained but
he'd become lost in the overwhelming pleasure of Cole's boner stroking his
tender sphincter. The wonderful warmth of his olive foreskin sliding over
his sensitive head felt magnificent while Cole's bare cock speared up
inside him. "Ahhh, cajónes!" Manu grunted as his fist began to
falter and lowering his eyes down the Spaniard's delightful body Cole
witnessed the Elite star spectacularly erupt.
Pulling back his beautiful, olive foreskin, Manu exposed his swollen head
allowing his slit the freedom to shoot his creamy cum across Cole's smooth
pecs. The bouncing Spaniard caused himself to shoot at a variable
trajectory as his cock exploded wildly both on the way up Cole's shaft and
on the way back down. Manu's beautiful mouth fell open as he bounced,
groaning long and hard to compliment his orgasm which squirted another
batch of cum along Cole's smooth stomach.
The sight before Cole was the sensationally arousing image he'd
envisioned. To accompany the incredible tightness of his tensing arse hole,
Manu's stunning body seemed to bugle with extra muscle as he groaned
passionately to announce the next wave of cum to shoot out across Cole's
increasingly sticky chest. "Si, cabrón!" Manu swore along happily as
his nuts unleashed another load of hot jizz. The Latin rhythm never left
Manu's body, accenting every bounce with an arousing ripple of his body
from his hips up to his head.
The weight of Manu's sweaty nuts grew lighter with every passing
stroke. The Spaniard's milk looked deliciously thick as it landed in heavy
drops across Cole's smooth stomach. "Mierda." Manu murmured as he lowered
himself back down onto Cole's crotch, feeling the American's hard cock push
more milk out of his uncut boner. The last of the Spaniard's seed fell from
his head quietly as Manu sank down onto Cole's bare cock one last time and
with a satisfied grin the Elite star popped off the sexy American.
Rock solid and ready to burst, Cole's cock was begging for a release as it
popped free of Manu's hole and snapped against his washboard
stomach. "Shoot on my face." Manu beamed excitedly as Cole took hold of his
boner. The American stroked himself rapidly as he raced for home while Manu
lowered himself to the couch in a position where Cole could just about see
his waiting face. Manu's handsome features were beyond irresistible, that
reminder that Manu was in fact Patrick, a wealthy college boy who was
incredibly mischievous but had sculpted a sensational body.
The look of Manu's perfect face coupled with the memory of the Spaniard's
perfect body bouncing along his cock thickened the American's mast for
every tight stroke of his fist and within seconds Cole stroked himself into
orgasm. "Ohhh...myyyyyy...Goddddddddddddd." Cole groaned as the pressure in
his nuts became unsustainable and his eruption began with a blast so
powerful his cum missed Manu's face completely. The Spaniard reacted by
moving his face up into the line of fire and was duly rewarded with the
second jet smacking him straight in the forehead.
Once Cole's cum found Manu's beautiful face the rest followed like a crowd
piling out of a football stadium at full time. "Ohhh FUCKKKKKK!" Cole
screamed as he drowned Manu in his pearly seed. "Si Coley, siiiii." Manu
sighed, widening the canvas for Cole to cover as his cream caked itself all
over Manu's perfect face. The jet continued to flow, epic shots of thick
white cum exploding from Cole's thickened tip. The feeling was glorious and
after what felt like forever, the pressure in Cole's nuts had reduced. The
swells of his head were no longer squirting as the remainder of his nuts
frothed from his slit.
The control Cole's balls had on his mind began to diminish. Breathing
deeply, Cole looked down at Manu's cum covered face and fell down to the
couch alongside the bottom. The Spaniard couldn't open his eyes yet but
scooping his eyes clean, Manu could look back at Cole's face as it arrived
next to his, beaming back with happiness.
"Hey baby." Manu smiled. "Hey." Cole grinned, surveying the glazing of cum
he had unleashed upon the Elite star's handsome face. Leaning forward, Cole
locked Manu into a passionate kiss forcing his cum into both of their
mouths. The response from Manu was a deep growl of aroused excitement as
the salty flavour of Cole's cum mixed in with the sweetness of cocktails
and red wine he had been drinking earlier that night. Their lips danced
while Cole's cum hardened on Manu's face, the feeling was perfect, the
taste was perfect, Cole was perfect, this was perfect.
The following morning the pair awoke to a stunning Valencian
morning. Bright sunshine lit the clear sky but as Cole looked across
towards Manu, his sexy Spaniard was nowhere to be seen although something
smelt incredible.
"Buenos dias guapo." Manu beamed, striding into the room a few minutes
later with a tray in his hand wearing nothing but a pair of yellow cotton
shorts. "Morning." Cole croaked. "¿Tienes ambre?" Manu grinned,
placing the tray of food on the table; a plate of toast, scrambled eggs,
tomatoes, chorizo and seasoned mushrooms with a glass of orange juice. "Si
guapo. Muchas gracias." Cole smiled gratefully. "De nada." Manu winked and
disappeared again. Two more trips, Manu returned with his own breakfast,
fresh coffee and a jug of water. If having incredible sex with this hot
hunk wasn't enough, being treated to breakfast and Manu's beautifully toned
body as the view made this the best morning Cole had ever enjoyed.
}
The door of the hotel room clicked followed by the appearance of Cole's
face beamed so wide Dylan didn't need to ask. "Good night?" Dylan
grinned. "Yup." "Touchdown?" Dylan chuckled. "And the extra
point...breakfast in bed. " Cole beamed, adding the last part to
confirm. "Very nice." Dylan smiled. "...didn't do too shabby myself." Dylan
added throwing his arms over the back of his chair. "Oh yeah?" "Oh yeahhh,
hot little Latina." Dylan winked. "Sprouses win again!!!" Cole laughed,
engaging his twin in a celebratory high-five.
END
Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story.
If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on
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Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy
18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The
Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones,
The Twins Nextdoor, 13 Goo-uld Reasons Why, Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway,
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Ripped Roses, Jack's Web, Naughty Neigbours & Devils and Dragons.
Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY, Swimnasium & Laugher of the Ice King.
Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk &
Deep Dipping in Dunkirk.
Reese Wilkerson the Heartstopper.
Stranger Boys: Stranger Mendes, Oral Things, Someone Stranger in the Fuller
House, A Stranger Series of Events & Anal Things.
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No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86 & Riviera Rendezvouz.
North American Swedes, Fly Eagles Fly & Maple Mashup.
Tennis series: Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the
Bahamas, Bulging Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple
Leafs, Made in Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea,
Sleeping Meadows, Team Building in Melbourne Park, Dominic and the Minaur &
Rey of the Acropolis.
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/formula-football/my-friends-baby-brother | Date: Wed, 12 Jul 2023 16:38:00 +0100 From: PCW Tosh Subject: My Friend's Baby Brother Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence that this actually happened, but we can all dream. Stay healthy and practice safe sex! Happy reading. Formula Football 2.1: My Friend's Baby Brother "Where the fuck is Charles?" Pierre asked, looking up from his phone. The Alpha Tauri driver caught his jaw before it fell to his chest. "Yeah, I don't know." Arthur replied thoughtfully, stood in nothing but a pair of tight black CK boxer shorts. The F3 driver strode towards the couch and threw himself into it with a thud, busing himself with his own phone while the TV chattered away in the background. Pierre tried to focus on his phone but the sight of the skinny young Monegasque wearing just enough fabric to cover his vitals and the surrounding area was too difficult to resist. Pierre and Charles had been best friends for so long and Arthur had also been there in the background as Charles' adorable younger brother. "Have you been getting any action?" Pierre asked. "Yeah." Arthur beamed proudly. Pierre glanced up from his phone with an enquiring look which Arthur read with a smile. "No one special, a few girls back home and a few more girls at race meets." Arthur grinned proudly, "How about you?" He continued. It was Pierre's turn to smile, "Too much action, ever since I won in Monza, I've had so much cock and pussy thrown at me it's unbelievable." Pierre explained proudly. "Oh wow, cock too." Arthur replied thoughtfully. "Can I ask you something?" Arthur asked, holding his chin in thought. "Of course." Pierre nodded. "Which do you prefer?" Arthur replied. "Cock." Pierre grinned. "But I want a little boy someday and I want him to have a mummy, so the pussy is good too." Pierre explained with a cheeky smile. "Cool. Erm, so I got a hand job from Filip Ugran earlier this year and I kind of liked it." Arthur confessed. Pierre's eyes lit up, "Oh really, that's cool." He replied, dropping his phone aside and focussing all his attention on the F3 driver. "So, what made you tell me?" Pierre asked, leaning towards Arthur. "No reason." He replied immediately. "Ok, I don't know how to talk to Charles about it." Arthur admitted. [They don't talk about sex.] Pierre thought to himself, studying Arthur's body language as he spoke. "Well if you have more questions, I'm here for you." Pierre beamed. "Thanks Gas-man." Arthur smiled, glancing sideways shyly. Quietly, Pierre's cock was raging at the thought of Arthur doing another guy, [insanely fucking hot!] The F3 driver had grown into a stunning young man and although he had a little more growing up to do, he was looking very good indeed. The Alpha Tauri driver had to keep the conversation going, he had to get Arthur talking dirty and try to get him in the mood. "How did you talk Filip into giving you a hand job?" Pierre asked, forcing an innocence to his tone. "We were in the sauna together talking after testing. We were just talking about the way the cars were handling when he slid his hand up my towel. He gave me the chance to say no...and I didn't." Arthur shrugged and then grinned towards Pierre. Arthur had noticed that Pierre's hand had slid down towards his crotch and seemed to be moving gently across a lump in his crotch. Arthur stretched out looking to the side but watching Pierre in his peripheral vision he could tell the F1 driver was watching his every move. "What about you?" Arthur asked. "Me?" Pierre replied looking confused. "Which cock do you prefer or something, you tell me?" Arthur shrugged again. "Oooh, I don't know, there have been a few." Pierre giggled. "A few? At the same time?" "Noooo..." Pierre cut in shock, then remembered Marina Bay, "...yeah." he conceded. "Man, you're crazy." Arthur beamed. Pierre smiled back warmly at Arthur's impish excitement. "Are you hard now?" Arthur asked, nodding towards Pierre's hand which clutched his crotch. "A little bit." Pierre admitted. "Do naughty stories make you hard, or do I make you hard?" Arthur continued. "Everything makes me hard." Pierre scoffed, reluctant to allow Arthur control. "Interesting." Arthur grinned, turning to make sure his slim body faced Pierre directly, then looking into Pierre's eyes then down to his bulge, the teenager showed Pierre how his own cock had begun to stir, gently pushing up against the fabric of his boxers in pulses. Pierre looked across at Arthur, this young kid he'd grown up with, practically been brothers with. Part of Pierre could never get over that, the fact that Charles and Arthur were two of his closest friends but that didn't stop them being two stunning young men. The Frenchman propelled himself off the couch towards Arthur and coming to an abrupt halt, similar to the cartoon roadrunner, Pierre's face was now just millimetres away from Arthur's tempting bulge. Arthur looked down upon Pierre's beautiful face and watched as the Alpha Tauri driver's hand took hold of his bulge. With a gentle squeeze, Pierre used his fingers to guess the size of Arthur's cock. The teenager's meat felt nice and thick hidden within the soft, dark fabric of Arthur's boxers. Arthur sighed, as Pierre's fingers felt their way around his throbbing prize. Pierre couldn't wait any longer, his fingers reached under the waistband and pulled the teenager's boxer shorts down. 7.5 inches of hard, uncut, olive meat bounced up, pointing towards Pierre's lips and begging to be sucked. "Oh, fucking yes Arthur." Pierre grinned as he swallowed the teenager in one gulp. "Merde." Arthur hissed as his boner became wonderfully warm and wet deep in Pierre's mouth. The Alpha Tauri driver swallowed every inch of Arthur's meat, bringing soft grumbles of pleasure from the young F3 driver. Pierre's warm mouth felt so incredibly good around his member that Arthur had to fight the urge to thrust up into his friend's beautiful face. Pierre's eyes looked at Arthur's cute face to see the youngster was fully gone, consumed by the Alpha Tauri driver's expert oral work. The 24-year-old brought his gaze back down slowly as he bobbed along Arthur's cock, studying the skinny youngster's smooth, tanned chest and noticing little goosebumps all along him. "My god." Arthur muttered again, verbalising his feelings towards Pierre's smooth sucking. The Alpha Tauri driver beamed at Arthur's vocal support, the more the youngster groaned the more control Pierre felt he had. Where were the boundaries with this kid, Charles was of course one of his best friends but he'd also known Arthur for the majority of his life too. The kid was hot and his cock tasted divine, it would be worse for his self-confidence to turn him down. [There's only 5 years between us in age gap and Arthur is old enough to make his own decisions now, I mean look at how horny he is, fuck it!!!] Pierre's mind was racing, simulating all the possibilities in a matter of seconds, "Should we go next door?" He asked, pulling off Arthur's cock and looking up at the F3 driver. Arthur's confidence masked the slightest hint of hesitation the youngster felt. What if Charles caught them, Pierre was like his best friend. Ugh, and Pierre was like an older brother to him, but a sexy one that wasn't related, [and my God, he is sexy.] This sexy older man wanted to spend time with him, share his experience and pleasure Arthur, this opportunity was possible to miss. "Yes, let's go." Arthur smiled. Pierre led them into the bedroom, closing-over the door behind them while Arthur climbed onto his bed. The Alpha Tauri driver followed him, removing his clothing as he did so. Pierre had noticed Arthur lay back with his legs open suggestively causing the Frenchman's 6.5-inch cock to solidify. Arthur watched mesmerised as Pierre's tanned, toned, furry body moved between his legs and his face lowered towards the teenager's crotch. Before Pierre could resume sucking Arthur's cock, he felt the F3 driver's hand under his chin, pausing his progress and directing him up Arthur's body. Pierre's eyes studied Arthur's body hungrily as he flew over it before coming to a stop inches away from Arthur's face. "I want you to fuck me." Arthur requested softly. Pierre allowed his lips to fall against Arthur's briefly causing a pulse of excitement from both cocks. "Ok, do you need much loosening up?" Pierre asked conscientiously. "No, I should be ok with some lube." Arthur replied. The words still ringing in his ears, Pierre's cock was the stiffest it had been at any point that weekend knowing this twink just needed a bit of lube to take his hard, horny cock. Grabbing the bottle of lube he had used for last night's cheeky wank while Charles was asleep, Pierre returned to the gap between Arthur's legs, the youngster raising them willingly to allow Pierre to get nice and close to him. The Alpha Tauri driver started with Arthur's hole, applying a nice coating of lube to his soft ring, sickening the light brown hairs that led into his cute, innocent looking entrance. Arthur released a soft groan in response to Pierre's firm fingers as they went to work. Next Pierre turned his attentions to his own cock pouring a little more than usual into his palm and using his fist to spread it nice and evenly along his entire length. Tossing the bottle aside and leaning forward Pierre made his first move causing a simultaneous heart rate increase in both men. Placing his slick tip at Arthur's entrance, Pierre paused for a second to ensure he was in the perfect position. "Ready?" "Oui." Arthur beamed before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Ahhh!" Arthur moaned as Pierre's tip pierced his entrance causing the F1 driver to pause for a second and masking the sound of the front door opening. "Oooooh." Arthur exhaled again as Pierre gradually applied pressure on the young bottom's hole, slowly easing him open and covering the noise of the front door closing. The F3 driver was concentrating so hard on managing the pain, opening his hole up for Pierre's sexy cock, just imagining how good it was going to feel when his ring stopped burning. "OH MY GOD, WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING???!!!" Charles screamed in shock. END Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story. If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on pcwtosh@gmail.com. Here is the rest of my collection: Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy 18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones, The Twins Nextdoor, 13 Goo-uld Reasons Why, Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway & Now You See Cole. Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer Ripped Roses, Jack's Web & Naughty Neigbours. Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY & Swimnasium. Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk & Deep Dipping in Dunkirk, Stranger Boys: Stranger Mendes, Oral Things, Someone Stranger in the Fuller House & A Stranger Series of Events. Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86 North American Swedes & Fly Eagles Fly Tennis series: Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the Bahamas, Bulging Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple Leafs, Made in Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Sleeping Meadows & Team Building in Melbourne Park. Football series: Lilywhite Hoops, From Paris with Love, The Hero and the Zero, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Return to the Wolfpack, The Tails of Two Nike Stars & Bayern Boys. Premier League Football Series F1 World Series Scrum Down - Rugby Series On Ice - Hockey Series England Cricket Boys Series Diving Squad Series Formula Football Series BoysPlay Mansion Series You can show your appreciation for all the guys at Nifty by donating here, https://donate.nifty.org/ | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Wed, 12 Jul 2023 16:38:00 +0100
From: PCW Tosh <pcwtosh@gmail.com>
Subject: My Friend's Baby Brother
Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence
that this actually happened, but we can all dream.
Stay healthy and practice safe sex!
Happy reading.
Formula Football 2.1: My Friend's Baby Brother
"Where the fuck is Charles?" Pierre asked, looking up from his phone. The
Alpha Tauri driver caught his jaw before it fell to his chest. "Yeah, I
don't know." Arthur replied thoughtfully, stood in nothing but a pair of
tight black CK boxer shorts. The F3 driver strode towards the couch and
threw himself into it with a thud, busing himself with his own phone while
the TV chattered away in the background.
Pierre tried to focus on his phone but the sight of the skinny young
Monegasque wearing just enough fabric to cover his vitals and the
surrounding area was too difficult to resist. Pierre and Charles had been
best friends for so long and Arthur had also been there in the background
as Charles' adorable younger brother.
"Have you been getting any action?" Pierre asked. "Yeah." Arthur beamed
proudly. Pierre glanced up from his phone with an enquiring look which
Arthur read with a smile. "No one special, a few girls back home and a few
more girls at race meets." Arthur grinned proudly, "How about you?" He
continued. It was Pierre's turn to smile, "Too much action, ever since I
won in Monza, I've had so much cock and pussy thrown at me it's
unbelievable." Pierre explained proudly. "Oh wow, cock too." Arthur replied
thoughtfully.
"Can I ask you something?" Arthur asked, holding his chin in thought. "Of
course." Pierre nodded. "Which do you prefer?" Arthur replied. "Cock."
Pierre grinned. "But I want a little boy someday and I want him to have a
mummy, so the pussy is good too." Pierre explained with a cheeky
smile. "Cool. Erm, so I got a hand job from Filip Ugran earlier this year
and I kind of liked it." Arthur confessed. Pierre's eyes lit up, "Oh
really, that's cool." He replied, dropping his phone aside and focussing
all his attention on the F3 driver.
"So, what made you tell me?" Pierre asked, leaning towards Arthur. "No
reason." He replied immediately. "Ok, I don't know how to talk to Charles
about it." Arthur admitted. [They don't talk about sex.] Pierre thought to
himself, studying Arthur's body language as he spoke. "Well if you have
more questions, I'm here for you." Pierre beamed. "Thanks Gas-man." Arthur
smiled, glancing sideways shyly.
Quietly, Pierre's cock was raging at the thought of Arthur doing another
guy, [insanely fucking hot!] The F3 driver had grown into a stunning young
man and although he had a little more growing up to do, he was looking very
good indeed. The Alpha Tauri driver had to keep the conversation going, he
had to get Arthur talking dirty and try to get him in the mood. "How did
you talk Filip into giving you a hand job?" Pierre asked, forcing an
innocence to his tone. "We were in the sauna together talking after
testing. We were just talking about the way the cars were handling when he
slid his hand up my towel. He gave me the chance to say no...and I didn't."
Arthur shrugged and then grinned towards Pierre.
Arthur had noticed that Pierre's hand had slid down towards his crotch and
seemed to be moving gently across a lump in his crotch. Arthur stretched
out looking to the side but watching Pierre in his peripheral vision he
could tell the F1 driver was watching his every move. "What about you?"
Arthur asked. "Me?" Pierre replied looking confused. "Which cock do you
prefer or something, you tell me?" Arthur shrugged again. "Oooh, I don't
know, there have been a few." Pierre giggled. "A few? At the same time?"
"Noooo..." Pierre cut in shock, then remembered Marina Bay, "...yeah." he
conceded. "Man, you're crazy." Arthur beamed. Pierre smiled back warmly at
Arthur's impish excitement.
"Are you hard now?" Arthur asked, nodding towards Pierre's hand which
clutched his crotch. "A little bit." Pierre admitted. "Do naughty stories
make you hard, or do I make you hard?" Arthur continued. "Everything makes
me hard." Pierre scoffed, reluctant to allow Arthur control. "Interesting."
Arthur grinned, turning to make sure his slim body faced Pierre directly,
then looking into Pierre's eyes then down to his bulge, the teenager showed
Pierre how his own cock had begun to stir, gently pushing up against the
fabric of his boxers in pulses.
Pierre looked across at Arthur, this young kid he'd grown up with,
practically been brothers with. Part of Pierre could never get over that,
the fact that Charles and Arthur were two of his closest friends but that
didn't stop them being two stunning young men. The Frenchman propelled
himself off the couch towards Arthur and coming to an abrupt halt, similar
to the cartoon roadrunner, Pierre's face was now just millimetres away from
Arthur's tempting bulge.
Arthur looked down upon Pierre's beautiful face and watched as the Alpha
Tauri driver's hand took hold of his bulge. With a gentle squeeze, Pierre
used his fingers to guess the size of Arthur's cock. The teenager's meat
felt nice and thick hidden within the soft, dark fabric of Arthur's
boxers. Arthur sighed, as Pierre's fingers felt their way around his
throbbing prize.
Pierre couldn't wait any longer, his fingers reached under the waistband
and pulled the teenager's boxer shorts down. 7.5 inches of hard, uncut,
olive meat bounced up, pointing towards Pierre's lips and begging to be
sucked. "Oh, fucking yes Arthur." Pierre grinned as he swallowed the
teenager in one gulp.
"Merde." Arthur hissed as his boner became wonderfully warm and wet deep in
Pierre's mouth. The Alpha Tauri driver swallowed every inch of Arthur's
meat, bringing soft grumbles of pleasure from the young F3 driver. Pierre's
warm mouth felt so incredibly good around his member that Arthur had to
fight the urge to thrust up into his friend's beautiful face.
Pierre's eyes looked at Arthur's cute face to see the youngster was fully
gone, consumed by the Alpha Tauri driver's expert oral work. The
24-year-old brought his gaze back down slowly as he bobbed along Arthur's
cock, studying the skinny youngster's smooth, tanned chest and noticing
little goosebumps all along him. "My god." Arthur muttered again,
verbalising his feelings towards Pierre's smooth sucking.
The Alpha Tauri driver beamed at Arthur's vocal support, the more the
youngster groaned the more control Pierre felt he had. Where were the
boundaries with this kid, Charles was of course one of his best friends but
he'd also known Arthur for the majority of his life too. The kid was hot
and his cock tasted divine, it would be worse for his self-confidence to
turn him down. [There's only 5 years between us in age gap and Arthur is
old enough to make his own decisions now, I mean look at how horny he is,
fuck it!!!] Pierre's mind was racing, simulating all the possibilities in a
matter of seconds, "Should we go next door?" He asked, pulling off Arthur's
cock and looking up at the F3 driver.
Arthur's confidence masked the slightest hint of hesitation the youngster
felt. What if Charles caught them, Pierre was like his best friend. Ugh,
and Pierre was like an older brother to him, but a sexy one that wasn't
related, [and my God, he is sexy.] This sexy older man wanted to spend time
with him, share his experience and pleasure Arthur, this opportunity was
possible to miss. "Yes, let's go." Arthur smiled.
Pierre led them into the bedroom, closing-over the door behind them while
Arthur climbed onto his bed. The Alpha Tauri driver followed him, removing
his clothing as he did so. Pierre had noticed Arthur lay back with his legs
open suggestively causing the Frenchman's 6.5-inch cock to solidify. Arthur
watched mesmerised as Pierre's tanned, toned, furry body moved between his
legs and his face lowered towards the teenager's crotch. Before Pierre
could resume sucking Arthur's cock, he felt the F3 driver's hand under his
chin, pausing his progress and directing him up Arthur's body. Pierre's
eyes studied Arthur's body hungrily as he flew over it before coming to a
stop inches away from Arthur's face. "I want you to fuck me." Arthur
requested softly.
Pierre allowed his lips to fall against Arthur's briefly causing a pulse of
excitement from both cocks. "Ok, do you need much loosening up?" Pierre
asked conscientiously. "No, I should be ok with some lube." Arthur
replied. The words still ringing in his ears, Pierre's cock was the
stiffest it had been at any point that weekend knowing this twink just
needed a bit of lube to take his hard, horny cock.
Grabbing the bottle of lube he had used for last night's cheeky wank while
Charles was asleep, Pierre returned to the gap between Arthur's legs, the
youngster raising them willingly to allow Pierre to get nice and close to
him. The Alpha Tauri driver started with Arthur's hole, applying a nice
coating of lube to his soft ring, sickening the light brown hairs that led
into his cute, innocent looking entrance. Arthur released a soft groan in
response to Pierre's firm fingers as they went to work. Next Pierre turned
his attentions to his own cock pouring a little more than usual into his
palm and using his fist to spread it nice and evenly along his entire
length.
Tossing the bottle aside and leaning forward Pierre made his first move
causing a simultaneous heart rate increase in both men. Placing his slick
tip at Arthur's entrance, Pierre paused for a second to ensure he was in
the perfect position. "Ready?" "Oui." Arthur beamed before closing his eyes
and taking a deep breath. "Ahhh!" Arthur moaned as Pierre's tip pierced his
entrance causing the F1 driver to pause for a second and masking the sound
of the front door opening. "Oooooh." Arthur exhaled again as Pierre
gradually applied pressure on the young bottom's hole, slowly easing him
open and covering the noise of the front door closing. The F3 driver was
concentrating so hard on managing the pain, opening his hole up for
Pierre's sexy cock, just imagining how good it was going to feel when his
ring stopped burning.
"OH MY GOD, WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING???!!!" Charles screamed in shock.
END
Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story.
If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on
pcwtosh@gmail.com.
Here is the rest of my collection:
Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy
18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The
Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones,
The Twins Nextdoor, 13 Goo-uld Reasons Why, Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway &
Now You See Cole.
Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer
Ripped Roses, Jack's Web & Naughty Neigbours.
Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY & Swimnasium.
Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk &
Deep Dipping in Dunkirk,
Stranger Boys:
Stranger Mendes, Oral Things, Someone Stranger in the Fuller House & A
Stranger Series of Events.
Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY
No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86
North American Swedes & Fly Eagles Fly
Tennis series:
Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the Bahamas, Bulging
Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple Leafs, Made in
Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Sleeping Meadows &
Team Building in Melbourne Park.
Football series:
Lilywhite Hoops, From Paris with Love, The Hero and the Zero, Austria v
Germany in Chelsea, Return to the Wolfpack, The Tails of Two Nike Stars &
Bayern Boys.
Premier League Football Series
F1 World Series
Scrum Down - Rugby Series
On Ice - Hockey Series
England Cricket Boys Series
Diving Squad Series
Formula Football Series
BoysPlay Mansion Series
You can show your appreciation for all the guys at Nifty by donating here,
https://donate.nifty.org/
</pcwtosh@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/formula-football/france-3-1-germany | Date: Mon, 22 Apr 2024 08:00:00 +0100 From: PCW Tosh Subject: Formula Football 2.2: France 3-1 Germany Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence that this actually happened, but we can all dream. Stay healthy and practice safe sex! Happy reading. Formula Football 2.2: France 3 - 1 Germany Charles Leclerc turned the knob and slipped into his room followed by Kai Havertz. The German pushed the door behind him until it clicked, not taking his eyes off the Ferrari driver for a moment. Charles looked so beautiful, his olive features as his gentle stubble giving him the sweetest look but his face had switched from happiness to a concerned thoughtfulness as he turned towards a sound coming from within one of the bedrooms. Charles moved across the room quietly glancing into his bedroom then removing his phone he sent Arthur a message. A moment later he could hear the ping of his brother's text alert through Pierre's bedroom door. Charles moved towards Pierre's bedroom door and turned the handle. "OH MY GOD, WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING???!!!" Charles screamed in shock. "FUCK, CHARLES!" Arthur squealed, pulling Pierre's cock from his arse and diving behind the covers. "Hey man." Pierre spoke coolly, trying to remain as calm as possible. Kai had to suppress a giggle at the surprised cries echoing around the room. "What's going on?" Charles asked, regaining control of his volume. "I'm sorry Charles, I..." "Sorry for what?" Charles interrupted, cutting his brother off mid-sentence. "Sorry for having sex with Pierre." Arthur moaned. "Fucking hell Pierre, you didn't tell him first?" Charles snapped. "No, I'm sorry." Pierre blushed, his cock still rock hard at the sight of an angry Charles and Kai's handsome figure moving in behind the Ferrari driver. Charles turned to Kai and whispered something to the German before striding towards Pierre and plying the Alpha Tauri driver with a long firm kiss. Arthur watched on, surprised and quite excited seeing Pierre and Charles kissing before he felt Kai's hand take him by the chin and tilted his face up for a kiss of their own. The F3 driver was pleasantly surprised by Kai's strength, the 6'3" footballer's muscles pulled Arthur into his clutches, so close Arthur could inhale nothing but Kai's masculine aftershave. Arthur's cock had fallen limp in the commotion but with Kai's undivided attention he was at full mast once more. Kai could feel Arthur's boner pressing against him and smiled, pulling away from the youngster's lips for a second, he whispered, "Take my clothes off." Before sucking at the Monegasque's soft lips again. Stuck in the hypnotic trance of Kai's beautiful grey eyes, Arthur followed his instructions disrobing the lanky German. Layer-by-layer he removed the footballer's clothing to reveal a stunningly smooth, and impressively toned body. Kai's eyes studied Arthur as the youngster removed the footballer's clothes. With his body becoming exposed the German just felt the anticipation flooding to his cock. The last item of clothing to be removed was the most important, allowing the three racers a moment to appreciate Kai wearing nothing but a pair of black CK boxers, Arthur ran his hands up the German's long legs from his calves up to the base of his boxers. The F3 driver repeated the same motion a couple more times before sliding his hands to the top of Kai's boxers and this time reaching under the waistband, he slowly began to peel the soft fabric down. Across the room Pierre wasn't as measured with his efforts. Grabbing hungrily at Charles arms, the Alpha Tauri driver threw them over his shoulders pulling his friend in for a kiss while his fingers worked Charles' belt. From the impression in Charles' jeans, Pierre could tell the Ferrari driver was already rock hard and ready to go. Throwing Charles' jeans open, the Frenchman tugged them and the Ferrari driver's boxers down in one go allowing his hard cock spring free. "Oh baby!" Pierre exclaimed as his eyes locked in on his old friend. The Ferrari driver's hard cock looked good enough to eat and without wasting another moment, the Frenchman closed his lips around Charles' head sliding straight to the base in one impressive motion. "Yes baby." Charles replied, enjoying the feeling of his friend's lips which rolled around his shaft and slid from tip to base with instant fluidity. Kai looked into Arthur's eyes and placing his hand on top of the F3 driver's head, the German guided Arthur's lips towards his hard, uncut 7-5-inch cock. Arthur had allowed Kai to manipulate his head and following the footballer's guidance, the young racer found his lips gently kissing the Chelsea star's head. Taking a moment to himself, Arthur just appreciated the sight and smell of the sexy German's enticing wand. Arthur's eyes studied the beautiful paleness of Kai's cock, paying particular attention to the part where the footballer's pale foreskin became a rosy pink. Parting his lips seductively, Arthur closed them together around Kai's head and in a deliberately calm and measured motion, The young Monegasque devoured Kai's long hard mast. The footballer looked across towards Charles and shared a smile with the Ferrari driver. Charles' eyes looked down at his brother with jealousy, desperate to have his own turn sucking at Kai's German sausage. The Monegasque's jealousy lasted a matter of seconds with Pierre's tongue refocusing his mind on his own pairing for now. "69?" Charles whispered to Pierre who beamed up at him in agreement. The two racers shared a final kiss and then falling towards opposite ends, they lay on the bed admiring the meat in front of them. The young studs reached out to take hold of each other's beautiful, uncut boners to which they were so accustomed. Rolling the foreskin back and forth, two olive hoods revealed two swollen, purple heads. Charles' tongue made contact with Pierre's tip just as Pierre closed his mouth around Charles' head. Kai was hungry for a cock of his own and with the other two engaging in a sexy 69, the German thought now could be a good time to merge. Placing his hand at the back of Arthur's head but continuing the roll his hips gently, Kai face fucked the cute teenager whilst lowering himself to the bed. Coming to rest on his backside, Kai allowed Arthur to resume control of his sucking while turning the cute youngster's lower half so that his cock was close to Pierre's face. The Frenchman continued to suck regardless until Kai's soft hands pulled him away from Charles' cock and guided his lips to Arthur's. Pierre offered no protest and seamlessly moved over to sucking Arthur's cute cock while the F3 driver continued to suck on Kai's slick boner. Next the German had to sort himself out, since that afternoon on the beach he'd been desperate for a taste of that sexy little Monegasque's tool and while Charles heedlessly bobbed away on Pierre's cock, the footballer moved back his legs in order to create the space to fall into. Kai collapsed to the mattress, tilting his cock to the side causing a brief adjustment for Arthur who made no fuss and after stroking Charles' beautiful cock a couple of times the handsome German devoured Charles' shaft and began to suck joining the love-ring. Four young athletic beauties formed a sucking square; Kai sucking Charles, sucking Pierre, sucking Arthur, sucking Kai. Each of them held their respective cocks at the base, stroking the foreskin as they sucked hungrily at each other's swollen heads. The German was the only one with a bald crotch to compliment his pale, smooth skin and add a little more length to his 7.5-inch cock. The Leclerc brothers were both trimmed, giving Kai and Pierre a light nose full of their brown pubes as they sucked. Pierre on the other hand had let his bush grow handsomely and to compliment his furry face, pits, pecs and trail, the Frenchman gave Charles a nose full of bushy brown hairs to inhale and he sucked. The scene was one of sheer beauty. Looking around the square from Kai's face to Charles' then Pierre's and Arthur's, the level of handsomeness remained world-class. The sound of sucking echoed around the room as four young men swabbed themselves with an equally beautiful piece of meat between their lips. For Pierre and Kai in particular they had the enjoyable honour of having a Leclerc at either end of them, pleasuring them with either their oral ability or the sexual magnetism. The smooth movements of lips gliding across uncut peeled back foreskins, sucking at the four beautiful mushrooms was repeated all the way around the ring for several minutes as they worked on building a strong, sexual atmosphere. As they sucked, all four horny boys were multitasking with their horny minds working out what they wanted to do next. Charles and Kai knew they would be fucking, after their previous rendezvous on the beach there was no way, they would miss the opportunity to finish the job even if Arhtur and Pierre had stolen some of their focus. On the other side of the square Arthur and Pierre had found themselves in a similar scenario where their story remained unfinished. In Kai's mind he would have no problem taking Charles' delicious, 7-inch cock up his arse however from the first time he'd seen the cute Monegasque break into F1, Kai had been desperate to fuck Charles' sexy body and pulling off the Monegasque's cock, Kai made that point by running his long tongue across Charles' inviting arse hole. Arthur's imagination was feeling bold, he was already trying something new in this semi four-way. He'd always looked up to Pierre and using his hand to guide the Frenchman, he guided Pierre's fingers over his tight hole for the Alpha Tauri driver to divert his attention. Pointing his finger into Arthur's hole and pushing firmly, Pierre took Arthur's hint and penetrated the cute youngster. With some lube still lining the way inside the twink's hole gave very little resistance, opening willingly to accommodate Pierre's invading digits. The Frenchman pushed in slowly, advancing several inches before he found a real protest, then withdrawing a little he returned to the first joint before pushing in again. The tightness of Arthur's sweet ring was adorable as it sucked hard on Pierre's fingers. Both Leclerc boys felt as though they were the centre of the world right now. Charles enjoyed Kai's long tongue lapping at his yearning ring while Arthur had Pierre's fingers wriggling within his. The young Monegasques could feel their muscles relaxing, their rings widening, at the prospect of their athletic bodies being filled with hot, hard cock filling them with insane levels of excitement. Still sucking with all their skill, Arthur and Charles lubed Kai and Pierre for the benefit of their brother as the time grew closer. Charles ran his tongue flat along Pierre's chunky 6.5-inch cock, rolling his lips down until the Frenchman's head scraped his tonsils. The Ferrari driver bobbed along Pierre's hard cock, burying his nose into his racing rival's fuzzy bush. Charles' younger brother bobbed at a similarly impressive speed, allowing his nose to graze Kai's smooth crotch with every dip down the German's 7.5-inch cock. Although the young Monegasque guessed that Charles would be getting this magnificent dick inside him, Arthur hoped the sexy German would have enough energy after to give him some too. A good 5 minutes of sucking passed by with each of them taking intermittent breathers before getting straight back to it. Kai was first to break the circle of sucking by releasing Charles' arse cheeks and wiping his mouth. "I need my dick in something tighter?" Kai declared, narrowing his eyes on Charles' sexy butt. The Ferrari driver grinned excitedly while Pierre too took the opportunity to break free and reaching for the lube, he tossed it to Kai who quickly applied some to Charles' hole and tossed it back to the Frenchman. While Pierre lubed his own cock the other pair had already begun to unite, Kai pushing Charles down onto his back, spreading the bottom's skinny legs nice and wide and pressed his spit, slick cock down into the racer's pink ring. Caring a little more for Arthur's welfare, Pierre added a generous helping of lube along his thick, hard cock, then a similarly generous helping to the F3 driver's ring before placing himself at Arthur's entrance. "Put your legs on my shoulders." Pierre whispered, leaning down. The Frenchman's lips rested against Arthur's while the young Monegasque lifted his legs onto Pierre's slim shoulders. Once Arthur's ankles were in position Pierre smiled into the bottom's beautiful eyes, "Ready?" "Yeah, go slow." Arthur begged. "Ok." Pierre nodded, then closing the gap, the Alpha Tauri driver administered the kiss and pushed his cock forward. The sweet thing about Pierre was he was a patient top and as his head slowly prised Arthur's hole open, he listened to the bottom's pain and waited for Arthur to allow him in. "Oh, my fucking God." Charles complained across the bed as Kai gave him no such time to adjust. The lanky German positioned his weight behind his shaft and leaned on Charles' hole. The Ferrari driver felt his ring accepting Kai's will, allowing the strong forward to penetrate his accommodating body. The muscular German's height gave him extra weight which he used to push behind his bare 7.5-inch shaft. With one long, firm push Kai found himself 6 inches inside Charles' sexy body and so much closer to pressing his smooth crotch against those beautiful, olive arse cheeks. "Holy fuck." Charles huffed again as he felt Kai edge himself back up slightly then began to feed himself into Charles' body with firm, revolving strokes. Kai's thick thighs were nice and wide apart, giving the top plenty of leverage as he edged deeper into the sexy racer. "You like my dick boy?" Kai asked, as he pumped into Charles' hole. "It's very nice yes." Charles nodded, ignoring the pain of the footballer's dominant streak and focusing on that special tingle Kai's bare head was stroking into him. Kai knew Charles could take it rough, since their day on the beach, they had shared messages about this moment. The footballer had given Charles every opportunity to request a gentle fuck but from the way Monegasque had flirted it was clear he loved it firm. "Yessss." Charles hissed as the German's smooth crotch kissed his firm arse cheeks. Now they were full united, Charles knew he could manage Kai's 7-5 inches with his usual bottoming expertise. Not wasting an inch, Kai used the full length of his shaft to pile drive into Charles's sexy little body. The sound of his bare, naked crotch pinging against Charles' firm arse cheeks rang around the room only to be drowned out by the forced exhales of Charles under the duress of Kai's power. The Ferrari driver's body took its punishment like the pro Charles had become. 7.5 inches of hard German cock slid back and forth with amazing freedom, exploring the delight of Charles' insides while the bottom cheered him on gratefully. The view above Charles was of the German's smooth, athletically muscular frame tensing deliciously hard as it thrust him full of meat. "Yes, baby, yesss." Charles hissed. From the moment he found himself sliding into Charles' body, Kai felt at home. The racer's perfect, pink hole sucked on his cock as it rubbed his sensitive insides. Below Kai, a pair of smooth nuts were triggered into action by the wave of happiness warming his body. Charles looked lusciously lovable as Kai felt his long, pale cock sliced its way into the gap between those skinny, hairy legs and into the racer's sweet belly. Kai's grey eyes drank in the sight of those adorable dimples which accompanied Charles' famous smile and the gentle sighs of the horny bottom which fell from his hanging mouth. Were Kai's eyes deceiving him or were Charles' cheeks getting rosier after every deep thrust of the German's long boner. "Ahh...yeahhhh...boyyy." Charles hummed as Kai moved up through the gears. The big footballer used 6 inches of his 7.5-inch cock to pleasure Charles' body. The bottom's original plan had been to wank himself dry to Kai's sexy body but with Pierre's arse available on the other side of the room his plans had changed. The Ferrari driver's cock lay hard but untouched as he resisted the urge to use the shockwaves of Kai's brutal body bashing into his aching hole. Charles' eyes enjoyed that smooth, pale texture of Kai's toned body as it pounded down into him. Something about Kai's smooth pecs and strong shoulders took Charles to dreamland as the footballer rammed his cock up against the racer's prostate. A flick of the German's low hanging, wavy fringe looked insanely arousing as the top gave Charles the business, rolling that amazing cock straight up the racer's tender chute to stroke at his soft sphincter. The thundering rumble of Kai's bare cock slamming deep up inside his belly was exactly the sort of punishment Charles enjoyed in life. As slender and lanky as Kai looked, the Chelsea forward's muscle tone added plenty of weight to every thrust, blasting increasingly animal grunts from the Monegasque. Of all the times Charles had bottomed this was probably his roughest man handling he experienced so far. Kai certainly knew his German kink of raw, sexual desire and Charles absolutely loved it. The weight of the big forward pounding against his body grew so powerful that Charles was forced to give his cock a little squeeze. The reaction was intense, exciting and ultimately going to be way too much stimulation for the racer who decided against dropping his load so quickly. Unable to touch himself for fear of cumming too soon Charles decided the best thing was to just appreciate everything Kai was giving him. Kai's smooth nuts were also begging him for a release as the German drove his hard cock up into Charles' sexy belly. The irresistibly cute Monegasque just smiled back up at him with a look of sweet content on his face with every ruthless spearing of the top's bare boner. Those grey eyes consumed the wonderfully toned muscles rolling from Charles' left hand, up his left arm to drink in the sight of his bicep, working across that smooth, strong shoulder line and back down to Charles' right hand, making sure to allow his wider vision to enjoy Charles' smooth, sexy chest on the way past. Kai rammed his smooth crotch up into Charles' sweet cunt then withdrew the entire thing to give his nuts the briefest intermission. The gasp of relief as Kai's cock left his body had barely finished when the footballer gripped Charles' arm and pulled the racer up and around onto all fours. Charles' olive body looked magnificent; lean, tight and smooth in all the right places but wonderfully hairy in others. Shuffling between the Monegasque's skinny legs, Kai gripped the Ferrari driver's hairy left leg and placed his tip up against the racer's hole. Charles inhaled a deep breath and relaxed his arse hole in the same motion. Squeezing his smooth glutes, Kai pushed his hard cock forward and re-entered the racer with incredible ease. The German's mast rolled straight up Charles' perfectly moulded chute and resumed pumping his throbbing log with the same ruthless aggression as before. Missionary brought a romantic connection to sex, but doggy gave Kai all the access he needed to obliterate his bottom. Kai pulled himself back 6 inches then threw his entire body forward until his smooth crotch collided with Charles' pert cheeks. For extra leverage the footballer then closed his hand around the back of Charles' neck and squeezed hard as he slammed into the sexy Monegasque who groaned with delight. The only issue for Charles was he wanted to look and see what Kai looked like right now, but the brutal top wouldn't allow him. The Chelsea forward had clenched a firm grip around the back of Charles' neck now with both hands to keep himself steady as his long hard cock rammed deep and straight up inside the Ferrari racer's belly. There was a certain selfishness to Kai's style, and he knew it, but the German was a showman and he wanted this to be a memorable night for Charles. The handsome Monegasque was probably the sexiest boy he'd ever seen, and he wanted to prove that by inflicting extreme devastation on Charles' hole...or at least until he protested. There was no protest forthcoming however, Charles took it harder than all that came before him. Whatever was happening across the bed was relegated to a side show as the brutality escalated. Kai's face was now covered in sweat with the air-conditioning keeping their bodies as cool as possible given their current activity. Normally Kai's neat hair stayed in place as he intended but not with the weight, he threw behind every shot. Dropping down in front of his right eye, Kai flicked his fringe away showering the small of Charles' back with droplets of his sweat. The sound of sweaty skin smashing into sweaty skin echoed around the room broken only by the sound of Charles' boner pinging against his own stomach as it bounced up and down. The full surface of Kai's quads assaulted Charles' glutes and hamstrings with a barrage of thrusts, each one increasing the tension in the German's nuts as they prepared to blow. All but the head of Kai's long, uncut removed itself from Charles' delicious chute before piling back inside with another resounding thud. The footballer's incredible athleticism and stamina was on full show as he ploughed deep and hard into the racer's waiting body. The strongest blow of the lot was accompanied with extra pressure around Charles' neck and the most satisfied grunt he'd ever heard from a man. "Shizer!" Kai spat as his smooth balls exploded, blasting hot cum down into Charles' waiting belly. "Oh, my Godddd!" Charles exclaimed, the blood vessels in his head ready to burst from the pressure of Kai's tightening hands around the back of his neck while the German continued to thud but at a slower and harder rhythm. "Fuck...fuck...fuck!" Charles grumbled after each impact as Kai's large frame smashed into his firm arse cheeks. Sensitive, tight membrane clung tight to Kai's shaft as the German stabbed himself deep and hard into Charles' stomach. Wave after wave of Kai's thick pearly cum exploded from his swollen, pink head, launching a river of sweet spunk up into the bottom's chute. The Monegasque's warm insides still begged Kai for more and the German gave it to him, shooting the rest of his smooth nuts' contents deep into Charles' waiting belly with another thunderous growl of approval from both parties. The pressure of Kai's grip had turned Charles' face a deep beetroot shade, but the end was close. The footballer could no longer thrust his cock into Charles but there wasn't any further need to. The aggressive pulsing of Kai's cock weakened, squeezing the final contents of his shaft into the Monegasque's waiting chute. Charles could feel Kai's grip loosen allowing the blood to drain away from his face. There was a brief pause while Kai regained his balance then placing a sweaty palm on Charles' sweaty lower back, Kai reversed. Gritting his teeth, Charles grimaced as they separated with his hole sealing in the German's deposit. Falling back into the bed behind him, Kai looked magnificent. His smooth, lanky body had that radiant post sex glow, a coat of sweat added and raising his arms up behind his head the German flaunted an array of the muscles which had given Charles such a brutal pounding. The Ferrari looked at the sexy footballer who beamed back at him. How Charles would've dearly loved to tug the load Kai had helped produce out over the German's sexy canvas but today that was the second-best option available. In Charles' peripheral vision Pierre's furry arse swung back and forth invitingly and given the Monegasque's nuts were currently storing a growing load of their own, Charles decided it would be better to cum in someone rather than on someone. END Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story. If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on pcwtosh@gmail.com and/or for updates: Instagram - pcwtoshx Twitter - @pcwtosh Here is the rest of my collection: Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy 18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones, The Twins Nextdoor, 13 Goo-uld Reasons Why, Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway, Now You See Cole, Big Apple Aussies & Cole el Elite. 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Date: Mon, 22 Apr 2024 08:00:00 +0100
From: PCW Tosh <pcwtosh@gmail.com>
Subject: Formula Football 2.2: France 3-1 Germany
Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence
that this actually happened, but we can all dream.
Stay healthy and practice safe sex!
Happy reading.
Formula Football 2.2: France 3 - 1 Germany
Charles Leclerc turned the knob and slipped into his room followed by Kai
Havertz. The German pushed the door behind him until it clicked, not taking
his eyes off the Ferrari driver for a moment. Charles looked so beautiful,
his olive features as his gentle stubble giving him the sweetest look but
his face had switched from happiness to a concerned thoughtfulness as he
turned towards a sound coming from within one of the bedrooms. Charles
moved across the room quietly glancing into his bedroom then removing his
phone he sent Arthur a message. A moment later he could hear the ping of
his brother's text alert through Pierre's bedroom door. Charles moved
towards Pierre's bedroom door and turned the handle.
"OH MY GOD, WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING???!!!" Charles screamed in shock.
"FUCK, CHARLES!" Arthur squealed, pulling Pierre's cock from his arse and
diving behind the covers. "Hey man." Pierre spoke coolly, trying to remain
as calm as possible.
Kai had to suppress a giggle at the surprised cries echoing around the
room. "What's going on?" Charles asked, regaining control of his
volume. "I'm sorry Charles, I..." "Sorry for what?" Charles interrupted,
cutting his brother off mid-sentence. "Sorry for having sex with Pierre."
Arthur moaned. "Fucking hell Pierre, you didn't tell him first?" Charles
snapped. "No, I'm sorry." Pierre blushed, his cock still rock hard at the
sight of an angry Charles and Kai's handsome figure moving in behind the
Ferrari driver.
Charles turned to Kai and whispered something to the German before striding
towards Pierre and plying the Alpha Tauri driver with a long firm
kiss. Arthur watched on, surprised and quite excited seeing Pierre and
Charles kissing before he felt Kai's hand take him by the chin and tilted
his face up for a kiss of their own. The F3 driver was pleasantly surprised
by Kai's strength, the 6'3" footballer's muscles pulled Arthur into his
clutches, so close Arthur could inhale nothing but Kai's masculine
aftershave. Arthur's cock had fallen limp in the commotion but with Kai's
undivided attention he was at full mast once more. Kai could feel Arthur's
boner pressing against him and smiled, pulling away from the youngster's
lips for a second, he whispered, "Take my clothes off." Before sucking at
the Monegasque's soft lips again.
Stuck in the hypnotic trance of Kai's beautiful grey eyes, Arthur followed
his instructions disrobing the lanky German. Layer-by-layer he removed the
footballer's clothing to reveal a stunningly smooth, and impressively toned
body. Kai's eyes studied Arthur as the youngster removed the footballer's
clothes. With his body becoming exposed the German just felt the
anticipation flooding to his cock. The last item of clothing to be removed
was the most important, allowing the three racers a moment to appreciate
Kai wearing nothing but a pair of black CK boxers, Arthur ran his hands up
the German's long legs from his calves up to the base of his boxers. The F3
driver repeated the same motion a couple more times before sliding his
hands to the top of Kai's boxers and this time reaching under the
waistband, he slowly began to peel the soft fabric down.
Across the room Pierre wasn't as measured with his efforts. Grabbing
hungrily at Charles arms, the Alpha Tauri driver threw them over his
shoulders pulling his friend in for a kiss while his fingers worked
Charles' belt. From the impression in Charles' jeans, Pierre could tell the
Ferrari driver was already rock hard and ready to go. Throwing Charles'
jeans open, the Frenchman tugged them and the Ferrari driver's boxers down
in one go allowing his hard cock spring free. "Oh baby!" Pierre exclaimed
as his eyes locked in on his old friend. The Ferrari driver's hard cock
looked good enough to eat and without wasting another moment, the Frenchman
closed his lips around Charles' head sliding straight to the base in one
impressive motion. "Yes baby." Charles replied, enjoying the feeling of his
friend's lips which rolled around his shaft and slid from tip to base with
instant fluidity.
Kai looked into Arthur's eyes and placing his hand on top of the F3
driver's head, the German guided Arthur's lips towards his hard, uncut
7-5-inch cock. Arthur had allowed Kai to manipulate his head and following
the footballer's guidance, the young racer found his lips gently kissing
the Chelsea star's head. Taking a moment to himself, Arthur just
appreciated the sight and smell of the sexy German's enticing
wand. Arthur's eyes studied the beautiful paleness of Kai's cock, paying
particular attention to the part where the footballer's pale foreskin
became a rosy pink. Parting his lips seductively, Arthur closed them
together around Kai's head and in a deliberately calm and measured motion,
The young Monegasque devoured Kai's long hard mast.
The footballer looked across towards Charles and shared a smile with the
Ferrari driver. Charles' eyes looked down at his brother with jealousy,
desperate to have his own turn sucking at Kai's German sausage. The
Monegasque's jealousy lasted a matter of seconds with Pierre's tongue
refocusing his mind on his own pairing for now.
"69?" Charles whispered to Pierre who beamed up at him in agreement. The
two racers shared a final kiss and then falling towards opposite ends, they
lay on the bed admiring the meat in front of them. The young studs reached
out to take hold of each other's beautiful, uncut boners to which they were
so accustomed. Rolling the foreskin back and forth, two olive hoods
revealed two swollen, purple heads. Charles' tongue made contact with
Pierre's tip just as Pierre closed his mouth around Charles' head.
Kai was hungry for a cock of his own and with the other two engaging in a
sexy 69, the German thought now could be a good time to merge. Placing his
hand at the back of Arthur's head but continuing the roll his hips gently,
Kai face fucked the cute teenager whilst lowering himself to the
bed. Coming to rest on his backside, Kai allowed Arthur to resume control
of his sucking while turning the cute youngster's lower half so that his
cock was close to Pierre's face. The Frenchman continued to suck regardless
until Kai's soft hands pulled him away from Charles' cock and guided his
lips to Arthur's. Pierre offered no protest and seamlessly moved over to
sucking Arthur's cute cock while the F3 driver continued to suck on Kai's
slick boner.
Next the German had to sort himself out, since that afternoon on the beach
he'd been desperate for a taste of that sexy little Monegasque's tool and
while Charles heedlessly bobbed away on Pierre's cock, the footballer moved
back his legs in order to create the space to fall into. Kai collapsed to
the mattress, tilting his cock to the side causing a brief adjustment for
Arthur who made no fuss and after stroking Charles' beautiful cock a couple
of times the handsome German devoured Charles' shaft and began to suck
joining the love-ring.
Four young athletic beauties formed a sucking square; Kai sucking Charles,
sucking Pierre, sucking Arthur, sucking Kai. Each of them held their
respective cocks at the base, stroking the foreskin as they sucked hungrily
at each other's swollen heads. The German was the only one with a bald
crotch to compliment his pale, smooth skin and add a little more length to
his 7.5-inch cock. The Leclerc brothers were both trimmed, giving Kai and
Pierre a light nose full of their brown pubes as they sucked. Pierre on the
other hand had let his bush grow handsomely and to compliment his furry
face, pits, pecs and trail, the Frenchman gave Charles a nose full of bushy
brown hairs to inhale and he sucked.
The scene was one of sheer beauty. Looking around the square from Kai's
face to Charles' then Pierre's and Arthur's, the level of handsomeness
remained world-class. The sound of sucking echoed around the room as four
young men swabbed themselves with an equally beautiful piece of meat
between their lips. For Pierre and Kai in particular they had the enjoyable
honour of having a Leclerc at either end of them, pleasuring them with
either their oral ability or the sexual magnetism. The smooth movements of
lips gliding across uncut peeled back foreskins, sucking at the four
beautiful mushrooms was repeated all the way around the ring for several
minutes as they worked on building a strong, sexual atmosphere.
As they sucked, all four horny boys were multitasking with their horny
minds working out what they wanted to do next. Charles and Kai knew they
would be fucking, after their previous rendezvous on the beach there was no
way, they would miss the opportunity to finish the job even if Arhtur and
Pierre had stolen some of their focus. On the other side of the square
Arthur and Pierre had found themselves in a similar scenario where their
story remained unfinished. In Kai's mind he would have no problem taking
Charles' delicious, 7-inch cock up his arse however from the first time
he'd seen the cute Monegasque break into F1, Kai had been desperate to fuck
Charles' sexy body and pulling off the Monegasque's cock, Kai made that
point by running his long tongue across Charles' inviting arse
hole. Arthur's imagination was feeling bold, he was already trying
something new in this semi four-way. He'd always looked up to Pierre and
using his hand to guide the Frenchman, he guided Pierre's fingers over his
tight hole for the Alpha Tauri driver to divert his attention.
Pointing his finger into Arthur's hole and pushing firmly, Pierre took
Arthur's hint and penetrated the cute youngster. With some lube still
lining the way inside the twink's hole gave very little resistance, opening
willingly to accommodate Pierre's invading digits. The Frenchman pushed in
slowly, advancing several inches before he found a real protest, then
withdrawing a little he returned to the first joint before pushing in
again. The tightness of Arthur's sweet ring was adorable as it sucked hard
on Pierre's fingers.
Both Leclerc boys felt as though they were the centre of the world right
now. Charles enjoyed Kai's long tongue lapping at his yearning ring while
Arthur had Pierre's fingers wriggling within his. The young Monegasques
could feel their muscles relaxing, their rings widening, at the prospect of
their athletic bodies being filled with hot, hard cock filling them with
insane levels of excitement.
Still sucking with all their skill, Arthur and Charles lubed Kai and Pierre
for the benefit of their brother as the time grew closer. Charles ran his
tongue flat along Pierre's chunky 6.5-inch cock, rolling his lips down
until the Frenchman's head scraped his tonsils. The Ferrari driver bobbed
along Pierre's hard cock, burying his nose into his racing rival's fuzzy
bush. Charles' younger brother bobbed at a similarly impressive speed,
allowing his nose to graze Kai's smooth crotch with every dip down the
German's 7.5-inch cock. Although the young Monegasque guessed that Charles
would be getting this magnificent dick inside him, Arthur hoped the sexy
German would have enough energy after to give him some too.
A good 5 minutes of sucking passed by with each of them taking intermittent
breathers before getting straight back to it. Kai was first to break the
circle of sucking by releasing Charles' arse cheeks and wiping his
mouth. "I need my dick in something tighter?" Kai declared, narrowing his
eyes on Charles' sexy butt. The Ferrari driver grinned excitedly while
Pierre too took the opportunity to break free and reaching for the lube, he
tossed it to Kai who quickly applied some to Charles' hole and tossed it
back to the Frenchman. While Pierre lubed his own cock the other pair had
already begun to unite, Kai pushing Charles down onto his back, spreading
the bottom's skinny legs nice and wide and pressed his spit, slick cock
down into the racer's pink ring.
Caring a little more for Arthur's welfare, Pierre added a generous helping
of lube along his thick, hard cock, then a similarly generous helping to
the F3 driver's ring before placing himself at Arthur's entrance. "Put your
legs on my shoulders." Pierre whispered, leaning down. The Frenchman's lips
rested against Arthur's while the young Monegasque lifted his legs onto
Pierre's slim shoulders. Once Arthur's ankles were in position Pierre
smiled into the bottom's beautiful eyes, "Ready?" "Yeah, go slow." Arthur
begged. "Ok." Pierre nodded, then closing the gap, the Alpha Tauri driver
administered the kiss and pushed his cock forward. The sweet thing about
Pierre was he was a patient top and as his head slowly prised Arthur's hole
open, he listened to the bottom's pain and waited for Arthur to allow him
in.
"Oh, my fucking God." Charles complained across the bed as Kai gave him no
such time to adjust. The lanky German positioned his weight behind his
shaft and leaned on Charles' hole. The Ferrari driver felt his ring
accepting Kai's will, allowing the strong forward to penetrate his
accommodating body. The muscular German's height gave him extra weight
which he used to push behind his bare 7.5-inch shaft. With one long, firm
push Kai found himself 6 inches inside Charles' sexy body and so much
closer to pressing his smooth crotch against those beautiful, olive arse
cheeks. "Holy fuck." Charles huffed again as he felt Kai edge himself back
up slightly then began to feed himself into Charles' body with firm,
revolving strokes. Kai's thick thighs were nice and wide apart, giving the
top plenty of leverage as he edged deeper into the sexy racer.
"You like my dick boy?" Kai asked, as he pumped into Charles' hole. "It's
very nice yes." Charles nodded, ignoring the pain of the footballer's
dominant streak and focusing on that special tingle Kai's bare head was
stroking into him. Kai knew Charles could take it rough, since their day on
the beach, they had shared messages about this moment. The footballer had
given Charles every opportunity to request a gentle fuck but from the way
Monegasque had flirted it was clear he loved it firm. "Yessss." Charles
hissed as the German's smooth crotch kissed his firm arse cheeks. Now they
were full united, Charles knew he could manage Kai's 7-5 inches with his
usual bottoming expertise.
Not wasting an inch, Kai used the full length of his shaft to pile drive
into Charles's sexy little body. The sound of his bare, naked crotch
pinging against Charles' firm arse cheeks rang around the room only to be
drowned out by the forced exhales of Charles under the duress of Kai's
power. The Ferrari driver's body took its punishment like the pro Charles
had become. 7.5 inches of hard German cock slid back and forth with amazing
freedom, exploring the delight of Charles' insides while the bottom cheered
him on gratefully. The view above Charles was of the German's smooth,
athletically muscular frame tensing deliciously hard as it thrust him full
of meat. "Yes, baby, yesss." Charles hissed.
From the moment he found himself sliding into Charles' body, Kai felt at
home. The racer's perfect, pink hole sucked on his cock as it rubbed his
sensitive insides. Below Kai, a pair of smooth nuts were triggered into
action by the wave of happiness warming his body. Charles looked lusciously
lovable as Kai felt his long, pale cock sliced its way into the gap between
those skinny, hairy legs and into the racer's sweet belly. Kai's grey eyes
drank in the sight of those adorable dimples which accompanied Charles'
famous smile and the gentle sighs of the horny bottom which fell from his
hanging mouth. Were Kai's eyes deceiving him or were Charles' cheeks
getting rosier after every deep thrust of the German's long boner.
"Ahh...yeahhhh...boyyy." Charles hummed as Kai moved up through the
gears. The big footballer used 6 inches of his 7.5-inch cock to pleasure
Charles' body. The bottom's original plan had been to wank himself dry to
Kai's sexy body but with Pierre's arse available on the other side of the
room his plans had changed. The Ferrari driver's cock lay hard but
untouched as he resisted the urge to use the shockwaves of Kai's brutal
body bashing into his aching hole. Charles' eyes enjoyed that smooth, pale
texture of Kai's toned body as it pounded down into him. Something about
Kai's smooth pecs and strong shoulders took Charles to dreamland as the
footballer rammed his cock up against the racer's prostate. A flick of the
German's low hanging, wavy fringe looked insanely arousing as the top gave
Charles the business, rolling that amazing cock straight up the racer's
tender chute to stroke at his soft sphincter.
The thundering rumble of Kai's bare cock slamming deep up inside his belly
was exactly the sort of punishment Charles enjoyed in life. As slender and
lanky as Kai looked, the Chelsea forward's muscle tone added plenty of
weight to every thrust, blasting increasingly animal grunts from the
Monegasque. Of all the times Charles had bottomed this was probably his
roughest man handling he experienced so far. Kai certainly knew his German
kink of raw, sexual desire and Charles absolutely loved it. The weight of
the big forward pounding against his body grew so powerful that Charles was
forced to give his cock a little squeeze. The reaction was intense,
exciting and ultimately going to be way too much stimulation for the racer
who decided against dropping his load so quickly. Unable to touch himself
for fear of cumming too soon Charles decided the best thing was to just
appreciate everything Kai was giving him.
Kai's smooth nuts were also begging him for a release as the German drove
his hard cock up into Charles' sexy belly. The irresistibly cute Monegasque
just smiled back up at him with a look of sweet content on his face with
every ruthless spearing of the top's bare boner. Those grey eyes consumed
the wonderfully toned muscles rolling from Charles' left hand, up his left
arm to drink in the sight of his bicep, working across that smooth, strong
shoulder line and back down to Charles' right hand, making sure to allow
his wider vision to enjoy Charles' smooth, sexy chest on the way past. Kai
rammed his smooth crotch up into Charles' sweet cunt then withdrew the
entire thing to give his nuts the briefest intermission.
The gasp of relief as Kai's cock left his body had barely finished when the
footballer gripped Charles' arm and pulled the racer up and around onto all
fours. Charles' olive body looked magnificent; lean, tight and smooth in
all the right places but wonderfully hairy in others. Shuffling between the
Monegasque's skinny legs, Kai gripped the Ferrari driver's hairy left leg
and placed his tip up against the racer's hole. Charles inhaled a deep
breath and relaxed his arse hole in the same motion. Squeezing his smooth
glutes, Kai pushed his hard cock forward and re-entered the racer with
incredible ease. The German's mast rolled straight up Charles' perfectly
moulded chute and resumed pumping his throbbing log with the same ruthless
aggression as before.
Missionary brought a romantic connection to sex, but doggy gave Kai all the
access he needed to obliterate his bottom. Kai pulled himself back 6 inches
then threw his entire body forward until his smooth crotch collided with
Charles' pert cheeks. For extra leverage the footballer then closed his
hand around the back of Charles' neck and squeezed hard as he slammed into
the sexy Monegasque who groaned with delight. The only issue for Charles
was he wanted to look and see what Kai looked like right now, but the
brutal top wouldn't allow him. The Chelsea forward had clenched a firm grip
around the back of Charles' neck now with both hands to keep himself steady
as his long hard cock rammed deep and straight up inside the Ferrari
racer's belly.
There was a certain selfishness to Kai's style, and he knew it, but the
German was a showman and he wanted this to be a memorable night for
Charles. The handsome Monegasque was probably the sexiest boy he'd ever
seen, and he wanted to prove that by inflicting extreme devastation on
Charles' hole...or at least until he protested. There was no protest
forthcoming however, Charles took it harder than all that came before him.
Whatever was happening across the bed was relegated to a side show as the
brutality escalated. Kai's face was now covered in sweat with the
air-conditioning keeping their bodies as cool as possible given their
current activity. Normally Kai's neat hair stayed in place as he intended
but not with the weight, he threw behind every shot. Dropping down in front
of his right eye, Kai flicked his fringe away showering the small of
Charles' back with droplets of his sweat.
The sound of sweaty skin smashing into sweaty skin echoed around the room
broken only by the sound of Charles' boner pinging against his own stomach
as it bounced up and down. The full surface of Kai's quads assaulted
Charles' glutes and hamstrings with a barrage of thrusts, each one
increasing the tension in the German's nuts as they prepared to blow. All
but the head of Kai's long, uncut removed itself from Charles' delicious
chute before piling back inside with another resounding thud. The
footballer's incredible athleticism and stamina was on full show as he
ploughed deep and hard into the racer's waiting body. The strongest blow of
the lot was accompanied with extra pressure around Charles' neck and the
most satisfied grunt he'd ever heard from a man.
"Shizer!" Kai spat as his smooth balls exploded, blasting hot cum down into
Charles' waiting belly. "Oh, my Godddd!" Charles exclaimed, the blood
vessels in his head ready to burst from the pressure of Kai's tightening
hands around the back of his neck while the German continued to thud but at
a slower and harder rhythm. "Fuck...fuck...fuck!" Charles grumbled after
each impact as Kai's large frame smashed into his firm arse cheeks.
Sensitive, tight membrane clung tight to Kai's shaft as the German stabbed
himself deep and hard into Charles' stomach. Wave after wave of Kai's thick
pearly cum exploded from his swollen, pink head, launching a river of sweet
spunk up into the bottom's chute. The Monegasque's warm insides still
begged Kai for more and the German gave it to him, shooting the rest of his
smooth nuts' contents deep into Charles' waiting belly with another
thunderous growl of approval from both parties.
The pressure of Kai's grip had turned Charles' face a deep beetroot shade,
but the end was close. The footballer could no longer thrust his cock into
Charles but there wasn't any further need to. The aggressive pulsing of
Kai's cock weakened, squeezing the final contents of his shaft into the
Monegasque's waiting chute. Charles could feel Kai's grip loosen allowing
the blood to drain away from his face. There was a brief pause while Kai
regained his balance then placing a sweaty palm on Charles' sweaty lower
back, Kai reversed. Gritting his teeth, Charles grimaced as they separated
with his hole sealing in the German's deposit.
Falling back into the bed behind him, Kai looked magnificent. His smooth,
lanky body had that radiant post sex glow, a coat of sweat added and
raising his arms up behind his head the German flaunted an array of the
muscles which had given Charles such a brutal pounding. The Ferrari looked
at the sexy footballer who beamed back at him. How Charles would've dearly
loved to tug the load Kai had helped produce out over the German's sexy
canvas but today that was the second-best option available. In Charles'
peripheral vision Pierre's furry arse swung back and forth invitingly and
given the Monegasque's nuts were currently storing a growing load of their
own, Charles decided it would be better to cum in someone rather than on
someone.
END
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/formula-football/kylians-leclerc-sandwich | Date: Mon, 16 Sep 2024 08:00:00 +0100 From: PCW Tosh Subject: Formula Football: Kylian's Leclerc Sandwich Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence that this actually happened, but we can all dream. Stay healthy and practice safe sex! Happy reading. Formula Football 4.2: Kylian's Leclerc Sandwich The door swung open and there he was, back again for a second visit. Kylian Mbappe beamed striding through the open door, planting a kiss on each of Charles' cheeks as he entered the room. Charles' brother Arthur Leclerc looked up in shock as the sexy footballer approached him directly and pulled him up from the couch giving him the same pair of greeting kisses. Charles closed the door and followed Kylian across the room with an excited skip in his step. The Ferrari driver could see the energy was strong between Kylian and his brother, [perfect!] "Arthur, Kylian owes my arse a good fucking, but he likes to get some dick too. Do you want to have a go on his sexy, black arse?" Charles asked his brother. The reply was silent but emphatic, nodding enthusiastically. The young racer couldn't believe it, the look on Charles' face was of immense pride as he curled his finger, beckoning the pair of them to follow him to the bedroom. Arthur allowed Kylian to enter first watching the footballer's wiggle in his comfy looking dark blue trackies. Kylian's jogging bottoms left little to the imagination, straining around the black boy's juicy, round arse. Greeting Kylian in open arms, Charles pulled the footballer in for a kiss, locking their lips momentarily. The Ferrari driver kept his eyes open as his lips took control of Kylian's and catching Arthur then pulling his brother in, Charles initiated a naughty three-way kiss. The F1 driver could tell from the look in Arthur's eyes that his younger brother was trying to process what was happening, but then he hadn't recoiled in total disgust. Charles had no intention of proposing a one-on-one with his baby brother but with a handsome, black stud there with them, Kylian was someone they could enjoy together. Now that their lips and tongues were playing together, Charles could find a better use for his hands. Reaching up for Kylian's sports jacket, he unzipped the footballer opening him up then threw the jacket aside. Next tugging at the hem of Kylian's white, muscle fit t-shirt, Charles lifted it up, forcing the three of them to part as it went over Kylian's head. Both Leclercs looked across towards Kylian's exposed body and surveyed the beauty of the handsome footballer. The delicious darkness of his smooth skin made both racers throb. Charles continued his handy work, reaching for the waistband of Kylian's tracksuit bottoms while Arthur found a different way to make himself useful. The F2 driver bent his knees slightly and got to work kissing at the footballer's stunning body. Pressing his pink lips against Kylian's dark skin, Arthur looked up at the Frenchman watching his expression as the young racer sucked at his impressive pec. Lowering himself along with Kylian's waistband, Charles sank to his knees in front of the beautiful black boy and kneeling face to face with the footballer's crotch, Charles studied the bulge of an incredibly tight pair of white Calvin Klein boxers. Starting with his left, Charles alternated running both cheeks along the growing tent in Kylian's boxers. The Ferrari driver knew exactly what was inside and after his last visit to this part of Kylian's body he couldn't wait to get back on the end of that beautiful, black mast. To add to the footballer's stimulation, Charles used both hands to give Kylian some extra attention. The right hand went straight through the gap between the Frenchman's legs, reaching around to take a nice firm grip of his muscular right arse cheek while Charles' left hand found Kylian's balls and delicately began to massage them. Once Charles had established a decent technique massaging the footballer's balls, he was rewarded with Kylian's angry meat prodding his cheeks as they continued to tantalise the footballer through the thin fabric. Arthur glanced down and noticed that Charles was winning the battle at the moment with his face grinding along the outline of the black boy's hard cock. There was only one thing for it, to go one step further and the F2 driver knew exactly how. While Charles busied himself playing with Kylian's bulge, Arthur also sank to his knees but rotated around Kylan's frame as he did so and as he hit the ground, the teenager's hands hooked the back of Kylian's boxers down to expose the footballer's beautiful, dark globes. Arthur glanced up to see Kylian smiling down at him and after pushing the Frenchman's cheeks slightly apart, Arthur dove tongue first for Kylian's sexy, dark hole. "Holy fucking shit!" Kylian exclaimed as Arthur's tongue found the base of his hole and slid up his crack while Charles had matched his brother by unsheathing the footballer's wand and swallowing it less than a second later. Both Leclercs were extremely talented racers but now with the attention of their mouths, Kylian was in for a real treat. The hungry younger Leclerc used both hands to spread Kylian's big, brown cheeks and delivering his long tongue along the footballer's hole, Arthur treated himself to a delicious feast. To add to Arthur's incredible work, his older brother was similarly ravenous, throating Kylian's big, brown cock hard and deep, making sure he pressed the footballer's uncut head against his tonsils every time. Arthur's cute nose rested against Kylian's tailbone as he ate, sliding his tongue along the footballer's sweet crease before pointing the tip and piercing Kylian's defences. Wriggling himself into Kylian's hole, the F2 star filled the gap between Kylian's ring to line the black boy's entrance with a coat of his saliva. The tightness of the footballer's hole weakened instantaneously to allow Arthur to eat at will. Kylian's compliance was noticeable, relaxing his hole allowing Arthur's tongue to search nice and deep within him as the racer's cheekbones rested up against the big, warm globes of Kylian's meaty arse. While Arthur pleasured Kylian's backside, the view directly below Kylian's front was of Charles' handsome face running along his cock. The Ferrari driver's perfect face looked so comfortable as it worked Kylian's black cock. Charles' cheeks were puffed slightly to accommodate the footballer's meat as his neck worked hard to move his lips along Kylian's dark shaft. To make the view even better, Charles' adorable eyes were fixed on Kylian's face to witness the footballer appreciating his oral expertise. Looking into Charles' sexy soul added an arousing emphasis to every blow as he rolled Kylian's swollen head to the back of his throat. The excitement in Charles' eyes was genuine and as he looked up at Kylian, sucking on this beautiful black boy again, he couldn't help but smile to himself. The Monegasque allowed himself to get wrapped up in the perfection of Kylian's athletic body and the footballer's 8-inch mast. Charles rolled his lips along Kylian's hard sword, making sure to travel as far down the footballer's cock as his throat would allow. The pressure of Kylian's swollen, purple head pressed up against his tonsils felt like heaven, a moment Charles prolonged for an extra second before reversing back to the footballer's tip. At Kylian's tip, Charles held the base of the striker's shaft and proceeded to swirl his tongue around the tip then kiss it firmly before swallowing the footballer again. It was hard for Kylian to tell which brother was having more fun. While Charles smiled and sucked at the footballer's beautiful, black cock, Arthur ate ravenously at his tight black ring. The young racer pushed Kylian's muscular cheeks apart as fair apart as they could go as he curled his tongue up inside the sexy stud. Arthur's nose blew warm air across Kylian's cheeks while his tongue stretched as far as it could reach, touching the footballer's sweet innards with each seductive swipe. To assist him, Kylian pushed out his tight ring, giving Arthur's curious tongue all the help it needed to find Kylian's tastiest spot. The footballer could feel the rumble of nasal bass as Arthur immersed himself in his perfect, round arse. Having the time of his life on Kylian's beautiful cock, it wrenched at Charles' heart when he finally peeled away from the striker's thick, throbbing sausage. The upside was what Charles was trading it for. The Monegasque pulled his slim, yellow t-shirt up over his head then yanked his shorts and boxers down to free his solid 7-inch cock. Leaving Arthur to eat the footballer's awesome arse, the racer took hold of a bottle of lube and squeezed a nice helping of cooling liquid across his fingers. Kylian grinned, watching Charles kick off his shorts then turn away from him to kneel up on the bed. The Ferrari driver watched Kylian watch him slather his hole arousingly with slick lube. "You want some?" Charles asked. "I'm still pretty wet from your mouth." Kylian smiled. "Good, come get it." Charles beamed, spanking his pert right arse cheek then dropped into all fours. Tapping Arthur's head gently, Kylian pulled away from the F2 driver's tongue and approached Charles' hole. Mounting the bed and easing the Ferrari driver forward a little, the footballer lined himself up with Charles' beautiful hole. Placing his sturdy legs in between Charles' thin pins, the footballer pressed his swollen head against the racer's slit and using his left hand to keep Charles steady while pulling Charles back with his right hand, Kylian began to force his way inside the sexy bottom. "Oh my God!!!" Charles growled with delight as Kylian's thick cock pushed its way into his hole, forcing Charles' narrow chute open. It was the second time the Ferrari driver had hooked up with this black boy and this time Charles was on the receiving end. Squeezing his eyes tight, Charles focussed on pushing out his hole, allowing the footballer to advance as smoothly as possible as Kylian's firm grip pulled the Monegasque's slender, olive body towards him. "Ahhh yeahhh." Kylian sighed as his hands pulled Charles' irresistible arse towards him while his crotch pushed the opposite way. The footballer's thick, dark 8-inch cock usually took a little longer to reach its destination, but Charles was clearly very well practised in anal penetration. The black boy felt as though he was gliding as his shaft disappeared deeper into Charles' bare belly until his short pubes flattened against the bottom's pale arse cheeks. "Oh my God yes." Charles smiled, turning his head to look behind him and watch the show as Kylian began to fuck him. The bottom wasn't to be disappointed as Kylian's lean, griddled torso tightened the moment he swung into action. To add to the incredible sexiness of his muscular torso, Kylian's face looked straight and very focused. The concentration in the footballer's eyes made Charles feel special and a slight flair of Kylian's lovely, large nostrils as he delivered each amazing shot of that big, black cock made the bottom's heart melt. Kylian locked eyes with Charles and immersed himself within the urge to thrust. The bottom's sexy body was so beautiful to look at and as he rolled his dark cock into that tight, olive body, Kylian felt so hot and hard he was beyond happy. With Charles turning to face him however, Kylian couldn't resist the racer's handsome face and immediately his slow rocking became long, consistent thrusts, sliding deep into the sexy bottom who groaned happily in response. Now the pair were in a mini battle of sexual gamesmanship, the more Charles groaned the more length Kylian gave the bottom and the more length Kylian gave Charles, the more Charles groaned with pleasure. "Kiss me baby." Charles begged, watching Kylian's lips hanging seductively as he pounded deep into the sexy Monegasque's tight body. The look in Charles' eyes were irresistible as they watched Kylian's response. The footballer flinched his lip upwards and pounded his cock within Charles deeper and harder for a few seconds to give the racer the best sight a boy could ever imagine. Kylian Mbappe had his face screwed as a sign of aggression and as a result, the God-like black body; smooth, dark, muscular and tensed as it slammed 8 inches of bare, black cock into Charles' olive belly gave the bottom extra sexual stimulation to send strong throbs of arousal through Charles' freely flopping boner. After drilling Charles hard for a few seconds, the Frenchman fell forward and planted his lips firmly against the bottom's while resuming at a calmer but more consistent rhythm within Charles, feeding his hard cock smooth and straight up the Ferrari driver's sweet rectum. Quietly, Arthur moved into position behind Kylian, examining the black boy's skinny calves and watching them tense as they punched his hard, black cock into the F2 driver's groaning brother. The footballer had it all, a great cock, a sexy body and an irresistible arse. Arthur re-placed a hand on each of Kylian's buns and spread them open to view the sensational hole inside. Tight, dark and with a perfectly maintained runway of trimmed black hairs, Arthur licked his lips hungrily in anticipation of his second helping. Reacting to the feel of Arthur's hands opening him up, Kylian slowed his pace to give the youngster the view he wanted. Charles still felt incredible at this pace, his raw, black cock sliding deep into Charles' tight, olive belly with minimal resistance and then the game escalated. Kylian felt Arthur's smooth chin return to rest against the base of his groove, Arthur's nose rested against Kylian's tailbone then holding the footballer's hips to follow Kylian's movements, Arthur slid his tongue across Kylian's gorgeous, black entrance. There was only one feeling that was going to be better than a Leclerc's arse sucking on his cock while another Leclerc rimmed his sexy arse and Kylian now knew that feeling wasn't too far away. Tasting the delicious flavour of Kylian's sexy cavity, Arthur was in a dream world. The black boy's hole was so rich and ready for his cock, Arthur just knew it. Inhaling the slightest hint of moisture forming at the top of the footballer's crack, Arthur sighed with excitement enjoying everything about his footballing idol. The thought of these dark round globes moving from around his face to sucking on his hard, olive cock helped speed up his own submission to the process. While his face was inside Kylian's groove his cock couldn't be, however, utterly transfixed by the footballer's delicious chute Arthur had to concede Kylian's arse tasted so fucking good! What a dilemma! Sweet, smooth Arthur's handsome face held nothing back as the youngster pushed as far inside Kylian as his wet tongue could reach. "Oui Arthurrrr." Kylian purred, coming to a complete stop and tensing his hard cock within Charles to celebrate Arthur's incredible tongue work. Curling up into Kylian's cavity, Arthur twirled and swirled, finding its way beyond the footballer's ring to irrigate the soft, smooth skin inside his sexy, black cunt. The taste of Kylian's insides triggered pulses of pleasure from Arthur's cock which the cute racer still struggled to ignore. The young Monegasque took hold of his uncut pole and stroked it a few times before he gave in to his animated 7.5-inch boner. Standing up behind Kylian, Arthur kissed the footballer's smooth neck then asked stupidly, "can I fuck you now?" "Of course!!!" Kylian exclaimed incredulously. Much like his brother before him, Arthur stripped himself naked within a matter of seconds, ripping off his striped shirt and blue shorts to leave himself beautifully naked. The athletic, young racer maintained a little extra smoothness when compared to his older brother, especially around the chest and torso areas. But Arthur still looked superbly stunning as he massaged his uncut 7.5-inch cock for a couple of more seconds to add extra hardness to his throbbing meat. Lubing up his hard, olive cock, Arthur left Kylian's round rear for a second but when he returned the cute youngster went straight for the jugular, pressing his tip against Kylian's tight, dark bud. Without hesitation, Kylian's ring opened at the touch of Arthur's tip and once the F2 driver's head felt Kylian welcome him in, Arthur clenched his skinny glutes and began to advance. Watching Kylian's beautiful, brown ring swallow his head, Arthur beamed happily as his sexy idol's sexy body slipped around his horny, hard cock. Slowly but surely, those beautiful black lips edged down Arthur's pale shaft causing the young Monegasque to whine happily as he became one with Kylian Mbappe. "My God." Kylian swore happily as Arthur's meat throbbed angrily inside him. Charles' tight Monegasque pocket felt like the perfect home for his hard, black cock and in the same breath, Arthur's Monegasque meat felt like the perfect sword with which to split open his hungry hole. "I fucking love Leclerc boys!" Kylian called out to the heavens bringing smiles from both Arthur and Charles. The F2 driver pulled his slender hips back 3 inches then pushed forward 4 inches to the audible ecstasy of the sexy footballer. The feeling of bare olive flesh sliding within tight black flesh felt magical and no one felt the need to be quiet about it. Kylian muttered and moaned continuous words of encouragement while Arthur huffed and sighed with pleasure as their horny bodies unified with smooth, straight strokes. Within a handful of thrusts the sexy top had reduced the gap to less than an inch and pressing their bodies belly to back with the next thrust, Arthur Leclerc found himself 7.5 inches deep inside Kylian Mbappe's hunky body. Once Arthur's cock started to travel within him, rubbing their sensitive, bare flesh together it would only be a matter of time for Kylian who had become a ticking time bomb with a fuse shortened by Charles' irresistible arse hole. The majority-bottom inside Kylian decided he didn't want to resist his body's urge to submit to the sex appeal of the Leclercs. How often would he have a Leclerc on both sides of his horny body? With their schedules probably never again, now was as good as ever to enjoy this wonderful reality. The skinny youngster that was Arthur Leclerc had Kylian by his meaty, black hips and moving up through the gears, the horny young racer pulled Kylian's arse half the distance back that Arthur's hips travelled then pushing the footballer forward, Arthur stabbed his cock deep into Kylian's belly while pushing the black boy down into his groaning brother below. Building up his rhythm, Arthur displayed his second talent after racing as he buried his bare cock into Kylian's sexy arse. The footballer's tight, black chute felt incredible, swallowing his hard shaft as it slammed deep into the dreamy, brown globes as it could reach. [I fucking love black ass!] Arthur grinned triumphantly watching the meat of Kylian's beautiful, brown arse ripple after each slam of his olive crotch against the smooth, muscular cheeks. Each time Arthur drilled his horny cock deep into Kylian's raw, dark hole, the top sighed to communicate his desire to drill the footballer again in an escalating cycle which rapidly began to fill Arthur's nuts with hot, Monegasque milk. Behind Kylian, Arthur's slender body pumped his sensitive hole full of bare, hard cock. The footballer could barely contain himself as the youngster's hard cock slid up inside him, delighting every inch of Kylian's sensitive body. Each thrust rumbled aggressively along the excited insides of Kylian's tight chute and in turn, ignited the sparks which helped to thicken Kylian's hard cock. The footballer's expanded meat felt even better as it travelled back and forth within Charles' bare hole and a look into those beautiful eyes only increased the lust inside Kylian's hard cock to breed his Ferrari boy. The beautiful dimples of Charles' moaning face looked so good, reminding him of their first time on the boat when Charles had cum inside his horny, black body. Sweet suction of Charles' sexy hole sent waves of pleasure throughout Kylian's horny frame triggered by the warm friction between their bare bodies. The footballer held Charles' body close as his brother forced Kylian's hard dick down into the Ferrari driver's slender chute. Arthur pulled Kylian and his cock back to enjoy the addictive stroke of both Leclercs from both sides, a feeling which felt doubly good when the top plunged them back into the depths of each other with another vicious stab of his skinny waist. Arthur squeezed tight to Kylian's body, giving the footballer nowhere to go and nothing to do but enjoy every second of his olive prison. Sandwiched between the 2 brothers, Kylian was on the way to euphoria, as both sides of him felt increasingly incredible. Still, he squeezed tight on Charles' sexy body feeling how the bottom tensed after every downwards drive of their combined bodies filling his olive belly with Kylian's solid cock. Stroking his head against Charles' prostate had Kylian's nuts fast approaching the edge as the PSG star felt his body enter the final phase. Another grunt from Charles' reminded Kylian how everything about his bottom turned the footballer on. And still the slide of Charles' magnificent membrane against Kylian's pulsing shaft kept pushing him on, desperate for that sweet release of his black boy cream within Charles' sexy cunt. The footballer's cock slid up into Charles' sexy hole one more time to fully appreciate the total beauty of his bottom and the feeling of Charles' insides finished the job Arthur had accelerated by inserting his own amazing cock. "Ayyyy Leclerc boyssss!" Kylian cheered delightfully as he reached his climax. "Oh Jesus!!!" Charles groaned excitedly as his rectum began to feel incredibly warm and arousing with the fill of Kylian's hot cum exploding inside his arse. Charles' fist took hold of his floppy boner and pumped rapidly as the racer groaned happily in response to Kylian hot cum surging up inside his hungry belly. Kylian couldn't form a comprehensible response, but his eyes told Charles he agreed. This orgasm was infinitely better than Kylian could've imagined. Sexy boy Arthur slammed that hard, young cock deep up his tight arse while Charles looked back at him adoring after every shot of his black cock fired hot, thick jizz into the racer's waiting belly. If it wasn't for his determination to study Charles' good looks as he came, Kylian would've gone blind at the point of orgasm and now that he'd gone beyond the peak of his orgasm, with calmer groans of raw pleasure the footballer beamed down on the bottom as his big, black cock continued to drain into the racer's beautiful body. The moment Charles had been dreaming of ever since that night on the boat was currently filling him from within to the glorious chants of the excitable Monegasque. Kylian's hot velvet swirled around Charles' prostate as he tugged himself with increasing aggression. "Yeah boyyy!" Charles wailed as his nuts began to feel so very good. The weight of Kylian's thick cock thudding down into him doubled by the weight of his brother from above, combined with the incredible warmth of Kylian's sexy spunk swirling around his prostate was too much to for the Ferrari driver's nuts which burst with an emphatic shot across his bright, white bed sheets. The pumping top hadn't stopped thrusting whilst the pair below him sang along with delight. Kylian's nuts were practically empty as Arthur's bare boner slammed up into his tender prostate. The footballer had nothing left for Charles, but he remained hard from the combination of hot Leclerc cock and arse stimulating both sides of his lower half. The footballer's squeals decreased in volume but increased an octave as his exceedingly tender cock continued to stroke Charles' delightful insides. "My Goddd!" Charles exclaimed as his orgasm reached its peak and showered his red pillows in a creamy glaze of his thick cum. Strumming his boner harder and faster than ever before, Charles utilised the thick, black boner at his disposal as his 7-inch cock painted his vibrant, red fabric with large droplets of more fresh milk. The Ferrari driver marvelled upon the magnificence of his handsome top, feeling Kylian's still-hard cock splitting his tight hole as Charles milked himself happily. That smooth, chiselled, black body looked so good as it filled him with an equally impressive thick, black cock nice and deep to play with Charles' aching prostate and encourage another thick web of creamy white spunk to decorate the racer's messy bedding. Every rope that fired from Charles' head felt amazing until there was nothing left to shoot and with slowing strokes to maintain the buzz of Kylian's boner filling him with happiness. The most adorable smile stretched across Charles' beautiful face as he pulled Kylian's thick, black cock out of his satisfied hole and dropped himself down to the mattress to the right of his mess. The Ferrari driver rolled onto his back and beamed up at Kylian who returned his smile, seemingly unnoticed by Arthur pounding him from the other side. Charles felt better than ever and to make the ecstasy last a little longer he hooked his arm around Kylian's neck and locked the footballer in a passionate kiss. From Arthur's perspective the moment Charles' forearm appeared the top knew he had more freedom to enjoy Kylian's arse without a third person to consider. Until now the footballer's black butt had been brilliant but now it was time to push. Arthur grinned as the sound of his race engineer's voice echoed around his head, ["push, push, push!"] "Fuck, yeahhhh!" Kylian whined as the racer thudded 7.5 inches deep inside his tender hole. Monegasque arse, Monegasque cock, it all felt so good especially when attached to two of the sexiest brothers in the world. And now that Arthur had been released the cute top was rapidly impressing his horny bottom. The sight of his toned crotch slamming into Kylian's muscular arse cheeks looked sensational as they caused shockwaves through the footballer's irresistible arse. The brown of Kylian's skin looked so arousing as Arthur buried his long, pale boner into the bottom's sweet chute. The racer leant forward as his lower half exploded off Kylian's sensational arse. Every stab of his bare cock inside the footballer's incredible body stroked Arthur closer to his orgasm and those horny young nuts were filling up rapidly with intent to blow. Sweet little Arthur was changing into a Jekyll as his body accelerated. With Charles disengaged from the train the top drove hard into Kylian's bulging, brown cheeks with increased force and velocity. Timing his impact perfectly with a tensing of his hamstrings to reverse, Arthur used his momentum and those large, brown, doughy globes as a springboard from which to launch his next deep thrust. "Ouiii, fuckkkk." Kylian groaned with pure happiness, breaking his lips away from Charles' as the force of Arthur's skewering increased. Resting a hand on top of Kylian's beautiful head, Arthur felt the black boy's handsomely buzz cut head encouraging the bottom to glance back at him. Kylian turned to face his top wearing one of the most seductive looks Arthur had ever seen. The footballer looked like he was hurting, that enjoyable hurt that begged for more rather than for less. Indeed, the international superstar wanted Arthur's hard dick just as much as Arthur loved his juicy arse. The pinging of Arthur's crotch on Kylian's meaty arse grew louder and faster as they headed down the final straight. "Yes baby." Kylian sighed for encouragement. Charles' arm had long left Kylian's neck allowing Arthur to lunge for Kylian's lips as his skinny body rammed into the irresistible bottom. The energetic top was now exploding off Kylian's big brown arse cheeks as his nuts prepared to unleash their load. Arthur could no longer see Kylian's arse, but the racer could imagine exactly how those round mounds looked, jiggling arousingly under from the powerful shots of his horny crotch. The image of Kylian's big brown cheeks, the light marbling of certain parts of the skin and the hypnotic jiggle of his beautiful, brown skin as Arthur's body crashed into the footballer's cheeks sent the top's nuts into overdrive. The racer drilled his slender body into Kylian's juicy arse and pinned himself there, wailing with delight as his shaft erupted with hot spunk surging up into Kylian's smooth, sexy, black body. Harmonised grunting and groaning filled the room for the next 30 seconds as Arthur's hard cock filled Kylian's beautiful, brown arse with his hot seed. Arthur's cock had increased in mass within Kylian's tight, black chute as his nuts flooded the athletic black, bottom with creamy shots of sweet spunk. The young racer didn't move, frozen by the incredible sensation of his sweaty nuts spasming as they squirted his Monegasque milk up into Kylian's sexy, black belly. "Yeah baby." Kylian whined, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as Arthur's hot cream flooded his hole. The bottom pushed his hole back onto Arthur's exploding nuts making sure the top was as far inside his chute as Arthur could reach. The swirling pleasure of hot spunk coating his sensitive prostate brought howls of pleasure from the footballer as Arthur filled him up with everything his young nuts had to offer. Arthur rested his forehead against the back of Kylian's neck and held the bottom's strong back to his smooth stomach. The heat coming off both boys felt like their own private sauna causing a thin sheen of sweat to trickle down their impressive bodies. Sticky sweat felt so sexual as it held their smooth bodies together making Arthur's exploding cock feel even better with every ferocious firing. There was no energy left in Arthur and his nuts were feeling the same. The final few ropes of his cum felt so sweet as they escaped his swollen head and filled Kylian's red hot chute. Arthur remained pinned to Kylian's toned frame, appreciating the muscular curves of the footballer's beautiful form, the smell of his dark, sweaty body and the squeeze of his tight chute around the Monegasque's pulsing stick. "Ahhh baby boy." Arthur murmured sweetly as his empty shaft continued to throb away happily. Heavy breathing continued from both boys as their bodies slowly returned to their normal states. Kylian remained in position on all fours taking some of Arthur's weight as the top returned to normality from his euphoria. The pulses inside his arse were getting weaker so Kylian knew it was a matter of time. For now, he could just stay there and appreciate this feeling; the feeling of Arthur's hard cock throbbing away inside his ring after depositing a large helping of his hot, young cum added to the feeling of his own cock still tingling from his earlier orgasm induced by Charles' irresistible, olive body. Once Arthur had refilled his lungs with enough oxygen he reached down and started to reverse. Arthur pulled his sweaty body backwards and slowly removed his hard shaft from the footballer's beautiful, brown ring. 7.5 inches of hard, Monegasque meat reformed in front of its owner's eyes and with a pop, Arthur's head came free. Kylian's back doors closed tight, sealing Arthur's deposit inside him. The footballer turned and enjoyed another kiss with his top to make the magic last a few seconds longer. With the fireworks over and everyone fully satisfied, Charles climbed back into his boxers and gave Kylian a kiss on the head before leaving the room. Arthur and Kylian remained in the bedroom a few minutes longer as they tried to summon the energy to move. To make matters worse the soft tones of Charles on his piano playing gentle, calming music filled the racer's flat. Arthur smiled across at Kylian proudly while Kylian beamed back at Arthur happily. What a fun afternoon and with everything feeling so relaxed there was no rush to go anywhere any time soon. END Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story. If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on pcwtosh@gmail.com and/or for updates: Instagram - pcwtoshx Twitter - @pcwtosh Here is the rest of my collection: Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy 18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones, 13 Goo-uld Reasons Why, Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway, Now You See Cole, Big Apple Aussies, Cole el Elite & The Power of My Name. Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer. Ripped Roses, Jack's Web, Naughty Neigbours & Devils and Dragons. Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY, Swimnasium & Laugher of the Ice King. Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk & Deep Dipping in Dunkirk. Reese Wilkerson the Heartstopper. 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Date: Mon, 16 Sep 2024 08:00:00 +0100
From: PCW Tosh <pcwtosh@gmail.com>
Subject: Formula Football: Kylian's Leclerc Sandwich
Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence
that this actually happened, but we can all dream.
Stay healthy and practice safe sex!
Happy reading.
Formula Football 4.2: Kylian's Leclerc Sandwich
The door swung open and there he was, back again for a second visit. Kylian
Mbappe beamed striding through the open door, planting a kiss on each of
Charles' cheeks as he entered the room. Charles' brother Arthur Leclerc
looked up in shock as the sexy footballer approached him directly and
pulled him up from the couch giving him the same pair of greeting
kisses. Charles closed the door and followed Kylian across the room with an
excited skip in his step. The Ferrari driver could see the energy was
strong between Kylian and his brother, [perfect!]
"Arthur, Kylian owes my arse a good fucking, but he likes to get some dick
too. Do you want to have a go on his sexy, black arse?" Charles asked his
brother. The reply was silent but emphatic, nodding enthusiastically. The
young racer couldn't believe it, the look on Charles' face was of immense
pride as he curled his finger, beckoning the pair of them to follow him to
the bedroom. Arthur allowed Kylian to enter first watching the footballer's
wiggle in his comfy looking dark blue trackies. Kylian's jogging bottoms
left little to the imagination, straining around the black boy's juicy,
round arse.
Greeting Kylian in open arms, Charles pulled the footballer in for a kiss,
locking their lips momentarily. The Ferrari driver kept his eyes open as
his lips took control of Kylian's and catching Arthur then pulling his
brother in, Charles initiated a naughty three-way kiss. The F1 driver could
tell from the look in Arthur's eyes that his younger brother was trying to
process what was happening, but then he hadn't recoiled in total
disgust. Charles had no intention of proposing a one-on-one with his baby
brother but with a handsome, black stud there with them, Kylian was someone
they could enjoy together.
Now that their lips and tongues were playing together, Charles could find a
better use for his hands. Reaching up for Kylian's sports jacket, he
unzipped the footballer opening him up then threw the jacket aside. Next
tugging at the hem of Kylian's white, muscle fit t-shirt, Charles lifted it
up, forcing the three of them to part as it went over Kylian's head.
Both Leclercs looked across towards Kylian's exposed body and surveyed the
beauty of the handsome footballer. The delicious darkness of his smooth
skin made both racers throb. Charles continued his handy work, reaching for
the waistband of Kylian's tracksuit bottoms while Arthur found a different
way to make himself useful. The F2 driver bent his knees slightly and got
to work kissing at the footballer's stunning body. Pressing his pink lips
against Kylian's dark skin, Arthur looked up at the Frenchman watching his
expression as the young racer sucked at his impressive pec.
Lowering himself along with Kylian's waistband, Charles sank to his knees
in front of the beautiful black boy and kneeling face to face with the
footballer's crotch, Charles studied the bulge of an incredibly tight pair
of white Calvin Klein boxers. Starting with his left, Charles alternated
running both cheeks along the growing tent in Kylian's boxers. The Ferrari
driver knew exactly what was inside and after his last visit to this part
of Kylian's body he couldn't wait to get back on the end of that beautiful,
black mast. To add to the footballer's stimulation, Charles used both hands
to give Kylian some extra attention. The right hand went straight through
the gap between the Frenchman's legs, reaching around to take a nice firm
grip of his muscular right arse cheek while Charles' left hand found
Kylian's balls and delicately began to massage them. Once Charles had
established a decent technique massaging the footballer's balls, he was
rewarded with Kylian's angry meat prodding his cheeks as they continued to
tantalise the footballer through the thin fabric.
Arthur glanced down and noticed that Charles was winning the battle at the
moment with his face grinding along the outline of the black boy's hard
cock. There was only one thing for it, to go one step further and the F2
driver knew exactly how. While Charles busied himself playing with Kylian's
bulge, Arthur also sank to his knees but rotated around Kylan's frame as he
did so and as he hit the ground, the teenager's hands hooked the back of
Kylian's boxers down to expose the footballer's beautiful, dark
globes. Arthur glanced up to see Kylian smiling down at him and after
pushing the Frenchman's cheeks slightly apart, Arthur dove tongue first for
Kylian's sexy, dark hole.
"Holy fucking shit!" Kylian exclaimed as Arthur's tongue found the base of
his hole and slid up his crack while Charles had matched his brother by
unsheathing the footballer's wand and swallowing it less than a second
later. Both Leclercs were extremely talented racers but now with the
attention of their mouths, Kylian was in for a real treat. The hungry
younger Leclerc used both hands to spread Kylian's big, brown cheeks and
delivering his long tongue along the footballer's hole, Arthur treated
himself to a delicious feast. To add to Arthur's incredible work, his older
brother was similarly ravenous, throating Kylian's big, brown cock hard and
deep, making sure he pressed the footballer's uncut head against his
tonsils every time.
Arthur's cute nose rested against Kylian's tailbone as he ate, sliding his
tongue along the footballer's sweet crease before pointing the tip and
piercing Kylian's defences. Wriggling himself into Kylian's hole, the F2
star filled the gap between Kylian's ring to line the black boy's entrance
with a coat of his saliva. The tightness of the footballer's hole weakened
instantaneously to allow Arthur to eat at will. Kylian's compliance was
noticeable, relaxing his hole allowing Arthur's tongue to search nice and
deep within him as the racer's cheekbones rested up against the big, warm
globes of Kylian's meaty arse.
While Arthur pleasured Kylian's backside, the view directly below Kylian's
front was of Charles' handsome face running along his cock. The Ferrari
driver's perfect face looked so comfortable as it worked Kylian's black
cock. Charles' cheeks were puffed slightly to accommodate the footballer's
meat as his neck worked hard to move his lips along Kylian's dark shaft. To
make the view even better, Charles' adorable eyes were fixed on Kylian's
face to witness the footballer appreciating his oral expertise. Looking
into Charles' sexy soul added an arousing emphasis to every blow as he
rolled Kylian's swollen head to the back of his throat.
The excitement in Charles' eyes was genuine and as he looked up at Kylian,
sucking on this beautiful black boy again, he couldn't help but smile to
himself. The Monegasque allowed himself to get wrapped up in the perfection
of Kylian's athletic body and the footballer's 8-inch mast. Charles rolled
his lips along Kylian's hard sword, making sure to travel as far down the
footballer's cock as his throat would allow. The pressure of Kylian's
swollen, purple head pressed up against his tonsils felt like heaven, a
moment Charles prolonged for an extra second before reversing back to the
footballer's tip. At Kylian's tip, Charles held the base of the striker's
shaft and proceeded to swirl his tongue around the tip then kiss it firmly
before swallowing the footballer again.
It was hard for Kylian to tell which brother was having more fun. While
Charles smiled and sucked at the footballer's beautiful, black cock, Arthur
ate ravenously at his tight black ring. The young racer pushed Kylian's
muscular cheeks apart as fair apart as they could go as he curled his
tongue up inside the sexy stud. Arthur's nose blew warm air across Kylian's
cheeks while his tongue stretched as far as it could reach, touching the
footballer's sweet innards with each seductive swipe. To assist him, Kylian
pushed out his tight ring, giving Arthur's curious tongue all the help it
needed to find Kylian's tastiest spot. The footballer could feel the rumble
of nasal bass as Arthur immersed himself in his perfect, round arse.
Having the time of his life on Kylian's beautiful cock, it wrenched at
Charles' heart when he finally peeled away from the striker's thick,
throbbing sausage. The upside was what Charles was trading it for. The
Monegasque pulled his slim, yellow t-shirt up over his head then yanked his
shorts and boxers down to free his solid 7-inch cock. Leaving Arthur to eat
the footballer's awesome arse, the racer took hold of a bottle of lube and
squeezed a nice helping of cooling liquid across his fingers. Kylian
grinned, watching Charles kick off his shorts then turn away from him to
kneel up on the bed. The Ferrari driver watched Kylian watch him slather
his hole arousingly with slick lube. "You want some?" Charles asked. "I'm
still pretty wet from your mouth." Kylian smiled. "Good, come get it."
Charles beamed, spanking his pert right arse cheek then dropped into all
fours.
Tapping Arthur's head gently, Kylian pulled away from the F2 driver's
tongue and approached Charles' hole. Mounting the bed and easing the
Ferrari driver forward a little, the footballer lined himself up with
Charles' beautiful hole. Placing his sturdy legs in between Charles' thin
pins, the footballer pressed his swollen head against the racer's slit and
using his left hand to keep Charles steady while pulling Charles back with
his right hand, Kylian began to force his way inside the sexy bottom.
"Oh my God!!!" Charles growled with delight as Kylian's thick cock pushed
its way into his hole, forcing Charles' narrow chute open. It was the
second time the Ferrari driver had hooked up with this black boy and this
time Charles was on the receiving end. Squeezing his eyes tight, Charles
focussed on pushing out his hole, allowing the footballer to advance as
smoothly as possible as Kylian's firm grip pulled the Monegasque's slender,
olive body towards him.
"Ahhh yeahhh." Kylian sighed as his hands pulled Charles' irresistible arse
towards him while his crotch pushed the opposite way. The footballer's
thick, dark 8-inch cock usually took a little longer to reach its
destination, but Charles was clearly very well practised in anal
penetration. The black boy felt as though he was gliding as his shaft
disappeared deeper into Charles' bare belly until his short pubes flattened
against the bottom's pale arse cheeks.
"Oh my God yes." Charles smiled, turning his head to look behind him and
watch the show as Kylian began to fuck him. The bottom wasn't to be
disappointed as Kylian's lean, griddled torso tightened the moment he swung
into action. To add to the incredible sexiness of his muscular torso,
Kylian's face looked straight and very focused. The concentration in the
footballer's eyes made Charles feel special and a slight flair of Kylian's
lovely, large nostrils as he delivered each amazing shot of that big, black
cock made the bottom's heart melt.
Kylian locked eyes with Charles and immersed himself within the urge to
thrust. The bottom's sexy body was so beautiful to look at and as he rolled
his dark cock into that tight, olive body, Kylian felt so hot and hard he
was beyond happy. With Charles turning to face him however, Kylian couldn't
resist the racer's handsome face and immediately his slow rocking became
long, consistent thrusts, sliding deep into the sexy bottom who groaned
happily in response. Now the pair were in a mini battle of sexual
gamesmanship, the more Charles groaned the more length Kylian gave the
bottom and the more length Kylian gave Charles, the more Charles groaned
with pleasure.
"Kiss me baby." Charles begged, watching Kylian's lips hanging seductively
as he pounded deep into the sexy Monegasque's tight body. The look in
Charles' eyes were irresistible as they watched Kylian's response. The
footballer flinched his lip upwards and pounded his cock within Charles
deeper and harder for a few seconds to give the racer the best sight a boy
could ever imagine. Kylian Mbappe had his face screwed as a sign of
aggression and as a result, the God-like black body; smooth, dark, muscular
and tensed as it slammed 8 inches of bare, black cock into Charles' olive
belly gave the bottom extra sexual stimulation to send strong throbs of
arousal through Charles' freely flopping boner. After drilling Charles hard
for a few seconds, the Frenchman fell forward and planted his lips firmly
against the bottom's while resuming at a calmer but more consistent rhythm
within Charles, feeding his hard cock smooth and straight up the Ferrari
driver's sweet rectum.
Quietly, Arthur moved into position behind Kylian, examining the black
boy's skinny calves and watching them tense as they punched his hard, black
cock into the F2 driver's groaning brother. The footballer had it all, a
great cock, a sexy body and an irresistible arse. Arthur re-placed a hand
on each of Kylian's buns and spread them open to view the sensational hole
inside. Tight, dark and with a perfectly maintained runway of trimmed black
hairs, Arthur licked his lips hungrily in anticipation of his second
helping.
Reacting to the feel of Arthur's hands opening him up, Kylian slowed his
pace to give the youngster the view he wanted. Charles still felt
incredible at this pace, his raw, black cock sliding deep into Charles'
tight, olive belly with minimal resistance and then the game
escalated. Kylian felt Arthur's smooth chin return to rest against the base
of his groove, Arthur's nose rested against Kylian's tailbone then holding
the footballer's hips to follow Kylian's movements, Arthur slid his tongue
across Kylian's gorgeous, black entrance. There was only one feeling that
was going to be better than a Leclerc's arse sucking on his cock while
another Leclerc rimmed his sexy arse and Kylian now knew that feeling
wasn't too far away.
Tasting the delicious flavour of Kylian's sexy cavity, Arthur was in a
dream world. The black boy's hole was so rich and ready for his cock,
Arthur just knew it. Inhaling the slightest hint of moisture forming at the
top of the footballer's crack, Arthur sighed with excitement enjoying
everything about his footballing idol. The thought of these dark round
globes moving from around his face to sucking on his hard, olive cock
helped speed up his own submission to the process. While his face was
inside Kylian's groove his cock couldn't be, however, utterly transfixed by
the footballer's delicious chute Arthur had to concede Kylian's arse tasted
so fucking good! What a dilemma!
Sweet, smooth Arthur's handsome face held nothing back as the youngster
pushed as far inside Kylian as his wet tongue could reach. "Oui Arthurrrr."
Kylian purred, coming to a complete stop and tensing his hard cock within
Charles to celebrate Arthur's incredible tongue work. Curling up into
Kylian's cavity, Arthur twirled and swirled, finding its way beyond the
footballer's ring to irrigate the soft, smooth skin inside his sexy, black
cunt. The taste of Kylian's insides triggered pulses of pleasure from
Arthur's cock which the cute racer still struggled to ignore. The young
Monegasque took hold of his uncut pole and stroked it a few times before he
gave in to his animated 7.5-inch boner. Standing up behind Kylian, Arthur
kissed the footballer's smooth neck then asked stupidly, "can I fuck you
now?" "Of course!!!" Kylian exclaimed incredulously.
Much like his brother before him, Arthur stripped himself naked within a
matter of seconds, ripping off his striped shirt and blue shorts to leave
himself beautifully naked. The athletic, young racer maintained a little
extra smoothness when compared to his older brother, especially around the
chest and torso areas. But Arthur still looked superbly stunning as he
massaged his uncut 7.5-inch cock for a couple of more seconds to add extra
hardness to his throbbing meat. Lubing up his hard, olive cock, Arthur left
Kylian's round rear for a second but when he returned the cute youngster
went straight for the jugular, pressing his tip against Kylian's tight,
dark bud. Without hesitation, Kylian's ring opened at the touch of Arthur's
tip and once the F2 driver's head felt Kylian welcome him in, Arthur
clenched his skinny glutes and began to advance. Watching Kylian's
beautiful, brown ring swallow his head, Arthur beamed happily as his sexy
idol's sexy body slipped around his horny, hard cock. Slowly but surely,
those beautiful black lips edged down Arthur's pale shaft causing the young
Monegasque to whine happily as he became one with Kylian Mbappe.
"My God." Kylian swore happily as Arthur's meat throbbed angrily inside
him. Charles' tight Monegasque pocket felt like the perfect home for his
hard, black cock and in the same breath, Arthur's Monegasque meat felt like
the perfect sword with which to split open his hungry hole. "I fucking love
Leclerc boys!" Kylian called out to the heavens bringing smiles from both
Arthur and Charles.
The F2 driver pulled his slender hips back 3 inches then pushed forward 4
inches to the audible ecstasy of the sexy footballer. The feeling of bare
olive flesh sliding within tight black flesh felt magical and no one felt
the need to be quiet about it. Kylian muttered and moaned continuous words
of encouragement while Arthur huffed and sighed with pleasure as their
horny bodies unified with smooth, straight strokes. Within a handful of
thrusts the sexy top had reduced the gap to less than an inch and pressing
their bodies belly to back with the next thrust, Arthur Leclerc found
himself 7.5 inches deep inside Kylian Mbappe's hunky body.
Once Arthur's cock started to travel within him, rubbing their sensitive,
bare flesh together it would only be a matter of time for Kylian who had
become a ticking time bomb with a fuse shortened by Charles' irresistible
arse hole. The majority-bottom inside Kylian decided he didn't want to
resist his body's urge to submit to the sex appeal of the Leclercs. How
often would he have a Leclerc on both sides of his horny body? With their
schedules probably never again, now was as good as ever to enjoy this
wonderful reality.
The skinny youngster that was Arthur Leclerc had Kylian by his meaty, black
hips and moving up through the gears, the horny young racer pulled Kylian's
arse half the distance back that Arthur's hips travelled then pushing the
footballer forward, Arthur stabbed his cock deep into Kylian's belly while
pushing the black boy down into his groaning brother below. Building up his
rhythm, Arthur displayed his second talent after racing as he buried his
bare cock into Kylian's sexy arse. The footballer's tight, black chute felt
incredible, swallowing his hard shaft as it slammed deep into the dreamy,
brown globes as it could reach. [I fucking love black ass!] Arthur grinned
triumphantly watching the meat of Kylian's beautiful, brown arse ripple
after each slam of his olive crotch against the smooth, muscular
cheeks. Each time Arthur drilled his horny cock deep into Kylian's raw,
dark hole, the top sighed to communicate his desire to drill the footballer
again in an escalating cycle which rapidly began to fill Arthur's nuts with
hot, Monegasque milk.
Behind Kylian, Arthur's slender body pumped his sensitive hole full of
bare, hard cock. The footballer could barely contain himself as the
youngster's hard cock slid up inside him, delighting every inch of Kylian's
sensitive body. Each thrust rumbled aggressively along the excited insides
of Kylian's tight chute and in turn, ignited the sparks which helped to
thicken Kylian's hard cock. The footballer's expanded meat felt even better
as it travelled back and forth within Charles' bare hole and a look into
those beautiful eyes only increased the lust inside Kylian's hard cock to
breed his Ferrari boy. The beautiful dimples of Charles' moaning face
looked so good, reminding him of their first time on the boat when Charles
had cum inside his horny, black body.
Sweet suction of Charles' sexy hole sent waves of pleasure throughout
Kylian's horny frame triggered by the warm friction between their bare
bodies. The footballer held Charles' body close as his brother forced
Kylian's hard dick down into the Ferrari driver's slender chute. Arthur
pulled Kylian and his cock back to enjoy the addictive stroke of both
Leclercs from both sides, a feeling which felt doubly good when the top
plunged them back into the depths of each other with another vicious stab
of his skinny waist. Arthur squeezed tight to Kylian's body, giving the
footballer nowhere to go and nothing to do but enjoy every second of his
olive prison.
Sandwiched between the 2 brothers, Kylian was on the way to euphoria, as
both sides of him felt increasingly incredible. Still, he squeezed tight on
Charles' sexy body feeling how the bottom tensed after every downwards
drive of their combined bodies filling his olive belly with Kylian's solid
cock. Stroking his head against Charles' prostate had Kylian's nuts fast
approaching the edge as the PSG star felt his body enter the final
phase. Another grunt from Charles' reminded Kylian how everything about his
bottom turned the footballer on. And still the slide of Charles'
magnificent membrane against Kylian's pulsing shaft kept pushing him on,
desperate for that sweet release of his black boy cream within Charles'
sexy cunt.
The footballer's cock slid up into Charles' sexy hole one more time to
fully appreciate the total beauty of his bottom and the feeling of Charles'
insides finished the job Arthur had accelerated by inserting his own
amazing cock. "Ayyyy Leclerc boyssss!" Kylian cheered delightfully as he
reached his climax. "Oh Jesus!!!" Charles groaned excitedly as his rectum
began to feel incredibly warm and arousing with the fill of Kylian's hot
cum exploding inside his arse. Charles' fist took hold of his floppy boner
and pumped rapidly as the racer groaned happily in response to Kylian hot
cum surging up inside his hungry belly. Kylian couldn't form a
comprehensible response, but his eyes told Charles he agreed.
This orgasm was infinitely better than Kylian could've imagined. Sexy boy
Arthur slammed that hard, young cock deep up his tight arse while Charles
looked back at him adoring after every shot of his black cock fired hot,
thick jizz into the racer's waiting belly. If it wasn't for his
determination to study Charles' good looks as he came, Kylian would've gone
blind at the point of orgasm and now that he'd gone beyond the peak of his
orgasm, with calmer groans of raw pleasure the footballer beamed down on
the bottom as his big, black cock continued to drain into the racer's
beautiful body.
The moment Charles had been dreaming of ever since that night on the boat
was currently filling him from within to the glorious chants of the
excitable Monegasque. Kylian's hot velvet swirled around Charles' prostate
as he tugged himself with increasing aggression. "Yeah boyyy!" Charles
wailed as his nuts began to feel so very good. The weight of Kylian's thick
cock thudding down into him doubled by the weight of his brother from
above, combined with the incredible warmth of Kylian's sexy spunk swirling
around his prostate was too much to for the Ferrari driver's nuts which
burst with an emphatic shot across his bright, white bed sheets.
The pumping top hadn't stopped thrusting whilst the pair below him sang
along with delight. Kylian's nuts were practically empty as Arthur's bare
boner slammed up into his tender prostate. The footballer had nothing left
for Charles, but he remained hard from the combination of hot Leclerc cock
and arse stimulating both sides of his lower half. The footballer's squeals
decreased in volume but increased an octave as his exceedingly tender cock
continued to stroke Charles' delightful insides.
"My Goddd!" Charles exclaimed as his orgasm reached its peak and showered
his red pillows in a creamy glaze of his thick cum. Strumming his boner
harder and faster than ever before, Charles utilised the thick, black boner
at his disposal as his 7-inch cock painted his vibrant, red fabric with
large droplets of more fresh milk. The Ferrari driver marvelled upon the
magnificence of his handsome top, feeling Kylian's still-hard cock
splitting his tight hole as Charles milked himself happily. That smooth,
chiselled, black body looked so good as it filled him with an equally
impressive thick, black cock nice and deep to play with Charles' aching
prostate and encourage another thick web of creamy white spunk to decorate
the racer's messy bedding. Every rope that fired from Charles' head felt
amazing until there was nothing left to shoot and with slowing strokes to
maintain the buzz of Kylian's boner filling him with happiness.
The most adorable smile stretched across Charles' beautiful face as he
pulled Kylian's thick, black cock out of his satisfied hole and dropped
himself down to the mattress to the right of his mess. The Ferrari driver
rolled onto his back and beamed up at Kylian who returned his smile,
seemingly unnoticed by Arthur pounding him from the other side. Charles
felt better than ever and to make the ecstasy last a little longer he
hooked his arm around Kylian's neck and locked the footballer in a
passionate kiss.
From Arthur's perspective the moment Charles' forearm appeared the top knew
he had more freedom to enjoy Kylian's arse without a third person to
consider. Until now the footballer's black butt had been brilliant but now
it was time to push. Arthur grinned as the sound of his race engineer's
voice echoed around his head, ["push, push, push!"] "Fuck, yeahhhh!" Kylian
whined as the racer thudded 7.5 inches deep inside his tender
hole. Monegasque arse, Monegasque cock, it all felt so good especially when
attached to two of the sexiest brothers in the world. And now that Arthur
had been released the cute top was rapidly impressing his horny bottom.
The sight of his toned crotch slamming into Kylian's muscular arse cheeks
looked sensational as they caused shockwaves through the footballer's
irresistible arse. The brown of Kylian's skin looked so arousing as Arthur
buried his long, pale boner into the bottom's sweet chute. The racer leant
forward as his lower half exploded off Kylian's sensational arse. Every
stab of his bare cock inside the footballer's incredible body stroked
Arthur closer to his orgasm and those horny young nuts were filling up
rapidly with intent to blow.
Sweet little Arthur was changing into a Jekyll as his body
accelerated. With Charles disengaged from the train the top drove hard into
Kylian's bulging, brown cheeks with increased force and velocity. Timing
his impact perfectly with a tensing of his hamstrings to reverse, Arthur
used his momentum and those large, brown, doughy globes as a springboard
from which to launch his next deep thrust. "Ouiii, fuckkkk." Kylian groaned
with pure happiness, breaking his lips away from Charles' as the force of
Arthur's skewering increased.
Resting a hand on top of Kylian's beautiful head, Arthur felt the black
boy's handsomely buzz cut head encouraging the bottom to glance back at
him. Kylian turned to face his top wearing one of the most seductive looks
Arthur had ever seen. The footballer looked like he was hurting, that
enjoyable hurt that begged for more rather than for less. Indeed, the
international superstar wanted Arthur's hard dick just as much as Arthur
loved his juicy arse. The pinging of Arthur's crotch on Kylian's meaty arse
grew louder and faster as they headed down the final straight. "Yes baby."
Kylian sighed for encouragement.
Charles' arm had long left Kylian's neck allowing Arthur to lunge for
Kylian's lips as his skinny body rammed into the irresistible bottom. The
energetic top was now exploding off Kylian's big brown arse cheeks as his
nuts prepared to unleash their load. Arthur could no longer see Kylian's
arse, but the racer could imagine exactly how those round mounds looked,
jiggling arousingly under from the powerful shots of his horny crotch. The
image of Kylian's big brown cheeks, the light marbling of certain parts of
the skin and the hypnotic jiggle of his beautiful, brown skin as Arthur's
body crashed into the footballer's cheeks sent the top's nuts into
overdrive. The racer drilled his slender body into Kylian's juicy arse and
pinned himself there, wailing with delight as his shaft erupted with hot
spunk surging up into Kylian's smooth, sexy, black body.
Harmonised grunting and groaning filled the room for the next 30 seconds as
Arthur's hard cock filled Kylian's beautiful, brown arse with his hot
seed. Arthur's cock had increased in mass within Kylian's tight, black
chute as his nuts flooded the athletic black, bottom with creamy shots of
sweet spunk. The young racer didn't move, frozen by the incredible
sensation of his sweaty nuts spasming as they squirted his Monegasque milk
up into Kylian's sexy, black belly.
"Yeah baby." Kylian whined, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as Arthur's hot
cream flooded his hole. The bottom pushed his hole back onto Arthur's
exploding nuts making sure the top was as far inside his chute as Arthur
could reach. The swirling pleasure of hot spunk coating his sensitive
prostate brought howls of pleasure from the footballer as Arthur filled him
up with everything his young nuts had to offer. Arthur rested his forehead
against the back of Kylian's neck and held the bottom's strong back to his
smooth stomach. The heat coming off both boys felt like their own private
sauna causing a thin sheen of sweat to trickle down their impressive
bodies. Sticky sweat felt so sexual as it held their smooth bodies together
making Arthur's exploding cock feel even better with every ferocious
firing.
There was no energy left in Arthur and his nuts were feeling the same. The
final few ropes of his cum felt so sweet as they escaped his swollen head
and filled Kylian's red hot chute. Arthur remained pinned to Kylian's toned
frame, appreciating the muscular curves of the footballer's beautiful form,
the smell of his dark, sweaty body and the squeeze of his tight chute
around the Monegasque's pulsing stick. "Ahhh baby boy." Arthur murmured
sweetly as his empty shaft continued to throb away happily.
Heavy breathing continued from both boys as their bodies slowly returned to
their normal states. Kylian remained in position on all fours taking some
of Arthur's weight as the top returned to normality from his euphoria. The
pulses inside his arse were getting weaker so Kylian knew it was a matter
of time. For now, he could just stay there and appreciate this feeling; the
feeling of Arthur's hard cock throbbing away inside his ring after
depositing a large helping of his hot, young cum added to the feeling of
his own cock still tingling from his earlier orgasm induced by Charles'
irresistible, olive body.
Once Arthur had refilled his lungs with enough oxygen he reached down and
started to reverse. Arthur pulled his sweaty body backwards and slowly
removed his hard shaft from the footballer's beautiful, brown ring. 7.5
inches of hard, Monegasque meat reformed in front of its owner's eyes and
with a pop, Arthur's head came free. Kylian's back doors closed tight,
sealing Arthur's deposit inside him. The footballer turned and enjoyed
another kiss with his top to make the magic last a few seconds longer.
With the fireworks over and everyone fully satisfied, Charles climbed back
into his boxers and gave Kylian a kiss on the head before leaving the
room. Arthur and Kylian remained in the bedroom a few minutes longer as
they tried to summon the energy to move. To make matters worse the soft
tones of Charles on his piano playing gentle, calming music filled the
racer's flat. Arthur smiled across at Kylian proudly while Kylian beamed
back at Arthur happily. What a fun afternoon and with everything feeling so
relaxed there was no rush to go anywhere any time soon.
END
Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story.
If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on
pcwtosh@gmail.com and/or for updates: Instagram - pcwtoshx Twitter -
@pcwtosh
Here is the rest of my collection:
Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy
18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The
Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones,
13 Goo-uld Reasons Why, Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway, Now You See Cole, Big
Apple Aussies, Cole el Elite & The Power of My Name.
Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer.
Ripped Roses, Jack's Web, Naughty Neigbours & Devils and Dragons.
Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY, Swimnasium & Laugher of the Ice King.
Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk &
Deep Dipping in Dunkirk.
Reese Wilkerson the Heartstopper.
Stranger Boys: Stranger Mendes, Oral Things, Someone Stranger in the Fuller
House, A Stranger Series of Events, Anal Things & Nicholas and Noah Feeling
Appy.
Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY.
No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86 & Riviera Rendezvouz.
North American Swedes, Fly Eagles Fly, Maple Mashup & Seeding the Swede.
Tennis series: Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the
Bahamas, Bulging Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple
Leafs, Made in Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea,
Sleeping Meadows, Team Building in Melbourne Park, Dominic and the Minaur &
Rey of the Acropolis.
Football series: Lilywhite Hoops, From Paris with Love, The Hero and the
Zero, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Return to the Wolfpack, The Tails of
Two Nike Stars, Bayern Boys, Barca Buddies & Not so Mellow in Yellow.
Premier League Football Series
F1 World Series
Scrum Down - Rugby Series
On Ice - Hockey Series
England Cricket Boys Series
Diving Squad Series
Formula Football Series
BoysPlay Mansion Series
Twins Next Door Series
You can show your appreciation for all the guys at Nifty by donating here,
https://donate.nifty.org/
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/formula-football/the-beach | Date: Mon, 6 Feb 2023 23:52:00 +0000 From: PCW Tosh Subject: The Beach Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence that this actually happened, but we can all dream. Stay healthy and practice safe sex! Happy reading. Formula Football 2 - The Beach Following the end of another gruelling Formula 1 season, Charles Leclerc set off for a well-earned holiday. This year following the usual season finale in Abu Dhabi Charles stayed in the Middle East, travelling to Qatar with his brother Arthur and his best friend Pierre Gasly to support France in the World Cup. "This is gonna be so awesome." Charles beamed as he scrolled through his phone looking at the fixtures. "Allez Le Bleu!" Pierre replied, shaking his fist enthusiastically. "Allezzzz!!!" Arthur agreed, giggling as he did so. "Who are you looking most forward to seeing, other than Les Bleus?" Pierre asked the Leclerc brothers. "Err, I think I'd like to see Brazil." Arthur replied. "Oooh yes, good one I agree, hopefully we get to see Brazil." Charles nodded enthusiastically. Their short flight from Abu Dhabi landed and the three racing stars entered Qatar. Met by a driver, they were taken to their hotel where they were shown to their penthouse suite. "Oooh la la." Charles beamed. "Oui oui." Pierre agreed while Arthur just grinned happily as their eyes scanned the room. A clean white design with bright spotlights. The furniture covered in navy blue fabric included a couple of comfortable looking sofas and a pair of reclining armchairs surrounding a glass coffee table. The young racers emptied their bags into their wardrobes before reuniting in their living room. "Should we go and check out the fan zone?" Pierre suggested. The Leclerc brothers nodded, and they set off. The roasting Qatari heat had forced some fan zones indoors, but the French boys had spent so much time growing up in the Mediterranean sun they chanced a walk down to the beach. The expected buzz of a world cup wasn't quite there but that didn't matter, there was still an atmosphere, the atmosphere that something special was about to happen. Girls in bikinis playing volleyball, Charles elbowed Arthur, "Make sure you hang something on the door yeah." He grinned, causing Arthur to blush. "Girls in bikinis and boys in Speedos, you should have a few things to hang on the door brother." Arthur teased back. "Nice comeback, but I'm a good boy." Charles replied. "Liar!" Pierre jumped in. "Ha, you're the worst!!!" Charles scoffed, jabbing his fingers into Pierre's abs. "Arfff." Pierre groaned. The racing trio found the fan zone and flashed their passes. "This way please." The security guard smiled, pointing them away from the main crowd towards a section separated from public access. The difference was noticeable, they were still overlooking the beach, but they couldn't get there directly. Instead, there were man made, sandy volleyball courts, rows of sun loungers each with their own cup holders and a waiter service. "Ooh la la." Pierre beamed, scanning the clientele. There were a few familiar faces, big shot businesspeople, representatives from the sponsors and children of the world's rich list all sunning themselves and drinking copious amounts of alcohol. The boys instantly felt at home, it was as if Monaco had been flown over to the Gulf, the life of a VIP. The boys were seated overlooking the private pool, watching a drunken game of intergender water polo. "Three beers please." Charles asked politely to a speedy waiter. "See anything you like?" Pierre asked into Arthur's ear as the F3 driver silently scanned the pool for talent. "There is a bit to see, yes. How about you?" Arthur replied. "No one wants Pierre when the Leclerc boys are in town." Pierre sniggered jokingly. "Maybe if you fixed that stupid beard." Charles interjected rudely. "Hey putain!" Pierre laughed, clipping Charles across the ear. Presented with three glasses of cool, crisp lager the trio began their World Cup 2022 experience sheltered from the baking Qatari sun. "This is so cool." Charles grinned leaning back into his chair to feel even more relaxed and echoed by mumbles of agreement from Arthur and Pierre who sipped their beers simultaneously. The three young men felt privileged looking out on the picture surrounding them, the biggest tournament in sport and they were VIP guests. A ripple of applause began as some athletic young men walked into their bar. Necks looked around to see who or what was causing the commotion. Charles, Pierre and Arthur were no exception, craning their necks to get a better view before Charles exclaimed, "Oh my God, it's the German team!" "Really?!" Pierre & Arthur chimed in unison before sighing in awe as they caught a glimpse of several familiar fancy hairdos before the famous faces that owned them came into view. Although the F1 stars were household names themselves, the occasion added an extra X-factor to the footballers' status as superstars. The German players dispersed into the VIP section mingling with a few of the personalities around and posing for a few pictures. Charles could feel his heart pounding excitedly, there was one German footballer who had caught his attention recently and there he was, approaching the three racers. "Oh my God. Kai, this is so amazing." Charles beamed hopping out of his seat to greet the tall German, joined by Pierre and Arthur. "Hey guys, are you having a good time?" Kai asked politely. The three racers nodded enthusiastically, bringing a chuckle from Kai. "Great." "Do you mind if we have a picture with you?" Charles asked boldly. "Sure, that's why we are here." Kai explained, half rolling his eyes. "Ahh media shit for the sponsors, and there I was thinking you wanted to hang out with us." Pierre scoffed playfully as he and Charles threw their arms over the tall German's shoulders and posed for Arthur to take their picture. "Something like that." Kai grinned, posing for the photo. "Do one more." Kai demanded as Arthur prepared to hand the phone back and posed for his own picture. "Ok, 3, 2, 1." He called and as Arthur watched on, Kai took a handful of Charles' arse and squeezed hard. "Arghhh." Charles groaned, wheeling away while Pierre looked across with surprise and Kai chuckled to himself. Charles looked up at Kai to see the playful glint in the footballer's eye and held his hand up for a chest bump handshake during which they chuckled together. After posing for one more picture with Arthur, Kai left them, "Send me those pictures please." He smiled as he moved away to join another group of people. The racers posed with several more members of the German team including Serge Gnabry and Joshua Kimmich, but Charles couldn't think beyond Kai. Those beautiful model-like features were simply breathtaking. Charles sighed, watching every movement and every smile. The German team departed, and the commotion began to die down. "You ok Charles?" Pierre asked with a thoughtful frown. "Yes, I'm good just thinking." Charles replied snapping out of his daydream. "He was totally checking you out!" Pierre giggled like an excited schoolgirl while Arthur looked through his pictures. Charles took a sip of his drink, thinking to himself [was he checking me out? Is that why he grabbed my arse?] } Charles sent his pictures to Kai as the footballer had requested after finding the Chelsea star on social media. "Thank you so much, these pics are excellent." Kai replied promptly. "Yeah, they look so cool." Charles replied equally rapidly. "Are you coming to a Germany game?" Kai replied. "We don't have a ticket for one :(" Charles replied. "That's ok, I wouldn't be able to see you anyway. It would be better if you came to our hotel sometime. We have free time for an hour or two each day." "Ok, tell me when and where to meet you!!!" Charles beamed at his screen as he typed. } "You made it!" Kai beamed happily as Charles arrived at his hotel's entrance. "You didn't bring your brother?" He continued looking around expectantly. "No, I thought you were only inviting me." Charles giggled with a shrug. "Yeah, that makes sense to me. Come, let's walk along the beach." Kai smiled, beckoning the Ferrari driver to follow him. Moving through the lobby the young sportsmen headed through onto the private beach where they could talk interrupted only by the sounds of the ocean and of any other footballers quietly sat on their sun loungers. Kai led them from the small groups of people near the hotel towards the end of the beach where the pair were alone and uninterrupted. As Charles mindlessly spoke, explaining all the little details of being an F1 driver he had noticed the scenery changing and wondered exactly what Kai had in mind. Now with no one to see them and no one to interrupt them the German could make his move. Charles had seen that look in someone's eyes many times before and pouting his lips he braced as the beautiful German turned towards him closing in and gently brushing his lips against the racer's. The kiss was tender and gentle, filled with admiration as the German leaned into Charles, tasting the flavour the beautiful Monegasque's lips had to offer. Charles pecked back gently, allowing Kai to lead them and enjoy the adventure the German had decided to embark upon with him. As the emotions rushed through him, Charles looked into the cool steel of Kai's grey eyes. The look which returned to him convinced Charles that there was plenty of fun ahead but only if he wanted it, and of course he wanted it! The Monegasque returned Kai's affection by resting his hands on the footballer's hips and pulling him a little closer. Slowly their kiss turned from a moment of passion to a game of body language. Driven on by his raging boner Kai pressed deeper into Charles' face, sliding his tongue between the Ferrari driver's lips. The footballer's hands crept down Charles' back and came to rest on the Monegasque's firm round cheeks. The sportsmen were now connected at the crotch and grinding firmly. Kai found the rising tension unbearable, he wanted to throw the stunning racer onto his back and fuck him into next year. "Oh my God we have to stop!" Kai groaned, breaking from Charles' lips and leaning back. The Ferrari driver held Kai steady, "What's wrong?" Charles frowned. "Nothing and everything." Kai sighed, "I want to do everything to you and with you, but if we are seen I will get in so much trouble. Charles' face broke into a broad smile, "Oh, that's ok. I thought you were having second thoughts. Okay, if you don't want anyone to see us, then come to my hotel, Arthur and Pierre won't tell anyone." He beamed. Kai looked back at Charles with an expression that said, I need a little more convincing. "Pierre is my best friend and Arthur is my brother, they will keep our secret." Charles giggled pulling the lanky German in for another cuddle. "Ok, I believe you, I will come over the day after we win the final. Will you be around until then?" Kai smiled. "Yes, I can't wait!" Charles smiled. "I've still got another 30 minutes of freedom. We could touch ourselves hidden behind this dune." Kai smiled, nodding to the rise in the sand behind them. "Oh my God, yes." Charles hissed excitedly, collapsing down to the sand. Kai sniggered as he dropped to the ground close to the Ferrari driver. Lifting their hips in unison the sexy sportsmen unleashed their hard cocks. Impressed by the sight across from them, both Charles and Kai took hold of their own uncut cocks and began stroking themselves while studying each other's erect cocks. Kai's eyes watched Charles intently, watching the Ferrari driver's biceps tense deliciously as he stroked his beautiful 7 incher. The oliveness of Charles' skin was a sight to behold, the German felt his cock throbbing at the idea of running his tongue along it, licking Charles from top to bottom, perfection. Those skinny legs, covered in a nice coat of dark hair looked so biteable. Kai could feel it in the base of his nuts, he wanted to explode all over that sexy body. Charles too took the opportunity to study Kai's attractive physique. The lanky German looked so smooth and lean. As Charles watched the footballer's muscles bulge beautifully, Charles wondered if Kai's complexion was naturally light olive or had he acquired a strong tan. It didn't matter either way, the lanky German was stunning, the thought of that smooth, slender body pounding him into a mattress in his hotel room seemed so good his cock throbbed hungrily. At 6'4" (1.93m) the German's long, skinny legs looked perfect for creating plenty of distance between Charles' arse and Kai's crotch before spearing him hard, another wild from the Monegasque's shaft told Charles it agreed. Kai could see the look in Charles' eyes as he studied the racer's handsome face, he was fighting hard against the urge to do something they may regret, and Kai too struggled with his self-control. The Ferrari driver was insanely cute and as his eyes scanned Charles' perfect body, watching that Monegasque meat throbbing in Charles' hand, Kai's mind went racing to a premonition of the moment he would slide his skinny body between Charles' inviting legs. As if they were sharing the same vision, Charles watched Kai's 7.5-inch cock imagining how their moment together would play out. The pair stroked their meat with increasing vigour studying each other while simultaneously imagining the hot sex they would soon be enjoying together. The image of their naked bodies writhing together in a sweaty clinch with plenty of heavy breathing formed loud and clear in their horny minds. They shared the idea that Kai should be on top, thrusting that hard German sausage into Charles' waiting body while the Ferrari driver pulled in those strong hips, encouraging the footballer to give him everything he had. Charles' breathing became lighter, overcome by the image of Kai's toned body spread over him with dominance, the Ferrari driver wanted only to squeeze those muscles as they tensed, thrusting Kai's German meat into his body and that thought was enough to induce a powerful orgasm. The Monegasque's mind was in magnificent form, creating an image so hot Charles could touch it. The Ferrari driver's hairy nuts clenched, and white cream squirted up his shaft to land across his abs. Kai watched the view just across from him, the stunning young Monegasque looked heavenly as he coated his body in his own seed. [The next time he does that, my cock will be inside that hot, sexy body!] Kai told himself, imagining how that warm olive flesh would feel around his hard German cock. The footballer felt his cock throb, pulsing with excitement at the thought of filling Charles with his seed. Kai's fist gripped tight around his tip and with that vivid 4D thought in his mind of Charles' sexy body wrapped around his head, Kai felt his cock erupt. Both sportsmen were groaning as they shot, their eyes locked onto the other man's delicious body. Warm pearly cream splattered across each of their abs in shiny droplets as they devoured the beautiful sight before them. Their ejaculations synced perfectly in both size and timing although Charles was a shot ahead. 3 shots of cum painted their toned pecs, dribbling down to their abs which became covered in more shots of their own milk. Their torsos rose and fell with the increased intensity of their breathing. Charles and Kai locked eyes again watching the expression on the other's face as the surge of their orgasms continued to overcome them. The cum shower continued with another pair of weakening shots as the sportsmen scanned each other's bodies one last time. Like they weren't hot enough in the flesh, the marbly cream splattered across their skin made both Charles and Kai hotter still. Tugging the final few drops from their cocks, Charles and Kai shared another prolonged moment of eye contact, swimming in the beauty of the other man's gaze. Thin white droplets of cum formed at their tips, both Charles and Kai continued to stroke, emptying their shafts of any remaining residue. Sharing another smile, Kai looked into Charles' eyes and released his cock, allowing the softening muscle to fall against his sticky abs. "I think we should have a walk in the water." Kai grinned, looking down at his sticky tummy. "I think you're right." Charles nodded, quickly pulling up his beach shorts and checking that they hadn't been seen. Kai too pulled up his beach shorts and the pair walked straight into the water together. The water of the Persian Gulf felt nice and mild against their skin as the pair wading in far enough to cover the cum splattered torso and with a couple of underwater wipes, the evidence was lost at sea. Pulling his head under for a full dip, Kai took a look at Charles' cute legs through the crystal-clear water and smiled, then kicking off he paddled out gently. Charles jumped under chasing the German as he waded out a little further then came to a stop. The two young athletes looked even cuter with their brown hair flattened by water and their faces drenched. "You look so beautiful." Charles remarked unreservedly. "Ha, thanks, you look very good yourself." Kai laughed. "I can't wait until you come over." Charles grinned. "Hopefully it's not until late in December." Kai chuckled. "I hope so too, for you." Charles beamed sweetly. END Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story. If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on pcwtosh@gmail.com. I write these stories for fun, but I would greatly appreciate any contributions you are willing to give as a result. If you would like to make a donation then feel free to contact me on the email above. And now that I've posted over 100 stories I'd really like to know your favourites. Get in touch and tell me your top 3!!! Here is the rest of my collection: Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy 18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones & The Twins Nextdoor. The Diving Squad 1, 2, 3, 4 & 5. Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer. Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY, Swimnasium & Ripped Roses Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk, Deep Dipping in Dunkirk, Stranger Mendes & Oral Things Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86 North American Swedes & Fly Eagles Fly Cricket series: England Cricket Boys, From Rapid to Star, Scorcher from the Caribbean, Inside the Bio Bubble, A Little Closer to Home, Ducking the First Balls & The Captains' Club. Rugby series: Scrum Down, Clash of the Centres, Henry Gets Some Bone, Maro, Becoming the Dragon & Thudding Ford. Tennis series: Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the Bahamas, Bulging Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple Leafs, Made in Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Sleeping Meadows & Team Building in Melbourne Park. Football series: Chelsea Training, Winter in Portsmouth, Graduation Ceremony, Welsh Cherries, Cherries Go Blue, King Power, Three Lions of King Power, Loving Gunners, Bad Boys Gone Naughty, Confident Canary, Lilywhite Hoops, From Paris with Love, Lion Cubs, Behind Blue Doors, The Fifteen-Legged Dragon, The Hero and the Zero, When Harry Met Trent, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, The Trials of Romeo Beckham, Anything but Swish, Swish, Phil-ed by a Villain, The Warm Up, Return to the Wolfpack, Jadon gets his Phil, A Norwich Tale, The Tails of Two Nike Stars & Operation: Harvey's Boxers. F1 Series: F1 World & Life in Monaco, Magic Monza & Magical Monza, Marina Bay, Surrey Holiday, The Home of British Motorsport, The Champ is Here, Samba in Sao Paulo, You're Fired, The Apprentice's Apprentice, L'Accademia, McLaren's Days of Future Past & The Enemy Within. Ice Hockey Series: On Ice, On Ice Mighty Ducks, Buffalo Bound, Power Surge & Canadian Countdown to the Curtain Raiser. Formula Football Series: All The Way From Memphis You can show your appreciation for all the guys at Nifty by donating here, https://donate.nifty.org/ | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Mon, 6 Feb 2023 23:52:00 +0000
From: PCW Tosh <pcwtosh@gmail.com>
Subject: The Beach
Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence
that this actually happened, but we can all dream.
Stay healthy and practice safe sex!
Happy reading.
Formula Football 2 - The Beach
Following the end of another gruelling Formula 1 season, Charles Leclerc
set off for a well-earned holiday. This year following the usual season
finale in Abu Dhabi Charles stayed in the Middle East, travelling to Qatar
with his brother Arthur and his best friend Pierre Gasly to support France
in the World Cup. "This is gonna be so awesome." Charles beamed as he
scrolled through his phone looking at the fixtures. "Allez Le Bleu!" Pierre
replied, shaking his fist enthusiastically. "Allezzzz!!!" Arthur agreed,
giggling as he did so.
"Who are you looking most forward to seeing, other than Les Bleus?" Pierre
asked the Leclerc brothers. "Err, I think I'd like to see Brazil." Arthur
replied. "Oooh yes, good one I agree, hopefully we get to see Brazil."
Charles nodded enthusiastically.
Their short flight from Abu Dhabi landed and the three racing stars entered
Qatar. Met by a driver, they were taken to their hotel where they were
shown to their penthouse suite. "Oooh la la." Charles beamed. "Oui oui."
Pierre agreed while Arthur just grinned happily as their eyes scanned the
room. A clean white design with bright spotlights. The furniture covered in
navy blue fabric included a couple of comfortable looking sofas and a pair
of reclining armchairs surrounding a glass coffee table.
The young racers emptied their bags into their wardrobes before reuniting
in their living room. "Should we go and check out the fan zone?" Pierre
suggested. The Leclerc brothers nodded, and they set off.
The roasting Qatari heat had forced some fan zones indoors, but the French
boys had spent so much time growing up in the Mediterranean sun they
chanced a walk down to the beach. The expected buzz of a world cup wasn't
quite there but that didn't matter, there was still an atmosphere, the
atmosphere that something special was about to happen.
Girls in bikinis playing volleyball, Charles elbowed Arthur, "Make sure you
hang something on the door yeah." He grinned, causing Arthur to
blush. "Girls in bikinis and boys in Speedos, you should have a few things
to hang on the door brother." Arthur teased back. "Nice comeback, but I'm a
good boy." Charles replied. "Liar!" Pierre jumped in. "Ha, you're the
worst!!!" Charles scoffed, jabbing his fingers into Pierre's abs. "Arfff."
Pierre groaned.
The racing trio found the fan zone and flashed their passes. "This way
please." The security guard smiled, pointing them away from the main crowd
towards a section separated from public access. The difference was
noticeable, they were still overlooking the beach, but they couldn't get
there directly. Instead, there were man made, sandy volleyball courts, rows
of sun loungers each with their own cup holders and a waiter service.
"Ooh la la." Pierre beamed, scanning the clientele. There were a few
familiar faces, big shot businesspeople, representatives from the sponsors
and children of the world's rich list all sunning themselves and drinking
copious amounts of alcohol. The boys instantly felt at home, it was as if
Monaco had been flown over to the Gulf, the life of a VIP.
The boys were seated overlooking the private pool, watching a drunken game
of intergender water polo. "Three beers please." Charles asked politely to
a speedy waiter. "See anything you like?" Pierre asked into Arthur's ear as
the F3 driver silently scanned the pool for talent. "There is a bit to see,
yes. How about you?" Arthur replied. "No one wants Pierre when the Leclerc
boys are in town." Pierre sniggered jokingly. "Maybe if you fixed that
stupid beard." Charles interjected rudely. "Hey putain!" Pierre laughed,
clipping Charles across the ear.
Presented with three glasses of cool, crisp lager the trio began their
World Cup 2022 experience sheltered from the baking Qatari sun. "This is so
cool." Charles grinned leaning back into his chair to feel even more
relaxed and echoed by mumbles of agreement from Arthur and Pierre who
sipped their beers simultaneously. The three young men felt privileged
looking out on the picture surrounding them, the biggest tournament in
sport and they were VIP guests.
A ripple of applause began as some athletic young men walked into their
bar. Necks looked around to see who or what was causing the
commotion. Charles, Pierre and Arthur were no exception, craning their
necks to get a better view before Charles exclaimed, "Oh my God, it's the
German team!" "Really?!" Pierre & Arthur chimed in unison before sighing in
awe as they caught a glimpse of several familiar fancy hairdos before the
famous faces that owned them came into view. Although the F1 stars were
household names themselves, the occasion added an extra X-factor to the
footballers' status as superstars.
The German players dispersed into the VIP section mingling with a few of
the personalities around and posing for a few pictures. Charles could feel
his heart pounding excitedly, there was one German footballer who had
caught his attention recently and there he was, approaching the three
racers.
"Oh my God. Kai, this is so amazing." Charles beamed hopping out of his
seat to greet the tall German, joined by Pierre and Arthur. "Hey guys, are
you having a good time?" Kai asked politely. The three racers nodded
enthusiastically, bringing a chuckle from Kai. "Great." "Do you mind if we
have a picture with you?" Charles asked boldly. "Sure, that's why we are
here." Kai explained, half rolling his eyes. "Ahh media shit for the
sponsors, and there I was thinking you wanted to hang out with us." Pierre
scoffed playfully as he and Charles threw their arms over the tall German's
shoulders and posed for Arthur to take their picture. "Something like
that." Kai grinned, posing for the photo.
"Do one more." Kai demanded as Arthur prepared to hand the phone back and
posed for his own picture. "Ok, 3, 2, 1." He called and as Arthur watched
on, Kai took a handful of Charles' arse and squeezed hard. "Arghhh."
Charles groaned, wheeling away while Pierre looked across with surprise and
Kai chuckled to himself. Charles looked up at Kai to see the playful glint
in the footballer's eye and held his hand up for a chest bump handshake
during which they chuckled together. After posing for one more picture with
Arthur, Kai left them, "Send me those pictures please." He smiled as he
moved away to join another group of people.
The racers posed with several more members of the German team including
Serge Gnabry and Joshua Kimmich, but Charles couldn't think beyond
Kai. Those beautiful model-like features were simply breathtaking. Charles
sighed, watching every movement and every smile. The German team departed,
and the commotion began to die down. "You ok Charles?" Pierre asked with a
thoughtful frown. "Yes, I'm good just thinking." Charles replied snapping
out of his daydream. "He was totally checking you out!" Pierre giggled like
an excited schoolgirl while Arthur looked through his pictures. Charles
took a sip of his drink, thinking to himself [was he checking me out? Is
that why he grabbed my arse?]
}
Charles sent his pictures to Kai as the footballer had requested after
finding the Chelsea star on social media. "Thank you so much, these pics
are excellent." Kai replied promptly. "Yeah, they look so cool." Charles
replied equally rapidly. "Are you coming to a Germany game?" Kai
replied. "We don't have a ticket for one :(" Charles replied. "That's ok, I
wouldn't be able to see you anyway. It would be better if you came to our
hotel sometime. We have free time for an hour or two each day." "Ok, tell
me when and where to meet you!!!" Charles beamed at his screen as he typed.
}
"You made it!" Kai beamed happily as Charles arrived at his hotel's
entrance. "You didn't bring your brother?" He continued looking around
expectantly. "No, I thought you were only inviting me." Charles giggled
with a shrug. "Yeah, that makes sense to me. Come, let's walk along the
beach." Kai smiled, beckoning the Ferrari driver to follow him.
Moving through the lobby the young sportsmen headed through onto the
private beach where they could talk interrupted only by the sounds of the
ocean and of any other footballers quietly sat on their sun loungers. Kai
led them from the small groups of people near the hotel towards the end of
the beach where the pair were alone and uninterrupted. As Charles
mindlessly spoke, explaining all the little details of being an F1 driver
he had noticed the scenery changing and wondered exactly what Kai had in
mind. Now with no one to see them and no one to interrupt them the German
could make his move.
Charles had seen that look in someone's eyes many times before and pouting
his lips he braced as the beautiful German turned towards him closing in
and gently brushing his lips against the racer's. The kiss was tender and
gentle, filled with admiration as the German leaned into Charles, tasting
the flavour the beautiful Monegasque's lips had to offer.
Charles pecked back gently, allowing Kai to lead them and enjoy the
adventure the German had decided to embark upon with him. As the emotions
rushed through him, Charles looked into the cool steel of Kai's grey
eyes. The look which returned to him convinced Charles that there was
plenty of fun ahead but only if he wanted it, and of course he wanted it!
The Monegasque returned Kai's affection by resting his hands on the
footballer's hips and pulling him a little closer. Slowly their kiss turned
from a moment of passion to a game of body language.
Driven on by his raging boner Kai pressed deeper into Charles' face,
sliding his tongue between the Ferrari driver's lips. The footballer's
hands crept down Charles' back and came to rest on the Monegasque's firm
round cheeks. The sportsmen were now connected at the crotch and grinding
firmly. Kai found the rising tension unbearable, he wanted to throw the
stunning racer onto his back and fuck him into next year.
"Oh my God we have to stop!" Kai groaned, breaking from Charles' lips and
leaning back. The Ferrari driver held Kai steady, "What's wrong?" Charles
frowned. "Nothing and everything." Kai sighed, "I want to do everything to
you and with you, but if we are seen I will get in so much
trouble. Charles' face broke into a broad smile, "Oh, that's ok. I thought
you were having second thoughts. Okay, if you don't want anyone to see us,
then come to my hotel, Arthur and Pierre won't tell anyone." He beamed. Kai
looked back at Charles with an expression that said, I need a little more
convincing. "Pierre is my best friend and Arthur is my brother, they will
keep our secret." Charles giggled pulling the lanky German in for another
cuddle. "Ok, I believe you, I will come over the day after we win the
final. Will you be around until then?" Kai smiled. "Yes, I can't wait!"
Charles smiled.
"I've still got another 30 minutes of freedom. We could touch ourselves
hidden behind this dune." Kai smiled, nodding to the rise in the sand
behind them. "Oh my God, yes." Charles hissed excitedly, collapsing down to
the sand. Kai sniggered as he dropped to the ground close to the Ferrari
driver. Lifting their hips in unison the sexy sportsmen unleashed their
hard cocks. Impressed by the sight across from them, both Charles and Kai
took hold of their own uncut cocks and began stroking themselves while
studying each other's erect cocks.
Kai's eyes watched Charles intently, watching the Ferrari driver's biceps
tense deliciously as he stroked his beautiful 7 incher. The oliveness of
Charles' skin was a sight to behold, the German felt his cock throbbing at
the idea of running his tongue along it, licking Charles from top to
bottom, perfection. Those skinny legs, covered in a nice coat of dark hair
looked so biteable. Kai could feel it in the base of his nuts, he wanted to
explode all over that sexy body.
Charles too took the opportunity to study Kai's attractive physique. The
lanky German looked so smooth and lean. As Charles watched the footballer's
muscles bulge beautifully, Charles wondered if Kai's complexion was
naturally light olive or had he acquired a strong tan. It didn't matter
either way, the lanky German was stunning, the thought of that smooth,
slender body pounding him into a mattress in his hotel room seemed so good
his cock throbbed hungrily. At 6'4" (1.93m) the German's long, skinny legs
looked perfect for creating plenty of distance between Charles' arse and
Kai's crotch before spearing him hard, another wild from the Monegasque's
shaft told Charles it agreed.
Kai could see the look in Charles' eyes as he studied the racer's handsome
face, he was fighting hard against the urge to do something they may
regret, and Kai too struggled with his self-control. The Ferrari driver was
insanely cute and as his eyes scanned Charles' perfect body, watching that
Monegasque meat throbbing in Charles' hand, Kai's mind went racing to a
premonition of the moment he would slide his skinny body between Charles'
inviting legs. As if they were sharing the same vision, Charles watched
Kai's 7.5-inch cock imagining how their moment together would play out.
The pair stroked their meat with increasing vigour studying each other
while simultaneously imagining the hot sex they would soon be enjoying
together. The image of their naked bodies writhing together in a sweaty
clinch with plenty of heavy breathing formed loud and clear in their horny
minds. They shared the idea that Kai should be on top, thrusting that hard
German sausage into Charles' waiting body while the Ferrari driver pulled
in those strong hips, encouraging the footballer to give him everything he
had.
Charles' breathing became lighter, overcome by the image of Kai's toned
body spread over him with dominance, the Ferrari driver wanted only to
squeeze those muscles as they tensed, thrusting Kai's German meat into his
body and that thought was enough to induce a powerful orgasm. The
Monegasque's mind was in magnificent form, creating an image so hot Charles
could touch it. The Ferrari driver's hairy nuts clenched, and white cream
squirted up his shaft to land across his abs.
Kai watched the view just across from him, the stunning young Monegasque
looked heavenly as he coated his body in his own seed. [The next time he
does that, my cock will be inside that hot, sexy body!] Kai told himself,
imagining how that warm olive flesh would feel around his hard German
cock. The footballer felt his cock throb, pulsing with excitement at the
thought of filling Charles with his seed. Kai's fist gripped tight around
his tip and with that vivid 4D thought in his mind of Charles' sexy body
wrapped around his head, Kai felt his cock erupt.
Both sportsmen were groaning as they shot, their eyes locked onto the other
man's delicious body. Warm pearly cream splattered across each of their abs
in shiny droplets as they devoured the beautiful sight before them. Their
ejaculations synced perfectly in both size and timing although Charles was
a shot ahead.
3 shots of cum painted their toned pecs, dribbling down to their abs which
became covered in more shots of their own milk. Their torsos rose and fell
with the increased intensity of their breathing. Charles and Kai locked
eyes again watching the expression on the other's face as the surge of
their orgasms continued to overcome them. The cum shower continued with
another pair of weakening shots as the sportsmen scanned each other's
bodies one last time. Like they weren't hot enough in the flesh, the marbly
cream splattered across their skin made both Charles and Kai hotter still.
Tugging the final few drops from their cocks, Charles and Kai shared
another prolonged moment of eye contact, swimming in the beauty of the
other man's gaze. Thin white droplets of cum formed at their tips, both
Charles and Kai continued to stroke, emptying their shafts of any remaining
residue. Sharing another smile, Kai looked into Charles' eyes and released
his cock, allowing the softening muscle to fall against his sticky abs.
"I think we should have a walk in the water." Kai grinned, looking down at
his sticky tummy. "I think you're right." Charles nodded, quickly pulling
up his beach shorts and checking that they hadn't been seen. Kai too pulled
up his beach shorts and the pair walked straight into the water
together. The water of the Persian Gulf felt nice and mild against their
skin as the pair wading in far enough to cover the cum splattered torso and
with a couple of underwater wipes, the evidence was lost at sea.
Pulling his head under for a full dip, Kai took a look at Charles' cute
legs through the crystal-clear water and smiled, then kicking off he
paddled out gently. Charles jumped under chasing the German as he waded out
a little further then came to a stop. The two young athletes looked even
cuter with their brown hair flattened by water and their faces
drenched. "You look so beautiful." Charles remarked unreservedly. "Ha,
thanks, you look very good yourself." Kai laughed. "I can't wait until you
come over." Charles grinned. "Hopefully it's not until late in December."
Kai chuckled. "I hope so too, for you." Charles beamed sweetly.
END
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/formula-football/mercd | Date: Fri, 24 May 2024 00:27:00 +0100 From: PCW Tosh Subject: Formula Football 3.1: Merc'd Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence that this actually happened, but we can all dream. Stay healthy and practice safe sex! Happy reading. Formula Football 3.1: Merc'd "What you sayin' bruv?" Phil Foden asked, approaching Mercedes driver Lewis Hamilton in a busy Monaco paddock. "Hey bro, how's it going?" Lewis beamed, the seven-time world champion embracing the Manchester City midfielder with a handshake that turned into a semi-hug. Both men were in awe of the man they were currently holding; Lewis holding a young superstar with multiple Premier League winners' medals to his name at just 23 years old and Phil had finally come face to face with the GOAT and 7-time F1 world champion Sir Lewis Hamilton. "Good luck for the race mate." Phil smiled, shooting Lewis a wink as he did so. "Thanks man. Enjoy the race" Lewis replied thinking [did Phil Foden just WINK at me?] The race was another Monaco Grand Prix to forget for Lewis, unable to make much progress in the traffic of the narrow streets he was only able to finish in 4th place although he did drive the fastest lap. Depressingly, Lewis had realised this wasn't going to be his year, Max Verstappen and Red Bull looked unbeatable. Making his way through the paddock the Mercedes driver briefly stopped for quick photos as he hurried back to Roscoe for some canine comforting. "Sir Lew, unlucky today bro." A familiar voice called as he walked past a group of lads. "Hey guys, you alright? Thanks." Lewis replied, stopping to see who had called him. Phil was standing with Mason Mount who waved timidly. "Yeah bro, that was a crazy finish but a shame about you innit." Phil replied. "Yeah, you win some, you lose some." Lewis nodded agreeably. "What are you up to now?" Phil asked boldly. "Heading back for a quick shower then I'll be out at the party, are you going to one?" Lewis smiled. "Yeah 100%, bro, can we see your motorhome and meet Roscoe?" Phil continued. "Err, yeah I guess you can." Lewis beamed. The footballers pursued Lewis back to his motorhome, Phil watching the swing of Lewis' sexy hips in his tight black racing overalls hungrily. Lewis led the pair inside the Mercedes motorhome calling for Roscoe as soon as they were inside. The adorable English bulldog came to greet them, stopping first to give Lewis a moment of affection before inspecting the two young footballers. "Oh my God he's the cutest thing ever!" Mason squeaked, leaning down to pet Roscoe along with Phil. "Haha, yeah he's more popular than I am." Lewis chuckled proudly. Roscoe panted happily, delighted by the attention Mason and Phil were showing him. While the footballers fawned over Roscoe, Lewis had stepped into the other room to find some clothes to change into. "Oh wow, sick artwork man!" Mason beamed watching Lewis as the Mercedes driver opened his overalls to reveal his muscular chest. "Haha, your tats are Mickey Mouse in comparison, Mase." Phil teased, peering around to see them for himself. "Least I'm man enough to have a big one, or are you waiting for a champions League tattoo like mine?" Mason retorted cheekily. "Prick." Phil spat bitterly at Mason, "Call me when you win 3 Prems." He finished, "Pfft, no one cares!" Mason giggled. "He's right, you know." Lewis interjected on behalf of Mason. "Bastard!!!" Phil snapped, frowning at Lewis. The Chelsea star hopped to his feet and ran over to Lewis, throwing his arms around the 7-time world champion, "GOAT, GOAT, GOAT, GOAT, GOAT!!!" He cried happily. "Poofs." Phil cursed dismissively. "Errr...." Lewis started, "He's just playing." Mason jumped in reassuringly. [This hug is going on a bit] Lewis thought to himself realising that Mason was still attached to him 10 seconds later. Finally, Mason detached himself and smiled back at Lewis. [Fuck me this kid's cute!] Lewis acknowledged, looking at the gentle features of Mason's pretty face. "Which party did you guys want to go to?" Lewis started, diverting attention away from the building sexual tension. "Whichever one you're at GOAT." Phil replied quickly. [Not helping!] Lewis screamed inside, looking down at Phil while considering his proposal. "Yeah, you'll get in no problem." Lewis nodded, stepping out of his overalls and the remainder of his base layers leaving him in just a pair of black Tommy Hilfiger boxers and socks. Lewis was used to being the centre of attention, but this was usually behind a helmet while sat inside his racing car. Right now, instead of chatting away the two footballers were studying Lewis' body, probably common courtesy between professional athletes, studying the difference between the football and F1 physiques. "Which one(s) hurt the most?" Phil asked. "Ha, I don't know, maybe the wings." Lewis replied, turning to show Phil his back. "Yeah wicked, that had to hurt!" Phil smiled, his cock hardening at the sight of Lewis' firm arse in his tight boxers. "You smell good, what aftershave are you wearing?" Mason asked. [Uh ohhh, I smell like sweat, that's a move!] Lewis laughed inside. "Hugo Boss." He replied softly. "Mase, you're such a perv." Phil grumbled. "Fuck off Phil." Mason giggled. "Haha, it's cool." Lewis smiled, it had been more than a minute since he'd removed his clothes and he'd been standing there in just his boxers, Lewis was clearly begging for the attention just as much as Mason was willing to give it. [Go on Mase!] Phil cheered secretly as the Chelsea star moved towards Lewis again, "Do you have much tension after a race?" Mason asked with a glint in his eye. "Ok, ok, what are you trying to pull?" Lewis laughed looking from Mason to Phil and back. "Just you." Mason replied honestly with Phil watching on unmoved. Lewis' ears burned with embarrassment, "I'm, err, flattered. I'm not sure we have time before the party though." He explained. Mason stepped into Lewis and took the opportunity to give the 38-year-old a gentle kiss. "So how long have we got?" Phil asked, suddenly springing up from the ground and approaching the pair. Lewis was at a loss; he could only shrug as the advancing footballers edged him back towards his bedroom and onto his bed. Two attractive, young, white footballers advanced on the older black sporting legend. Lewis fell helplessly back onto his bed, followed by Mason and then Phil. The Chelsea star continued to kiss Lewis, firmly feeding the Mercedes driver his talented tongue while Phil began to strip himself down, kicking off his shorts and then his t-shirt. Once Phil had undressed himself, kneeling proudly with his uncut 7.5-inch boner pointing out ahead of him, the City star then undressed Mason's lower half. The Pompey lad followed Phil's guidance, lifting his hips and knees to allow the Northerner to unsheathe his uncut 7-inch boner, before stretching out his arms to allow his shirt to slide off over his arms. Mason felt something cover over his perfect hair and pulled back from Lewis in surprise. Looking up, the Pompey lad realised Phil had picked up two of Lewis' Mercedes snapbacks, wearing a purple one himself and placing a blue one on Mason's crown. "Oh, help yourself." Lewis laughed looking up at Phil who just grinned back at him, telling Lewis he knew he was currently pushing many boundaries and right now it was up to Lewis to say stop. "You take the bottom half." Phil instructed Mason who shuffled down the racer post-haste. The Chelsea midfielder hooked his fingers around Lewis' waistband and tugged at the racer's boxers. Lewis' hips rose to allow his expensive underwear to slide free and out popped 7.5 inches of hard, uncut, dark meat surrounded in a neatly trimmed base of curly pubes for Mason's hungry eyes to drink in. Lewis definitely hadn't had the chance to shower and the bad boy in Mason loved it. The Mercedes driver had told the media he wasn't one of those drivers who relieved himself in the cockpit, but the taste of fresh urine clung around the 38-year-old's dark foreskin as Mason swallowed it excitedly. The footballer used his tongue to play with Lewis' loose helmet briefly dipping inside the foreskin to enjoy its flavour then descending down the racer's long black shaft until Lewis' fleshy head pressed against the back of his throat. The Chelsea midfielder took hold of his own boner while he sucked and stroked his own meat nicely and slowly in time with his neck as it rolled up and down Lewis' dark meat. Unlike Mason who loved to worship, Phil took advantage of his controlling position to aim his hard cock at Lewis' lips and kneeling on his left leg, the City midfielder rocked forward giving Lewis no choice but to submit. Those seductive, black lips allowed themselves to be forced apart with one easy movement and Phil was in. Automatically, Phil began to rock, sliding his shaft back and forth within Lewis' lips while the racing GOAT allowed Phil all the access he needed. Gripping the bedhead to aid his balance, the City star began to move freely, watching his white cock piercing Lewis' beautiful black lips. From his position on Lewis' cock, Mason had an amazing view of Phil's bare arse, nice and tightly clenched as his England teammate guided his cock into the racer's handsome face. The City star's juicy doubles looked stunning, good enough to eat but Lewis' cock was more than worth Mason's time. The Chelsea star could feel Lewis' cock thicken between his lips each time Phil's sexy body rocked forward. Marvelling at Phil's glorious arse, the Northern Lad was so amazing that he could pleasure two men simultaneously. There wasn't the slightest hint of jealousy in the Chelsea star however, between his lips he had a thick black cock which would usually be more than enough to satisfy him but the cock probing his face belonged to one of the greatest racers of all time. Pulling off briefly, Mason held Lewis' shaft at the base and slapped it hard against his cheek to punish himself, spanking several jolts of pleasure through Lewis' hard, black cock. "Hey Mase. Is that sexy black hole ready for my dick?" Phil called from up front. Begrudgingly, Mason pulled himself back off Lewis' sword and spreading the racer's legs he found what he was looking for. The Mercedes driver's brown ring sat there ready for attention which Mason provided by lifting Lewis' legs slightly and diving headfirst for the gap. The vibration of a groan of satisfaction rumbled up Phil's cock as he dipped his boner into Lewis' face and instinctively the City star turned his head to watch the show. "How's that stanky hole bro?" Phil grinned back at Mason. The Chelsea star couldn't respond verbally so a thumbs up was accompanied by an affirmative noise to let Lewis know he approved as his tongue circled the Mercedes driver's ring. Mason was aware that time was against him and wasted none of it as he pressed his tongue into the soft dark flesh of Lewis' hole. The racer's body opened to accept Mason's tongue without fuss, parting to give the footballer all the access he could manage. Mason appreciated the perfect sculpting of Lewis entrance following neatly trimmed, short brown hairs inside the racer's sexy arse and pressing them against his face. As the footballer wormed deep inside the Mercedes driver as he could reach, Mason felt on top of the world lapping up the taste of his racing idol. Lewis' flesh was deliciously gamey after spending the last two hours driving the tight streets of Monte Carlo and Mason couldn't get enough. Without fail Lewis found Phil's crotch every time he pushed his face forward. The smooth creamy flesh of Phil's pelvis smelt heavenly as it filled Lewis' nostrils. The footballer had taken great care of his pubic region, trimming his brown pubes into a neat coat for the base of his cock and those heavy looking, scally balls. As he sucked, however, Lewis thought to himself that Phil's manscaping had been to showcase his beautiful 7.5-inch cock. The sexy Northerner tasted delicious, and every time Lewis' lips reversed to the tip of Phil's amazing cock, the racer returned it as quickly as he could to choke himself on that sexy scally goodness. The footballer's length was truly perfect, allowing Lewis to pull back just far enough so that his brown eyes could glance up at Phil's cheeky face looking down at him handsomely with that purple snapback making him look even ruder. Add Mason digging his tongue so deep up inside Lewis, the racer decided that he may not have won the race, but he definitely won the weekend. Phil looked back along Lewis' body and realised he couldn't miss this opportunity. The racer was built from perfection with every inch of his smooth, dark skin radiating sexual magnetism, which Phil's eyes ate happily. Beyond those beautiful, black pecs and those rigid griddles stood a beautiful boner, resting against Lewis' abs and begging for more attention. "Mase, you go first." The little scally instructed as his hole twitched with anticipation. Mason hopped up from Lewis' dank hole and immediately pressed his raging head against the 7-time champion moistened entrance. The Chelsea star had no idea what Phil had planned but suddenly it was all making sense. As Mason pressed his tip against Lewis' hole, Phil withdrew his cock from the racer's lips and moved into a position where he could bend down to suck Lewis' cock while presenting Mason with his fine arse. The Chelsea midfielder used one hand to hold his cock steady and the other to guide Phil's arse towards his lips. Pointing out his tongue, Mason pushed himself into the gap of Phil's clean-shaven hole and licked the City scally from the base to the roof of his glorious entrance. Simultaneously, pressure of Mason's cock pierced Lewis' ring forcing his bare white meat into the bottom's hole causing Lewis some pain and so much more pleasure just as Phil's cute, pink lips slid down his dark shaft doubling the arousal for the Mercedes driver. The words from Lewis were inaudible but clearly, they were happy. Mason could tell the experienced bottom was pushing his hole out to maximise compliance and the ease at which their bodies joined as one. The Chelsea star wasn't the only one using two hands. Lewis reached down and found Mason's thigh, pulling the meaty white muscle in towards him, slowly adding more of the footballer's cock to his tight chute while his left hand resting on top of Phil's cap, pushing the youngster down onto his cock. The firm palm pressing Phil's head down onto Lewis' hard cock was appreciated but somewhat unnecessary. The City star was living his dream and made it a point to prove to Lewis that he could in fact, give a toe-curling blow job. Phil's tongue pressed nice and tight up against Lewis' hard shaft, slathering the racer's thick meat with as much saliva as he could administer which would soon benefit them both. Like Mason had done before him, Phil appreciated the fragrant smell of Lewis' sweaty pubes, drinking in the racer's scent each time his nose dipped into those neat, black curls. Mason's tongue worked at Phil's sensitive opening for a few seconds longer before the City star decided that his hungry hole needed its dinner. A simple forward movement disengaged Phil from Mason's tongue and rolled him away from Lewis' cock. The young scally took full advantage of his current wetness and hopping into position with his thick, creamy legs spread nice and wide, the bottom crouched over the racer's waiting boner. Eyeballing Lewis while his left hand found the Mercedes driver's cock, Phil placed the racer's tip against his ring then, with one determined downward motion, Phil united his body with Lewis' by allowing the raging hard log to slide straight up inside him until his smooth, peachy cheeks rested on Lewis' stomach. A pair of malevolent smiles looked down on Lewis' helpless body. This moment in his life was beyond perfect with Phil's tight body surrounding his big black cock and Mason's hard, white cock entering his own toned body. Phil could see what they were doing to Lewis and the footballers were not finished yet. "Kiss me Mase." Phil grinned, turning his head to the side but keeping an eye on Lewis as he did so. The Chelsea star leaned forward but continued to stroke his cock back and forth inside the sexy bottom while his lips found Phil's and kissed them tenderly while the City star pulled his body up and down Lewis' throbbing cock. Pointing directly up towards the ceiling, Phil's 7.5-inch cock looked so good as he used his thick legs to slide him along Lewis' hard cock. The Mercedes driver could see the care in Phil's movements, making sure to move directly up and down in order to keep himself steady for Mason's kiss whilst giving Lewis' cock maximum friction as he moved. Lowering his eyes a little further to the point where their bodies met, Lewis had the amazing view of Phil's hole slide up to the top of his uncut cock then descending straight back down to swallow it whole giving the bottom a brief rest on Lewis' stomach before climbing to summit of his bare black cock once more. The two footballers ate hungrily at each other's faces as they usually did. Mason could feel the strength of Phil's suction practically draining his mouth of all flavour. The Pompey lad loved Phil's passion, encouraging him to drive his cock deeper and harder into Lewis's sexy, dark body beneath them. At the other end of the bed Lewis audibly enjoyed the fruits of Phil's enthusiasm, grunting and groaning with arousal as the two white boys worked his pole and his hole with excellence and precision. "Say when you're getting closer yeah, and we'll swap." Phil beamed down at Lewis. [Holy fuck that's hot.] Lewis beamed, nodding in agreement. As an Arsenal fan, Lewis was used to Chelsea and City fucking his boys up on the pitch but this time he couldn't get mad. No, right now the racing veteran had two horny, attractive and athletic young white boys pleasuring his body, treating him to a memory that would live long in his own horny mind. Phil had rocked forward and now leaned on Lewis' chest as he levered his muscular little body along the black man's hard pole. The City star's bulky shoulders were a surprising sight for someone so slender and compact. Watching the way they tensed to push his smooth, pale frame to the top of Lewis' bare black cock felt incredible. That's when it occurred to Lewis, soon that sexy, bulky frame would be in Mason's position, piling his sensitive body with that rock hard love muscle currently waving invitingly before his very eyes. Enjoying his current position most of the trio, Mason's eyes drank in the sight of Lewis' beautiful brown legs being split by his probing, pale. Lewis' strong muscles tensed, bracing for each shot as the Chelsea midfielder rocked forward to fill their owner with his hard cock. Like the rest of Lewis, the racer's legs were decorated with tattoos, something noted by Mason who himself had begun to indulge himself in some body art. To make the image even hotter, his sexy, pale England teammate Phil gave a beautiful colour contrast while the muscle tone of his body also impressed. From behind, as Mason pushed his cock into Lewis' body, the Chelsea star was then treated to sight of Phil's muscular glutes tensing nice and hard to push himself up the Mercedes driver's beautiful black cock, a move which added extra mass to the folds of Phil's peach, perfect arse. "Time." Mason grunted, throwing his crotch into Lewis' hole and pinning it there for a few seconds then slowly reversing. Continuing as though he was ignoring the Chelsea star, Phil continued to fuck himself with Lewis' sexy black cock for 30 seconds longer. Using a hand on the racer's chest, Phil moved up a gear. The City star's meaty thighs propelled his muscular body up only for it to fall hard down into Lewis' lap again, impaling all 7.5 inches of the Mercedes driver's meat up inside Phil's tight cavity. "Fuck!!!" Lewis whined, the weight of Phil's body forcing the air from his lungs before Phil finally bounced up so high, the top's cock popped free, smacking against his rock-hard abs. The two footballers swapped positions while Lewis lay there watching them like a slutty king. Watching Mason climb up to straddle him was a particular treat. The skinny Chelsea midfielder just had a perfect fuckable look about him. Although he'd added muscle mass in the last few years, he still didn't quite have the same physical presence of Phil who while shorter had a very sexy, compact muscularity to his body. Mason's lightly haired thighs looked amazing as they spread nicely, the opening lowering itself excitingly towards his throbbing head...and "Fuckkk yeah!!!" Lewis sighed as Mason's tight hole had no complaints, slipping around the racer's throbbing head. Lewis' eyes flashed up from Mason's sexy hole and up the bottom's beautiful face which looked alluringly perfect. Eyes shut tight and his dimples tensed for one hungry gulp, Mason's slutty hole swallowed Lewis' hard black dick while the scally lad shuddered with happiness as the rubbing friction swept through his body as a wave of pure pleasure. Watching Mason's skinny legs in motion as they slid the Chelsea midfielder's slender body along his hard black boner felt incredible but as with Phil's hole before, Lewis couldn't stay focused on the sexiness of the bottom for long. 7.5 inches of hard white meat pressed at his entrance, pushing hard against his weakened doorway and after initially dissenting, the second push found Lewis' soft spot allowing Phil to slide 6 inches deep inside the racer with no further obstruction. "Ahhhh." Lewis sighed in a pitch slightly higher than expected as Phil's cock filled the void created by Mason's sexy cock. Taking a firm grip of Lewis' dark thigh, Phil narrowed his eyes on the bare, brown hole in front of him and threw his crotch forward nice and deep. "Oh mannnn." Lewis whined from the other side of Mason's bouncing body. Following Mason's first assault on Lewis' hole, the racer felt nice and loose for Phil to drive into and the City scally was only too happy to take full advantage. "Fuck yeahhh, you sexy fucker." Phil responded as he found his rhythm and immediately began to slide from head to hilt within Lewis' loosened hole. Added to Lewis' moaning the sound of an increasingly aggressive top verbally abusing his bottom and the sound of his crotch physically abusing his bottom, the sexual noise escalated. Grunting and groaning with desire, Lewis realised how the two boys seemed to be even better suited in their current positions than before. Mason looked and felt good as a top while Phil rode well as any bottom but now that they had swapped, the footballers seemed as though they had found their true comfort zone. Neither missed an inch as they fucked Lewis; Mason's pale ring climbing to the neck of Lewis' solid, black 7.5-inch cock and waiting less than a second before it dropped down again to swallow the black racer's thick, bare shaft while Phil used the gap Mason had created in Lewis' hole to drill the racer hard, smashing his pale crotch against the Mercedes driver's firm dark arse cheeks with every thrust. The look on Mason's face was one Lewis recognised instantly, as the cute bottom used Lewis' hard dick to induce his impending orgasm. The Chelsea star left nothing to chance using every inch of Lewis' 7.5-inch mast to stimulate his insides. The truth for Lewis was that Mason's amazing little arse was the perfect home for his throbbing cock and to show his appreciation, the Mercedes driver caught Mason's bobbing cock and held it tight as the bottom bounced determinedly. "Ahhh fuck!" Mason groaned, unable to resist Lewis' advances. Phil knew that groan and took a hand away from Lewis' hips to take hold of Mason's neck, tilting it sideways and sucking at the Pompey lad's smooth skin. Whining repeatedly as he bounced, Mason made sure both men knew how much pleasure they were filling him with. The grip of Lewis' fist had him enclosed in ecstasy as it rolled his foreskin over his precum slackened, pink head. "Look at it, he loves it!" Phil exclaimed, pulling away from Mason's sexy neck for a second to fully appreciate the view of his throbbing cock. The look on Mason's face was a look of happiness that was painfully good as his mouth hung down as if he were about to cry. The Chelsea star continued to ride the racer, enjoying the throb of Lewis' raw cock within his hole. A wave of tensing swept through the muscles of Mason's athletic body, most evident when Lewis' eyes studied the Champions' League tattoo on the bottom's side. From Mason's body language, his orgasm was imminent, and Lewis' locked onto the Chelsea star's swollen head. Lewis' wider vision appreciated Mason's cute thighs pushing the slender footballer back up his cock then dropping him back down into Lewis' lap to fill his sexy body with all 7.5 inches of the racer's angry, black boner. The squeeze of Lewis' tight fist around his pulsing shaft and the suction of Phil's lips around his sensitive neck were too much stimulation combined for any young man to resist and with a final grunt, Mason released his aching balls all over the sexy racer. The fireworks began to fly, forced out of Mason's horny boy by the jab of Lewis' cock poking at his prostate. The racer's boner brought Mason infinite joy, unloading his nuts in a rocket out across the black boy's beautiful body. Mason's eyes narrowed on Lewis' intricately decorated torso, watching his translucent cum glaze the racer in a coat of bright, pearly seed. The bottom persevered with his bouncing, fucking himself on Lewis' moreish cock while his uncut cock squirted his load across the champion racer. "Good boy Masey, blow that load." Phil growled, ramming his horny cock into Lewis' hole with extra force. "Oh shit!!!" Lewis groaned in reaction to Phil's scally crotch pounding his used arse. The City star's bare cock thudded against his sphincter, thickening his hard cock which Mason's convulsing arse hole squeezed so tight while the Chelsea star bounced. "Ahhh shitttt, yeah...I'm gone!!!" Lewis exclaimed. "Shitttt yeahhhhh!" Mason agreed with a broad grin as Lewis' cum squirted up into his chute, glazing his sensitive prostate in a coat of sexy black boy cream, Mason's absolute favourite kind. [Two out of three!] Phil beamed, giving himself maximum length along Lewis' convulsing ring. The City star could see, hear and feel the pair cumming in front of him and he was becoming increasingly desperate to join them. Phil knew he wouldn't be able to reach his own climax before the other two finished theirs but with Lewis' hole as tight as it could get, there was no better time than now! While Phil was doing everything he could to reach his orgasm by battering Lewis' bare ring, Mason was focusing all his attention on enjoying those final few embers of his own orgasm. The slender midfielder's pale body bounced with decreasing speed but maximised the depth of every drop, pinning the entirety of Lewis's exploding black cock deep within his hungry bottom belly. "Fucking love your hot cum!" Mason exclaimed, dropping his own cock as it foamed the remainder of his cum out over the sexy racer's stomach. "Fucking love your sexy hole!" Lewis replied as Mason's slender body continued to bounce, sucking the cum from his exploding shaft. "Oh yes!!!" Lewis agreed as another deep shot from Phils horny crotch piled 7.5 inches of hard white cock into his belly while Mason's skinny belly sank around his own exploding cock to swallow yet another heavy helping of cum. Squeezing his hamstrings down against Lewis' thighs, Mason looked deep into the racer's eyes and rocked back and forth while the remainder of Lewis' seed filled the Chelsea midfielder's hungry chute. Unlike Mason who had cum less than 48 hours earlier under George's supervision, Lewis hadn't cum in nearly a week. The experienced racer was carrying double Mason's load which now flooded the midfielder's sexy guts as the bottom bounced so willingly along his cock to drink it. The cum swirled around inside the bottom's slutty chute as he bounced with Lewis firing another helping to line Mason's sensitive sphincter. "Fuckkkk, so much cummm." Mason moaned as he sank down onto Lewis' head, drinking another load of the black boy's surging seed. The bouncing bottom could hear the sound of Lewis' breathing ease slightly as the throbbing cock within stopped filling Mason's chute but continued to pulse with orgasmic aftershocks rippling through the racer's body. "Hmmm, you done sexy goat?" Mason grinned. "Yup." Lewis sighed, that regretful tone that clouded most recently relieved bottoms had, evident in the Mercedes driver's reply. The sexy bottom slid up nice and slowly, allowing Lewis to watch his thick, black log reappear until it popped free and came crashing down against his crotch with a meaty slap, pulsing the last remaining tremors of his orgasm. Once Mason had popped off Lewis' cock Phil decided he too would disengage, slamming his pale crotch into the racer's firm buttocks then withdrawing. "Yooooo." Lewis sighed as his hole clenched tight, free from any invaders but there was no time to rest as Phil advanced towards him, and pushing Mason alongside Lewis as he moved forward, the City lad's intent was clear, facials for both. Falling into position alongside Lewis, Mason pressed his hot, sweaty body up against Lewis' and leaned in to kiss the racer's cheek while Lewis watched Phil jerk, his eyes mesmerised by the sexy sight before him. The pocket dynamo Phil Foden looked incredible with a purple Mercedes snapback covering his head as he lined his pale body up in front of Lewis and Mason, those slender shoulders leading the way down a smooth torso, two tight light brown nipples, erect with arousal, a sensational sixpac tensed deliciously around his inny belly button and a bulging pelvic V leading into his hard 7.5-inch cock which Phil stroked vigorously at their handsome faces. The City star's foreskin revealed his raging red bulb as he jerked himself towards his climax. Mason had seen this beautiful sight more times than he could count, but for Lewis it was the first time he'd seen the cheeky scally's raging glory up close and ready to blow. Two blue eyes scanned the view below him, Mason's cute fluffy brown hair hidden below his blue Mercedes snapback and Lewis' tight black braids below him, their handsome faces watching Phil tug himself to orgasm. Mason's beautiful paleness, Lewis' sexy darkness. "Ahhh fooook!" Phil gasped as his nuts hit release and the City star began to spray the pair with his own batch of creamy, scally champagne. The boys squinted upon hearing Phil's groans reach their crescendo and a second later their faces were officially the target for the City star's shooting load. The memory of Lewis' hard black cock in his arse and the memory of the Mercedes driver's tight black arse around his cock did the business and with a cry of happiness, Phil officially announced his arrival. Aiming at Mason first, Phil coated the Chelsea midfielder's smooth face with a glaze of thick white cream for Lewis to witness before turning his hose on the sexy black racer. Pushing Mason's head to rest against Lewis', Phil now had the perfect target as the sexy studs turned to kiss each other while the City star painted their faces with his hot spunk. "Fook yeah, fook yeahhh!!!" Phil grunted and growled, watching his raging red head appear from beneath his foreskin to drench the dreamy duo with coat upon coat of his bright, pearly cream. Reliving the experience of both boys below him, Phil's orgasm ascended to a height of happiness he'd only reached a handful of times in his horny young life. And while the City star had fooled around with Mason several times in the past it was the added excellence of Lewis and the racer's sensational body that made this orgasm one of his best ones yet. Phil's free hand squeezed his erect, pink nipples as he tugged his cock, maximising the stimulation of his sexy body in its time of need. Ropes of hot, steaming cum blasted hard against the two handsome faces below Phil until the City star's sighing began to weaken. The load he had built up over a weekend of exciting F1 action was now splattered across the faces of his friend Mason and the legend Lewis Hamilton. The fountain that was Phil's cock shot a perfect 10 ropes of shiny white cream shared across Lewis and Mason's before the City star slowed. His fist continued to pump but once the pressure in his balls had reduced all there was left to do was squeeze the remainder of his nuts out of his shaft which dribbled out onto Lewis' thick, black thigh below. Slowly and simultaneously Lewis and Mason opened their eyes to the sight of a sweaty Phil Foden pink faced and clutching his hard cock in a tight fist. Drinking him in once more with his gooey cum drying across their faces, Lewis and Mason studied the Northern scally in awe as his eyes came down to focus on them. "...the feck you fuckers looking at." Phil growled with a cheeky grin on his face while sucking on oxygen. "Sit down bro." Lewis smiled, creating space between himself and Mason. "Nah, stay there." Mason argued, holding Lewis in position. Falling to the opposite side of Lewis, Phil knew Mason's game. The footballers attacked Lewis from both sides with hungry kisses around his face and neck to lick up Phil's seed. Lewis cooed softly from the sensual pleasure of two pairs of warm lips sucking gently at his smooth skin while their tongues licked up Phil's juice. Mason purred a low rumbling sound into Lewis' neck as he lapped up Phil's deliciously salty cream off Lewis' deliciously sweaty neck. Matching Mason's hunger, Phil lapped at Lewis' tattooed neck tasting his own produce with a wide smile on his face and to add to the pleasure of the moment, the City star's blue eyes studied Lewis' intricate artwork wondering how he would look with more artwork across his own smooth neck. It didn't take the footballers long to lick Lewis clean (enough to get showered after) while Lewis had managed to steal a string or two from Mason's adorable face in the process. "What's the time?" Lewis asked rhetorically looking up at the clock. "We should go and join the party, who wants to shower first?" He continued looking between Mason and Phil. The Chelsea midfielder was first to go while Lewis and Phil enjoyed each other's company a little longer with some football related conversation. Once Mason was clean, he made way for Phil who returned sparkling clean and ready to party. "Which party are you boys going to?" Lewis asked again. "Dunno mate, which is the best one?" Mason replied excitedly. "Anything down the marina to be honest. I won't be too far behind you." Lewis beamed, watching the two footballers shuffling towards the door. "Thanks mate." Mason beamed. "Yeah, fucking excellent time!" Phil waved. "Catch you in a bit." Lewis grinned as he waved back. END Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story. If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on pcwtosh@gmail.com and/or for updates: Instagram - pcwtoshx Twitter - @pcwtosh Here is the rest of my collection: Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy 18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones, 13 Goo-uld Reasons Why, Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway, Now You See Cole, Big Apple Aussies, Cole el Elite & The Power of My Name. Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer. Ripped Roses, Jack's Web, Naughty Neigbours & Devils and Dragons. Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY, Swimnasium & Laugher of the Ice King. Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk & Deep Dipping in Dunkirk. Reese Wilkerson the Heartstopper. Stranger Boys: Stranger Mendes, Oral Things, Someone Stranger in the Fuller House, A Stranger Series of Events & Anal Things. Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY. No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86 & Riviera Rendezvouz. North American Swedes, Fly Eagles Fly & Maple Mashup. Tennis series: Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the Bahamas, Bulging Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple Leafs, Made in Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Sleeping Meadows, Team Building in Melbourne Park, Dominic and the Minaur & Rey of the Acropolis. Football series: Lilywhite Hoops, From Paris with Love, The Hero and the Zero, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Return to the Wolfpack, The Tails of Two Nike Stars, Bayern Boys, Barca Buddies & Not so Mellow in Yellow. Premier League Football Series F1 World Series Scrum Down - Rugby Series On Ice - Hockey Series England Cricket Boys Series Diving Squad Series Formula Football Series BoysPlay Mansion Series Twins Next Door Series You can show your appreciation for all the guys at Nifty by donating here, https://donate.nifty.org/ | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Fri, 24 May 2024 00:27:00 +0100
From: PCW Tosh <pcwtosh@gmail.com>
Subject: Formula Football 3.1: Merc'd
Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence
that this actually happened, but we can all dream.
Stay healthy and practice safe sex!
Happy reading.
Formula Football 3.1: Merc'd
"What you sayin' bruv?" Phil Foden asked, approaching Mercedes driver Lewis
Hamilton in a busy Monaco paddock. "Hey bro, how's it going?" Lewis beamed,
the seven-time world champion embracing the Manchester City midfielder with
a handshake that turned into a semi-hug. Both men were in awe of the man
they were currently holding; Lewis holding a young superstar with multiple
Premier League winners' medals to his name at just 23 years old and Phil
had finally come face to face with the GOAT and 7-time F1 world champion
Sir Lewis Hamilton. "Good luck for the race mate." Phil smiled, shooting
Lewis a wink as he did so. "Thanks man. Enjoy the race" Lewis replied
thinking [did Phil Foden just WINK at me?]
The race was another Monaco Grand Prix to forget for Lewis, unable to make
much progress in the traffic of the narrow streets he was only able to
finish in 4th place although he did drive the fastest lap. Depressingly,
Lewis had realised this wasn't going to be his year, Max Verstappen and Red
Bull looked unbeatable. Making his way through the paddock the Mercedes
driver briefly stopped for quick photos as he hurried back to Roscoe for
some canine comforting.
"Sir Lew, unlucky today bro." A familiar voice called as he walked past a
group of lads. "Hey guys, you alright? Thanks." Lewis replied, stopping to
see who had called him. Phil was standing with Mason Mount who waved
timidly. "Yeah bro, that was a crazy finish but a shame about you innit."
Phil replied. "Yeah, you win some, you lose some." Lewis nodded
agreeably. "What are you up to now?" Phil asked boldly. "Heading back for a
quick shower then I'll be out at the party, are you going to one?" Lewis
smiled. "Yeah 100%, bro, can we see your motorhome and meet Roscoe?" Phil
continued. "Err, yeah I guess you can." Lewis beamed.
The footballers pursued Lewis back to his motorhome, Phil watching the
swing of Lewis' sexy hips in his tight black racing overalls
hungrily. Lewis led the pair inside the Mercedes motorhome calling for
Roscoe as soon as they were inside. The adorable English bulldog came to
greet them, stopping first to give Lewis a moment of affection before
inspecting the two young footballers. "Oh my God he's the cutest thing
ever!" Mason squeaked, leaning down to pet Roscoe along with Phil. "Haha,
yeah he's more popular than I am." Lewis chuckled proudly.
Roscoe panted happily, delighted by the attention Mason and Phil were
showing him. While the footballers fawned over Roscoe, Lewis had stepped
into the other room to find some clothes to change into. "Oh wow, sick
artwork man!" Mason beamed watching Lewis as the Mercedes driver opened his
overalls to reveal his muscular chest. "Haha, your tats are Mickey Mouse in
comparison, Mase." Phil teased, peering around to see them for
himself. "Least I'm man enough to have a big one, or are you waiting for a
champions League tattoo like mine?" Mason retorted cheekily. "Prick." Phil
spat bitterly at Mason, "Call me when you win 3 Prems." He finished, "Pfft,
no one cares!" Mason giggled. "He's right, you know." Lewis interjected on
behalf of Mason. "Bastard!!!" Phil snapped, frowning at Lewis. The Chelsea
star hopped to his feet and ran over to Lewis, throwing his arms around the
7-time world champion, "GOAT, GOAT, GOAT, GOAT, GOAT!!!" He cried
happily. "Poofs." Phil cursed dismissively. "Errr...." Lewis started, "He's
just playing." Mason jumped in reassuringly.
[This hug is going on a bit] Lewis thought to himself realising that Mason
was still attached to him 10 seconds later. Finally, Mason detached himself
and smiled back at Lewis. [Fuck me this kid's cute!] Lewis acknowledged,
looking at the gentle features of Mason's pretty face. "Which party did you
guys want to go to?" Lewis started, diverting attention away from the
building sexual tension. "Whichever one you're at GOAT." Phil replied
quickly. [Not helping!] Lewis screamed inside, looking down at Phil while
considering his proposal. "Yeah, you'll get in no problem." Lewis nodded,
stepping out of his overalls and the remainder of his base layers leaving
him in just a pair of black Tommy Hilfiger boxers and socks.
Lewis was used to being the centre of attention, but this was usually
behind a helmet while sat inside his racing car. Right now, instead of
chatting away the two footballers were studying Lewis' body, probably
common courtesy between professional athletes, studying the difference
between the football and F1 physiques. "Which one(s) hurt the most?" Phil
asked. "Ha, I don't know, maybe the wings." Lewis replied, turning to show
Phil his back. "Yeah wicked, that had to hurt!" Phil smiled, his cock
hardening at the sight of Lewis' firm arse in his tight boxers.
"You smell good, what aftershave are you wearing?" Mason asked. [Uh ohhh, I
smell like sweat, that's a move!] Lewis laughed inside. "Hugo Boss." He
replied softly. "Mase, you're such a perv." Phil grumbled. "Fuck off Phil."
Mason giggled. "Haha, it's cool." Lewis smiled, it had been more than a
minute since he'd removed his clothes and he'd been standing there in just
his boxers, Lewis was clearly begging for the attention just as much as
Mason was willing to give it. [Go on Mase!] Phil cheered secretly as the
Chelsea star moved towards Lewis again, "Do you have much tension after a
race?" Mason asked with a glint in his eye. "Ok, ok, what are you trying to
pull?" Lewis laughed looking from Mason to Phil and back. "Just you." Mason
replied honestly with Phil watching on unmoved.
Lewis' ears burned with embarrassment, "I'm, err, flattered. I'm not sure
we have time before the party though." He explained. Mason stepped into
Lewis and took the opportunity to give the 38-year-old a gentle kiss. "So
how long have we got?" Phil asked, suddenly springing up from the ground
and approaching the pair. Lewis was at a loss; he could only shrug as the
advancing footballers edged him back towards his bedroom and onto his bed.
Two attractive, young, white footballers advanced on the older black
sporting legend. Lewis fell helplessly back onto his bed, followed by Mason
and then Phil. The Chelsea star continued to kiss Lewis, firmly feeding the
Mercedes driver his talented tongue while Phil began to strip himself down,
kicking off his shorts and then his t-shirt. Once Phil had undressed
himself, kneeling proudly with his uncut 7.5-inch boner pointing out ahead
of him, the City star then undressed Mason's lower half. The Pompey lad
followed Phil's guidance, lifting his hips and knees to allow the
Northerner to unsheathe his uncut 7-inch boner, before stretching out his
arms to allow his shirt to slide off over his arms.
Mason felt something cover over his perfect hair and pulled back from Lewis
in surprise. Looking up, the Pompey lad realised Phil had picked up two of
Lewis' Mercedes snapbacks, wearing a purple one himself and placing a blue
one on Mason's crown. "Oh, help yourself." Lewis laughed looking up at Phil
who just grinned back at him, telling Lewis he knew he was currently
pushing many boundaries and right now it was up to Lewis to say stop.
"You take the bottom half." Phil instructed Mason who shuffled down the
racer post-haste. The Chelsea midfielder hooked his fingers around Lewis'
waistband and tugged at the racer's boxers. Lewis' hips rose to allow his
expensive underwear to slide free and out popped 7.5 inches of hard, uncut,
dark meat surrounded in a neatly trimmed base of curly pubes for Mason's
hungry eyes to drink in. Lewis definitely hadn't had the chance to shower
and the bad boy in Mason loved it. The Mercedes driver had told the media
he wasn't one of those drivers who relieved himself in the cockpit, but the
taste of fresh urine clung around the 38-year-old's dark foreskin as Mason
swallowed it excitedly. The footballer used his tongue to play with Lewis'
loose helmet briefly dipping inside the foreskin to enjoy its flavour then
descending down the racer's long black shaft until Lewis' fleshy head
pressed against the back of his throat. The Chelsea midfielder took hold of
his own boner while he sucked and stroked his own meat nicely and slowly in
time with his neck as it rolled up and down Lewis' dark meat.
Unlike Mason who loved to worship, Phil took advantage of his controlling
position to aim his hard cock at Lewis' lips and kneeling on his left leg,
the City midfielder rocked forward giving Lewis no choice but to
submit. Those seductive, black lips allowed themselves to be forced apart
with one easy movement and Phil was in. Automatically, Phil began to rock,
sliding his shaft back and forth within Lewis' lips while the racing GOAT
allowed Phil all the access he needed. Gripping the bedhead to aid his
balance, the City star began to move freely, watching his white cock
piercing Lewis' beautiful black lips.
From his position on Lewis' cock, Mason had an amazing view of Phil's bare
arse, nice and tightly clenched as his England teammate guided his cock
into the racer's handsome face. The City star's juicy doubles looked
stunning, good enough to eat but Lewis' cock was more than worth Mason's
time. The Chelsea star could feel Lewis' cock thicken between his lips each
time Phil's sexy body rocked forward. Marvelling at Phil's glorious arse,
the Northern Lad was so amazing that he could pleasure two men
simultaneously. There wasn't the slightest hint of jealousy in the Chelsea
star however, between his lips he had a thick black cock which would
usually be more than enough to satisfy him but the cock probing his face
belonged to one of the greatest racers of all time. Pulling off briefly,
Mason held Lewis' shaft at the base and slapped it hard against his cheek
to punish himself, spanking several jolts of pleasure through Lewis' hard,
black cock.
"Hey Mase. Is that sexy black hole ready for my dick?" Phil called from up
front. Begrudgingly, Mason pulled himself back off Lewis' sword and
spreading the racer's legs he found what he was looking for. The Mercedes
driver's brown ring sat there ready for attention which Mason provided by
lifting Lewis' legs slightly and diving headfirst for the gap. The
vibration of a groan of satisfaction rumbled up Phil's cock as he dipped
his boner into Lewis' face and instinctively the City star turned his head
to watch the show. "How's that stanky hole bro?" Phil grinned back at
Mason. The Chelsea star couldn't respond verbally so a thumbs up was
accompanied by an affirmative noise to let Lewis know he approved as his
tongue circled the Mercedes driver's ring.
Mason was aware that time was against him and wasted none of it as he
pressed his tongue into the soft dark flesh of Lewis' hole. The racer's
body opened to accept Mason's tongue without fuss, parting to give the
footballer all the access he could manage. Mason appreciated the perfect
sculpting of Lewis entrance following neatly trimmed, short brown hairs
inside the racer's sexy arse and pressing them against his face. As the
footballer wormed deep inside the Mercedes driver as he could reach, Mason
felt on top of the world lapping up the taste of his racing idol. Lewis'
flesh was deliciously gamey after spending the last two hours driving the
tight streets of Monte Carlo and Mason couldn't get enough.
Without fail Lewis found Phil's crotch every time he pushed his face
forward. The smooth creamy flesh of Phil's pelvis smelt heavenly as it
filled Lewis' nostrils. The footballer had taken great care of his pubic
region, trimming his brown pubes into a neat coat for the base of his cock
and those heavy looking, scally balls. As he sucked, however, Lewis thought
to himself that Phil's manscaping had been to showcase his beautiful
7.5-inch cock. The sexy Northerner tasted delicious, and every time Lewis'
lips reversed to the tip of Phil's amazing cock, the racer returned it as
quickly as he could to choke himself on that sexy scally goodness. The
footballer's length was truly perfect, allowing Lewis to pull back just far
enough so that his brown eyes could glance up at Phil's cheeky face looking
down at him handsomely with that purple snapback making him look even
ruder. Add Mason digging his tongue so deep up inside Lewis, the racer
decided that he may not have won the race, but he definitely won the
weekend.
Phil looked back along Lewis' body and realised he couldn't miss this
opportunity. The racer was built from perfection with every inch of his
smooth, dark skin radiating sexual magnetism, which Phil's eyes ate
happily. Beyond those beautiful, black pecs and those rigid griddles stood
a beautiful boner, resting against Lewis' abs and begging for more
attention. "Mase, you go first." The little scally instructed as his hole
twitched with anticipation.
Mason hopped up from Lewis' dank hole and immediately pressed his raging
head against the 7-time champion moistened entrance. The Chelsea star had
no idea what Phil had planned but suddenly it was all making sense. As
Mason pressed his tip against Lewis' hole, Phil withdrew his cock from the
racer's lips and moved into a position where he could bend down to suck
Lewis' cock while presenting Mason with his fine arse. The Chelsea
midfielder used one hand to hold his cock steady and the other to guide
Phil's arse towards his lips. Pointing out his tongue, Mason pushed himself
into the gap of Phil's clean-shaven hole and licked the City scally from
the base to the roof of his glorious entrance.
Simultaneously, pressure of Mason's cock pierced Lewis' ring forcing his
bare white meat into the bottom's hole causing Lewis some pain and so much
more pleasure just as Phil's cute, pink lips slid down his dark shaft
doubling the arousal for the Mercedes driver. The words from Lewis were
inaudible but clearly, they were happy. Mason could tell the experienced
bottom was pushing his hole out to maximise compliance and the ease at
which their bodies joined as one. The Chelsea star wasn't the only one
using two hands. Lewis reached down and found Mason's thigh, pulling the
meaty white muscle in towards him, slowly adding more of the footballer's
cock to his tight chute while his left hand resting on top of Phil's cap,
pushing the youngster down onto his cock.
The firm palm pressing Phil's head down onto Lewis' hard cock was
appreciated but somewhat unnecessary. The City star was living his dream
and made it a point to prove to Lewis that he could in fact, give a
toe-curling blow job. Phil's tongue pressed nice and tight up against
Lewis' hard shaft, slathering the racer's thick meat with as much saliva as
he could administer which would soon benefit them both. Like Mason had done
before him, Phil appreciated the fragrant smell of Lewis' sweaty pubes,
drinking in the racer's scent each time his nose dipped into those neat,
black curls. Mason's tongue worked at Phil's sensitive opening for a few
seconds longer before the City star decided that his hungry hole needed its
dinner.
A simple forward movement disengaged Phil from Mason's tongue and rolled
him away from Lewis' cock. The young scally took full advantage of his
current wetness and hopping into position with his thick, creamy legs
spread nice and wide, the bottom crouched over the racer's waiting
boner. Eyeballing Lewis while his left hand found the Mercedes driver's
cock, Phil placed the racer's tip against his ring then, with one
determined downward motion, Phil united his body with Lewis' by allowing
the raging hard log to slide straight up inside him until his smooth,
peachy cheeks rested on Lewis' stomach.
A pair of malevolent smiles looked down on Lewis' helpless body. This
moment in his life was beyond perfect with Phil's tight body surrounding
his big black cock and Mason's hard, white cock entering his own toned
body. Phil could see what they were doing to Lewis and the footballers were
not finished yet. "Kiss me Mase." Phil grinned, turning his head to the
side but keeping an eye on Lewis as he did so. The Chelsea star leaned
forward but continued to stroke his cock back and forth inside the sexy
bottom while his lips found Phil's and kissed them tenderly while the City
star pulled his body up and down Lewis' throbbing cock.
Pointing directly up towards the ceiling, Phil's 7.5-inch cock looked so
good as he used his thick legs to slide him along Lewis' hard cock. The
Mercedes driver could see the care in Phil's movements, making sure to move
directly up and down in order to keep himself steady for Mason's kiss
whilst giving Lewis' cock maximum friction as he moved. Lowering his eyes a
little further to the point where their bodies met, Lewis had the amazing
view of Phil's hole slide up to the top of his uncut cock then descending
straight back down to swallow it whole giving the bottom a brief rest on
Lewis' stomach before climbing to summit of his bare black cock once more.
The two footballers ate hungrily at each other's faces as they usually
did. Mason could feel the strength of Phil's suction practically draining
his mouth of all flavour. The Pompey lad loved Phil's passion, encouraging
him to drive his cock deeper and harder into Lewis's sexy, dark body
beneath them. At the other end of the bed Lewis audibly enjoyed the fruits
of Phil's enthusiasm, grunting and groaning with arousal as the two white
boys worked his pole and his hole with excellence and precision.
"Say when you're getting closer yeah, and we'll swap." Phil beamed down at
Lewis. [Holy fuck that's hot.] Lewis beamed, nodding in agreement. As an
Arsenal fan, Lewis was used to Chelsea and City fucking his boys up on the
pitch but this time he couldn't get mad. No, right now the racing veteran
had two horny, attractive and athletic young white boys pleasuring his
body, treating him to a memory that would live long in his own horny mind.
Phil had rocked forward and now leaned on Lewis' chest as he levered his
muscular little body along the black man's hard pole. The City star's bulky
shoulders were a surprising sight for someone so slender and
compact. Watching the way they tensed to push his smooth, pale frame to the
top of Lewis' bare black cock felt incredible. That's when it occurred to
Lewis, soon that sexy, bulky frame would be in Mason's position, piling his
sensitive body with that rock hard love muscle currently waving invitingly
before his very eyes.
Enjoying his current position most of the trio, Mason's eyes drank in the
sight of Lewis' beautiful brown legs being split by his probing,
pale. Lewis' strong muscles tensed, bracing for each shot as the Chelsea
midfielder rocked forward to fill their owner with his hard cock. Like the
rest of Lewis, the racer's legs were decorated with tattoos, something
noted by Mason who himself had begun to indulge himself in some body
art. To make the image even hotter, his sexy, pale England teammate Phil
gave a beautiful colour contrast while the muscle tone of his body also
impressed. From behind, as Mason pushed his cock into Lewis' body, the
Chelsea star was then treated to sight of Phil's muscular glutes tensing
nice and hard to push himself up the Mercedes driver's beautiful black
cock, a move which added extra mass to the folds of Phil's peach, perfect
arse.
"Time." Mason grunted, throwing his crotch into Lewis' hole and pinning it
there for a few seconds then slowly reversing. Continuing as though he was
ignoring the Chelsea star, Phil continued to fuck himself with Lewis' sexy
black cock for 30 seconds longer. Using a hand on the racer's chest, Phil
moved up a gear. The City star's meaty thighs propelled his muscular body
up only for it to fall hard down into Lewis' lap again, impaling all 7.5
inches of the Mercedes driver's meat up inside Phil's tight
cavity. "Fuck!!!" Lewis whined, the weight of Phil's body forcing the air
from his lungs before Phil finally bounced up so high, the top's cock
popped free, smacking against his rock-hard abs.
The two footballers swapped positions while Lewis lay there watching them
like a slutty king. Watching Mason climb up to straddle him was a
particular treat. The skinny Chelsea midfielder just had a perfect fuckable
look about him. Although he'd added muscle mass in the last few years, he
still didn't quite have the same physical presence of Phil who while
shorter had a very sexy, compact muscularity to his body. Mason's lightly
haired thighs looked amazing as they spread nicely, the opening lowering
itself excitingly towards his throbbing head...and "Fuckkk yeah!!!" Lewis
sighed as Mason's tight hole had no complaints, slipping around the racer's
throbbing head. Lewis' eyes flashed up from Mason's sexy hole and up the
bottom's beautiful face which looked alluringly perfect. Eyes shut tight
and his dimples tensed for one hungry gulp, Mason's slutty hole swallowed
Lewis' hard black dick while the scally lad shuddered with happiness as the
rubbing friction swept through his body as a wave of pure pleasure.
Watching Mason's skinny legs in motion as they slid the Chelsea
midfielder's slender body along his hard black boner felt incredible but as
with Phil's hole before, Lewis couldn't stay focused on the sexiness of the
bottom for long. 7.5 inches of hard white meat pressed at his entrance,
pushing hard against his weakened doorway and after initially dissenting,
the second push found Lewis' soft spot allowing Phil to slide 6 inches deep
inside the racer with no further obstruction. "Ahhhh." Lewis sighed in a
pitch slightly higher than expected as Phil's cock filled the void created
by Mason's sexy cock.
Taking a firm grip of Lewis' dark thigh, Phil narrowed his eyes on the
bare, brown hole in front of him and threw his crotch forward nice and
deep. "Oh mannnn." Lewis whined from the other side of Mason's bouncing
body. Following Mason's first assault on Lewis' hole, the racer felt nice
and loose for Phil to drive into and the City scally was only too happy to
take full advantage. "Fuck yeahhh, you sexy fucker." Phil responded as he
found his rhythm and immediately began to slide from head to hilt within
Lewis' loosened hole. Added to Lewis' moaning the sound of an increasingly
aggressive top verbally abusing his bottom and the sound of his crotch
physically abusing his bottom, the sexual noise escalated.
Grunting and groaning with desire, Lewis realised how the two boys seemed
to be even better suited in their current positions than before. Mason
looked and felt good as a top while Phil rode well as any bottom but now
that they had swapped, the footballers seemed as though they had found
their true comfort zone. Neither missed an inch as they fucked Lewis;
Mason's pale ring climbing to the neck of Lewis' solid, black 7.5-inch cock
and waiting less than a second before it dropped down again to swallow the
black racer's thick, bare shaft while Phil used the gap Mason had created
in Lewis' hole to drill the racer hard, smashing his pale crotch against
the Mercedes driver's firm dark arse cheeks with every thrust.
The look on Mason's face was one Lewis recognised instantly, as the cute
bottom used Lewis' hard dick to induce his impending orgasm. The Chelsea
star left nothing to chance using every inch of Lewis' 7.5-inch mast to
stimulate his insides. The truth for Lewis was that Mason's amazing little
arse was the perfect home for his throbbing cock and to show his
appreciation, the Mercedes driver caught Mason's bobbing cock and held it
tight as the bottom bounced determinedly.
"Ahhh fuck!" Mason groaned, unable to resist Lewis' advances. Phil knew
that groan and took a hand away from Lewis' hips to take hold of Mason's
neck, tilting it sideways and sucking at the Pompey lad's smooth
skin. Whining repeatedly as he bounced, Mason made sure both men knew how
much pleasure they were filling him with. The grip of Lewis' fist had him
enclosed in ecstasy as it rolled his foreskin over his precum slackened,
pink head. "Look at it, he loves it!" Phil exclaimed, pulling away from
Mason's sexy neck for a second to fully appreciate the view of his
throbbing cock.
The look on Mason's face was a look of happiness that was painfully good as
his mouth hung down as if he were about to cry. The Chelsea star continued
to ride the racer, enjoying the throb of Lewis' raw cock within his hole. A
wave of tensing swept through the muscles of Mason's athletic body, most
evident when Lewis' eyes studied the Champions' League tattoo on the
bottom's side. From Mason's body language, his orgasm was imminent, and
Lewis' locked onto the Chelsea star's swollen head. Lewis' wider vision
appreciated Mason's cute thighs pushing the slender footballer back up his
cock then dropping him back down into Lewis' lap to fill his sexy body with
all 7.5 inches of the racer's angry, black boner. The squeeze of Lewis'
tight fist around his pulsing shaft and the suction of Phil's lips around
his sensitive neck were too much stimulation combined for any young man to
resist and with a final grunt, Mason released his aching balls all over the
sexy racer.
The fireworks began to fly, forced out of Mason's horny boy by the jab of
Lewis' cock poking at his prostate. The racer's boner brought Mason
infinite joy, unloading his nuts in a rocket out across the black boy's
beautiful body. Mason's eyes narrowed on Lewis' intricately decorated
torso, watching his translucent cum glaze the racer in a coat of bright,
pearly seed. The bottom persevered with his bouncing, fucking himself on
Lewis' moreish cock while his uncut cock squirted his load across the
champion racer.
"Good boy Masey, blow that load." Phil growled, ramming his horny cock into
Lewis' hole with extra force. "Oh shit!!!" Lewis groaned in reaction to
Phil's scally crotch pounding his used arse. The City star's bare cock
thudded against his sphincter, thickening his hard cock which Mason's
convulsing arse hole squeezed so tight while the Chelsea star
bounced. "Ahhh shitttt, yeah...I'm gone!!!" Lewis exclaimed. "Shitttt
yeahhhhh!" Mason agreed with a broad grin as Lewis' cum squirted up into
his chute, glazing his sensitive prostate in a coat of sexy black boy
cream, Mason's absolute favourite kind.
[Two out of three!] Phil beamed, giving himself maximum length along Lewis'
convulsing ring. The City star could see, hear and feel the pair cumming in
front of him and he was becoming increasingly desperate to join them. Phil
knew he wouldn't be able to reach his own climax before the other two
finished theirs but with Lewis' hole as tight as it could get, there was no
better time than now!
While Phil was doing everything he could to reach his orgasm by battering
Lewis' bare ring, Mason was focusing all his attention on enjoying those
final few embers of his own orgasm. The slender midfielder's pale body
bounced with decreasing speed but maximised the depth of every drop,
pinning the entirety of Lewis's exploding black cock deep within his hungry
bottom belly. "Fucking love your hot cum!" Mason exclaimed, dropping his
own cock as it foamed the remainder of his cum out over the sexy racer's
stomach.
"Fucking love your sexy hole!" Lewis replied as Mason's slender body
continued to bounce, sucking the cum from his exploding shaft. "Oh yes!!!"
Lewis agreed as another deep shot from Phils horny crotch piled 7.5 inches
of hard white cock into his belly while Mason's skinny belly sank around
his own exploding cock to swallow yet another heavy helping of
cum. Squeezing his hamstrings down against Lewis' thighs, Mason looked deep
into the racer's eyes and rocked back and forth while the remainder of
Lewis' seed filled the Chelsea midfielder's hungry chute.
Unlike Mason who had cum less than 48 hours earlier under George's
supervision, Lewis hadn't cum in nearly a week. The experienced racer was
carrying double Mason's load which now flooded the midfielder's sexy guts
as the bottom bounced so willingly along his cock to drink it. The cum
swirled around inside the bottom's slutty chute as he bounced with Lewis
firing another helping to line Mason's sensitive sphincter. "Fuckkkk, so
much cummm." Mason moaned as he sank down onto Lewis' head, drinking
another load of the black boy's surging seed.
The bouncing bottom could hear the sound of Lewis' breathing ease slightly
as the throbbing cock within stopped filling Mason's chute but continued to
pulse with orgasmic aftershocks rippling through the racer's body. "Hmmm,
you done sexy goat?" Mason grinned. "Yup." Lewis sighed, that regretful
tone that clouded most recently relieved bottoms had, evident in the
Mercedes driver's reply. The sexy bottom slid up nice and slowly, allowing
Lewis to watch his thick, black log reappear until it popped free and came
crashing down against his crotch with a meaty slap, pulsing the last
remaining tremors of his orgasm.
Once Mason had popped off Lewis' cock Phil decided he too would disengage,
slamming his pale crotch into the racer's firm buttocks then
withdrawing. "Yooooo." Lewis sighed as his hole clenched tight, free from
any invaders but there was no time to rest as Phil advanced towards him,
and pushing Mason alongside Lewis as he moved forward, the City lad's
intent was clear, facials for both.
Falling into position alongside Lewis, Mason pressed his hot, sweaty body
up against Lewis' and leaned in to kiss the racer's cheek while Lewis
watched Phil jerk, his eyes mesmerised by the sexy sight before him. The
pocket dynamo Phil Foden looked incredible with a purple Mercedes snapback
covering his head as he lined his pale body up in front of Lewis and Mason,
those slender shoulders leading the way down a smooth torso, two tight
light brown nipples, erect with arousal, a sensational sixpac tensed
deliciously around his inny belly button and a bulging pelvic V leading
into his hard 7.5-inch cock which Phil stroked vigorously at their handsome
faces. The City star's foreskin revealed his raging red bulb as he jerked
himself towards his climax. Mason had seen this beautiful sight more times
than he could count, but for Lewis it was the first time he'd seen the
cheeky scally's raging glory up close and ready to blow.
Two blue eyes scanned the view below him, Mason's cute fluffy brown hair
hidden below his blue Mercedes snapback and Lewis' tight black braids below
him, their handsome faces watching Phil tug himself to orgasm. Mason's
beautiful paleness, Lewis' sexy darkness. "Ahhh fooook!" Phil gasped as his
nuts hit release and the City star began to spray the pair with his own
batch of creamy, scally champagne. The boys squinted upon hearing Phil's
groans reach their crescendo and a second later their faces were officially
the target for the City star's shooting load.
The memory of Lewis' hard black cock in his arse and the memory of the
Mercedes driver's tight black arse around his cock did the business and
with a cry of happiness, Phil officially announced his arrival. Aiming at
Mason first, Phil coated the Chelsea midfielder's smooth face with a glaze
of thick white cream for Lewis to witness before turning his hose on the
sexy black racer. Pushing Mason's head to rest against Lewis', Phil now had
the perfect target as the sexy studs turned to kiss each other while the
City star painted their faces with his hot spunk. "Fook yeah, fook
yeahhh!!!" Phil grunted and growled, watching his raging red head appear
from beneath his foreskin to drench the dreamy duo with coat upon coat of
his bright, pearly cream.
Reliving the experience of both boys below him, Phil's orgasm ascended to a
height of happiness he'd only reached a handful of times in his horny young
life. And while the City star had fooled around with Mason several times in
the past it was the added excellence of Lewis and the racer's sensational
body that made this orgasm one of his best ones yet. Phil's free hand
squeezed his erect, pink nipples as he tugged his cock, maximising the
stimulation of his sexy body in its time of need.
Ropes of hot, steaming cum blasted hard against the two handsome faces
below Phil until the City star's sighing began to weaken. The load he had
built up over a weekend of exciting F1 action was now splattered across the
faces of his friend Mason and the legend Lewis Hamilton. The fountain that
was Phil's cock shot a perfect 10 ropes of shiny white cream shared across
Lewis and Mason's before the City star slowed. His fist continued to pump
but once the pressure in his balls had reduced all there was left to do was
squeeze the remainder of his nuts out of his shaft which dribbled out onto
Lewis' thick, black thigh below.
Slowly and simultaneously Lewis and Mason opened their eyes to the sight of
a sweaty Phil Foden pink faced and clutching his hard cock in a tight
fist. Drinking him in once more with his gooey cum drying across their
faces, Lewis and Mason studied the Northern scally in awe as his eyes came
down to focus on them. "...the feck you fuckers looking at." Phil growled
with a cheeky grin on his face while sucking on oxygen. "Sit down bro."
Lewis smiled, creating space between himself and Mason. "Nah, stay there."
Mason argued, holding Lewis in position.
Falling to the opposite side of Lewis, Phil knew Mason's game. The
footballers attacked Lewis from both sides with hungry kisses around his
face and neck to lick up Phil's seed. Lewis cooed softly from the sensual
pleasure of two pairs of warm lips sucking gently at his smooth skin while
their tongues licked up Phil's juice. Mason purred a low rumbling sound
into Lewis' neck as he lapped up Phil's deliciously salty cream off Lewis'
deliciously sweaty neck. Matching Mason's hunger, Phil lapped at Lewis'
tattooed neck tasting his own produce with a wide smile on his face and to
add to the pleasure of the moment, the City star's blue eyes studied Lewis'
intricate artwork wondering how he would look with more artwork across his
own smooth neck.
It didn't take the footballers long to lick Lewis clean (enough to get
showered after) while Lewis had managed to steal a string or two from
Mason's adorable face in the process. "What's the time?" Lewis asked
rhetorically looking up at the clock. "We should go and join the party, who
wants to shower first?" He continued looking between Mason and Phil. The
Chelsea midfielder was first to go while Lewis and Phil enjoyed each
other's company a little longer with some football related
conversation. Once Mason was clean, he made way for Phil who returned
sparkling clean and ready to party. "Which party are you boys going to?"
Lewis asked again. "Dunno mate, which is the best one?" Mason replied
excitedly. "Anything down the marina to be honest. I won't be too far
behind you." Lewis beamed, watching the two footballers shuffling towards
the door. "Thanks mate." Mason beamed. "Yeah, fucking excellent time!" Phil
waved. "Catch you in a bit." Lewis grinned as he waved back.
END
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/formula-football/miami-treat-1-3 | Date: Mon, 16 Oct 2023 08:00:00 +0100 From: PCW Tosh Subject: Miami Treat: Volumes I, II & III Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence that this actually happened, but we can all dream. Stay healthy and practice safe sex! Happy reading. Formula Football 5.1: Miami Treat; Volumes I, II & III. - Volume 1 - Miami International Airport The Formula 1 circus was due to arrive in Miami, Florida for the first time in its history. The tropical Florida sunshine would welcome the motor racing titans for a Grand Prix around the home of the Miami Dolphins, Hard Rock Stadium in Miami Gardens. The paddock was set to be packed full of celebrities hoping to be seen with the sporting world's A-listers. Actor Tom Holland landed in Miami a few days earlier and promptly sucked his host Romeo Beckham's 8-inch boner dry. The busy, loud airport took no notice as Tom slipped into the same cubicle as Romeo. The footballer dropped the lid and tugging his purple Miami Heat basketball shorts and boxers down to his ankles, Romeo presented his uncut 8-inch cock looking flaccid but Tom's gaze animated Romeo's cock bringing the naughty twink's meat to life. Pushing his smooth face into the gap between Romeo's legs, Tom could feel the heat radiating off the footballer and the musky odour trapped within Romeo's legs as a result of the high Floridian humidity. The actor's pink tongue peeked out from between his lips and landed at the base of Romeo's shaft, just above his short brown pubes. The taste was just as good as Tom remembered and made even better by the thin layer of sweaty moisture that came with it. The superhero was so cute and dreamy, made even better by the cute dimples sucking themselves in as Tom rose to Romeo's tip and quickly swallowed the teenager's head. The footballer's shaft thickened between Tom's lips and a semi became hard as the actor sucked hungrily on Romeo's sensitive bulb. ["Don't cum for a few days before I arrive."] Tom had warned Romeo and now the youngster knew why. This was supposed to be very quick and very dirty, succeeding with the latter now it was time to make the former come true. Romeo's sweaty nuts were heavy with all the seed a horny teenager could create in a few days; a matter that was only made worse when Tom dragged him into the cubicle. Now Romeo's nuts were working double time and with his fleshy head pulsing between Tom's soft lips, Romeo's teeth were clenched in pain, desperate to scream to the entirety of Miami airport how good he felt right now. Ever since yesterday evening Tom had been ravenous for Romeo's cum, the heavenly cream he'd first tasted a year earlier. The cute young footballer hadn't changed much since then although Tom could tell that football training had thickened Romeo's thighs a touch while growing a little older had added a thin layer of facial hair around his cute mouth. Perfectly pursed around Romeo's hard shaft, Tom rolled his lips along the footballer's boner applying the perfect amount of pressure as he moved north to south and back. Tom's brown eyes began looking up at Romeo's face, appreciating just how cute the young Beckham was but for the most efficient angle, Tom moved his head above Romeo's deliciously sweaty crotch and using his tense neck muscles he began to propel himself hard and fast along Romeo's pole. The surrounding noise was loud and constant, drowning out the sound of Tom's lips slurping and Romeo's subtle moans. The actor's medium length hair began to catch some airtime as he hungrily worked Romeo's pole. The skinny footballer tasted so fucking good, his head fresh and clean under his foreskin while his shaft was now a mixture of Romeo's sweat, and the strawberry flavour sparkling water Tom has taken a few sips of before leaving security. The hairs on Romeo's neck were on end, the fear that someone might hear something and peer over the cubicle still lingered in the back of his mind, how much would it cost to keep that fucker quiet? But ooooooooohhhhhhhhh, it just felt too damn good, Romeo submitted, his eyes falling behind their lids and indulging fully in the warm, wet pleasure of Tom's amazing mouth. Each bob of the actor's head pulled Romeo's foreskin back over his pink head and as Tom slid back down exposing the sensitive flesh, the actor's tongue added to the pleasure, applying a slick layer of saliva as it descended. A public bathroom had plenty of interesting aromas but there was one that dominated the air in Tom's nostrils. Each time the actor's moved south a sharp inhale filled Tom's lungs with the smell of Romeo. The sweet sweat of a skinny lad's crotch trapped within the curls of his upper leg hair and the neatly trimmed carpet surrounding the base of his long, hard shaft was Tom's idea of heaven on Earth, the only thing Tom needed now was Romeo's hot load. And Romeo's nuts were never one to disappoint when someone worked so hard to pleasure them. The horny footballer had an impressive sex drive, which had been put to the test these last few days. Now with Tom's perfect face sucking on his cock, Romeo's nuts were at boiling point. There was just enough time for Tom to enjoy the taste of a pearl of precum spreading across his tongue following another successful descent of the footballer's cock. Romeo's head pulsed with increasing frequency, anticipating his eventual eruption as his nuts started to tighten. Rolling his tongue down Romeo's head again, Tom teased another swell of anger from Romeo's hard cock then a hand gripped his shoulder, squeezing harder and harder until a warm, salty substance filled his mouth in a torrent of squirts. / Forcing his fist into his own mouth, Romeo gagged himself then placing a hand on Tom's shoulder the young Beckham squeezed to warn Tom of the cummy river he was about to receive. The footballer's nuts vibrated hard against the plastic toilet seat as they expunged their heavy load, firing warm cum up Romeo's solid shaft. The force of Romeo's orgasm forced the footballer to shut his eyes tight, squeezing them together as hard as he could to stop his eyeballs from flying out of their sockets. Several days' worth of cum rushed up his shaft and fired from his tool into Tom's waiting mouth as a celebration of the superhero's excellent work. Romeo couldn't see it, but he could feel Tom stop moving. The actor kept as still as possible and as if the build-up wasn't good enough, Tom took advantage of his still state, sucking repeatedly on Romeo's exploding bulb. The speed of Romeo's orgasm was enough to convince Tom the footballer had waited the few days of churning he'd requested but if that wasn't proof for the actor, the thickness of his seed definitely was. Unusually, Romeo's cum was so thick the consistency felt like a creamy milkshake as it flooded the 25-year-old's throat. Tom felt like he was forcefully chugging a beer at a frat party with the way Romeo's thick seed filled his throat. Each shot was followed by the next consistently for what must have been 15-20 seconds as Romeo's nuts released their entire contents in one powerful torrent of pleasure, drowning Tom in a delicious helping of hot boy seed. After the initial explosive nature of his orgasm disabling most of his senses, Romeo opened his eyes once again focussing on Tom's beautiful face for the final few pulses of his hard cock. The actor had resumed bobbing gently along Romeo's cock but only around an inch or so to continue stimulating the footballer as his head squeezed out everything his nuts had to offer. Romeo's head was tilted a little to the left meaning that below Tom's handsome face he could watch the actor's Adams apple bouncing as Tom forced down his thick seed just as fast as Romeo could deliver it. Tom's brown eyes looked up at Romeo with a glint of happiness which Romeo returned while dropping his hand from his mouth and smiling broadly. The pulsing had subsided as another series of loud bangs told of someone else using a nearby cubicle while the whirring, then blasting of a hand dryer dominated the soundwaves. Sucking nice and hard, Tom made sure he polished Romeo's cock clean and slipping off, he got to his feet, straightened up and rearranged his own boner. The pair shared a wink while Tom threw his hood back over his head and slipped on his sunglasses, sliding out of the cubicle for Romeo to lock himself in afterwards. Romeo yanked his shorts up and folded himself away, counting to 60 before unlocking the cubicle again and slipping out. Freshening himself up, Romeo left the bathroom to be welcomed by Tom looking as inconspicuous as he possibly could wearing his hoody and sunglasses indoors. The actor took a thirsty gulp of his sparkling water then after a satisfied sigh he asked. "Where are we off to?" Tom beamed as Romeo joined him then led the way towards the exit. • Volume 2 - The Kickabout The young Beckham knew all the best places to party, but at just 19 years old he couldn't get into many of them. Fortunately for Romeo, Tom's main reason for making the journey across the pond was to see the new hottest ticket on the F1 calendar...and spend time with Romeo of course! Whether they were shopping, surfing at the beach, doing hikes and tours or going to major sporting events, Tom was happy as long as Romeo was with him. After 3 years of travelling to Texas for the Circuit of the Americas, Lando Norris was extremely excited to see the city of Miami. The young McLaren driver arrived an extra day earlier with his boss Zak Brown. The American team boss gave Lando a tour of the famous city before leaving his driver to prepare physically and mentally for the Grand Prix weekend. A major Lewis Hamilton fan, Tom had been pleasantly surprised by how cool Lando was the times they had briefly met but Romeo's news was about to blow his mind. "Guess what, dad got us McLaren passes this weekend and I've been playing Lando Norris at FIFA online, he's gonna hang out with us later today. "You're shitting me!!!" Tom gasped. "Nah, said he's in town a few days early and figured I knew somewhere cool to go." Romeo beamed proudly. "Oh, did you say I'm here too?" Tom asked, realising it was sounding like a Lando-Romeo thing. "Of course, said he's met you a few times already and he's excited to hang out." Romeo grinned. "Hey Tom, what are you up to?" Lando messaged. "Having a kickabout with Romeo and a few mates." Tom replied, adding their location. "He's coming!" Tom called excitedly to Romeo who smiled coolly while Harry Crawford and Harvey Neville shared a smile of excitement. Lando arrived a short while later to find Tom and his three skinny friends shirtless as they kicked the ball around under the hot Miami sun. [There is a god!] Lando thought to himself as he took in the sight in front of him. All four lads were seductively smooth and arousingly athletic, each wearing differing lengths of shorts and socks to flaunt their skinny legs. "Landoooooo." Tom called as the racer got within earshot. Lando beamed as he arrived, bringing all four boys to convene on him. The greetings kicked off with a warm, sweaty shirtless Tom Holland pulling Lando in for half a hug. Before more respectable handshakes as Romeo introduced Harry then Harvey. "What are we up to then?" Romeo asked Harry and Harvey. "Nothing." Harry shrugged. "I have to be home in a bit." Harvey grumbled, clearly annoyed to miss out on a chance to hang out with Lando. "Alright, we can stay here a bit longer before flicking the ball through Harvey's legs and running away, "NUTS!" Romeo chortled proudly, running away as Harvey set off in chase. "How was your flight?" Tom asked Lando, wondering how to start a conversation with the cute racer. "Can't complain, how about yours?" Lando replied while Harry nipped in between the pair to steal the ball. "Yeah, uneventful." Tom beamed. "You any good at football?" Lando smirked, refusing to allow the conversation to end. "Not really, I love Spurs, but I'd never get beyond the preliminary trials. How about you?" Tom chuckled. "I'm useless, I'd rather being a golf course." Lando laughed. "Cool, you any good at that?" Tom smiled. "Nope!" Lando grinned. "Ahh." "It's good fun though." Lando grinned. "Cool, next time I'm home I'll challenge you to a game." Tom smiled. The game between Harvey and Romeo seemed to be who could be the biggest showboat. with the tricks becoming more elaborate the longer they spent kicking the ball around. Harvey Neville certainly wasn't a bad looking boy, a slender, young defender although he had a little extra beef to him in comparison to skinny Romeo. Harvey also looked much fairer to Romeo and with a short back and sides the young defender had quiffed his lush, short brown hair. Harry Crawford was a little shorter than Romeo and also relatively slim, but his hair was significantly longer than both Harvey's and Romeo's. As Harry hustled around, showing off his tricks and flicks, a bandana kept his flowing brown locks under control. There was enough time for both Lando and Tom to get in a few tricks of their own before Harvey called time. The defender hurried off ahead of the three remaining boys who looked to Romeo for direction. "Home time I guess." Romeo grinned. It felt so weird to have Lando Norris and Tom Holland as his passengers but today that was Romeo's reality and he loved it. "Welcome to our Miami home." Romeo cried as he turned into an impressive gated suburban house. "Fucking hell you guys know how to live!" Tom laughed, looking at the American home and comparing it to his visit to Beckingham Palace. True the British house had more grandeur, but this was just as impressive. Large, sculpted hedges completed the perimeter and an immaculate front lawn led up to the large white house. Romeo led the quartet inside, walking straight through the hallway then the living room and out into the garden. Another perfect lawn greeted them covered with relaxing garden furniture and a little further from the house stood a pool house. "You boys go get comfortable in the pool and we will go grab some towels." Romeo smiled. "Ok dude." Tom smiled, taking the lead where Lando had quietly fallen behind. • Volume 3 - Hungry for Harry Romeo had been the recipient of a terrific blowjob earlier that day and now it was his turn to showcase his oral skills. Harry's shorts had already begun to tent from the way Romeo explained they were going to grab some towels which was a 2 second job for one person. The moment they were hidden from view, Romeo fell to his knees and swung around, pulling Harry towards the wall as he did so. Seeing Romeo shrink in height, Harry's hands were hooked around his waistband in a flash and as Romeo's face closed in, Harry's cut 7-inch cock fell into view growing harder until Romeo's lips sealed themselves around it. "Hmmm." Harry purred in a hush tone as Romeo's lips slid straight down to the base of his cock pressing the Beckham's tonsils up against Harry's swollen head. One thing Romeo knew very well about his friend was that Harry had a trigger and with the right amount of force and directional precision, Romeo's mouth had found it. The footballer's tongue stroking the underside of Harry's cock just where the base led to his balls encouraged Harry's hand to press against Romeo's crown and mercilessly the horny lad began to pump Romeo's skull full of his meat. As soon as Harry hand pressed against Romeo's head the footballer relaxed his throat and focused solely on breathing. Pinching his firm arse cheeks together, Harry began to swing his hips, jabbing Romeo's face with his throbbing, wet sword. The old days where Romeo's hair was nice and long for leverage had gone but applying pressure to his mate's scalp had no slack, meaning every thrust was efficiently successful. Romeo's brown eyes looked up at his mate as he thrusted, his white tank top showing off his bulging biceps as he pumped Romeo's face full of cock and brown wires of hair peeking out from under Harry's sweaty pits. Harry knew his boy could take the punishment and that's what was so hot about him. Throwing his long cock hard up into Romeo's cute skull, Harry squeezed his head up against Romeo's firm, wet tonsils rapidly and repeatedly. The soft hairs of Romeo's chin cushioned the blows of Harry's sweaty nuts as they rocked forward while his nose squished into Harry's swinging belly button. Reaching into his tank top with his left hand, Harry squeezed his nipple while his right hand held Romeo as his horny prisoner. Romeo couldn't see how Harry was clutching his own body, but the Beckham knew his friend's process. Harry liked to call the shots and use those bulging twink muscles he had beautifully sculpted to make all his fuck buddies feel like they were getting a firm, manly experience. Each pump of Harry's hard cock pressed his sweaty trail against Romeo's nose and the footballer loved every minute of it. A little whiff of his mate every time the horny fucker filled his skull full of throbbing hard meat felt so rewarding. The smooth scratching from the roof of Romeo's mouth against Harry's cut head made the Bermudan shudder. This was why Romeo was his favourite blowjob, the lad had learnt to take it so well, just relaxing his throat and applying the perfect amount of pressure with those beautiful lips to simulate Harry's shaft while Harry's head reacted to the satisfying feel of the footballer's wet tonsils. Ramming his shaft all the way into Romeo's face and pinning his belly button to the footballer's forehead, Harry stifled a grunt as his nuts began to unload. Dropping his nipple and placing his other hand on the back of Romeo's head, Harry felt his balls bouncing with happiness as they drained into the footballer's mouth. There was never a warning with Harry, the cheeky bastard always came without telling Romeo and that was part of the fun. One day the Bermudan hoped he would make Romeo choke, but the talented footballer was always up to the challenge, drinking Harry's seed down as smoothly as a glass of milk. Rich, warm cum fired against Romeo's uvula and sucking it down hungrily, Romeo drank his mate's seed. 8 shots of delicious, pearly cream covered the back of Romeo's throat every other second while the cute Brit swallowed thirstily. "Yeahhh." Harry hissed, sliding his cock back a couple of inches just to feel the pleasure of movement again as his cock fired more hot spunk into Romeo's tonsils. The sucking sensation of Romeo's lips on Harry's exposed head felt incredible as the footballer drank down his flowing seed. The suction just added to Romeo's incredible sense of presence, the lad had learnt how to make a man very happy. Harry's nuts were still vibrating but his balls were practically empty. Romeo had hungrily sucked down everything Harry had shot him so far but to finish Harry off the footballer resumed bobbing, sliding up and down a few inches slowly to tease out the final dregs of Harry's sweaty nuts. "Grrrr yeah." Harry sighed as Romeo released his cock and got back to his feet. "Thanks dude." Harry beamed, slapping Romeo's skinny arse and taking a firm grip of Romeo's tensed cheek. END Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story. If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on pcwtosh@gmail.com and/or for updates: Instagram - pcwtoshx Twitter - @pcwtosh Here is the rest of my collection: Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy 18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones, The Twins Nextdoor, 13 Goo-uld Reasons Why, Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway, Now You See Cole & Black and Green Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer Ripped Roses, Jack's Web & Naughty Neigbours. Raging Scott, Swim Team, Swim Team 2, HRVY PTY & Swimnasium Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk & Deep Dipping in Dunkirk Stranger Boys: Stranger Mendes, Oral Things, Someone Stranger in the Fuller House & A Stranger Series of Events Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86 North American Swedes & Fly Eagles Fly Tennis series: Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the Bahamas, Bulging Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple Leafs, Made in Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Sleeping Meadows, Team Building in Melbourne Park, Dominic and the Minaur & Rey of the Acropolis Football series: Lilywhite Hoops, From Paris with Love, The Hero and the Zero, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Return to the Wolfpack, The Tails of Two Nike Stars, Bayern Boys & Barca Buddies Premier League Football Series F1 World Series Scrum Down - Rugby Series On Ice - Hockey Series England Cricket Boys Series Diving Squad Series Formula Football Series BoysPlay Mansion Series You can show your appreciation for all the guys at Nifty by donating here, https://donate.nifty.org/ | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Mon, 16 Oct 2023 08:00:00 +0100
From: PCW Tosh <pcwtosh@gmail.com>
Subject: Miami Treat: Volumes I, II & III
Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence
that this actually happened, but we can all dream.
Stay healthy and practice safe sex!
Happy reading.
Formula Football 5.1: Miami Treat; Volumes I, II & III.
- Volume 1 - Miami International Airport
The Formula 1 circus was due to arrive in Miami, Florida for the first time
in its history. The tropical Florida sunshine would welcome the motor
racing titans for a Grand Prix around the home of the Miami Dolphins, Hard
Rock Stadium in Miami Gardens. The paddock was set to be packed full of
celebrities hoping to be seen with the sporting world's A-listers.
Actor Tom Holland landed in Miami a few days earlier and promptly sucked
his host Romeo Beckham's 8-inch boner dry. The busy, loud airport took no
notice as Tom slipped into the same cubicle as Romeo. The footballer
dropped the lid and tugging his purple Miami Heat basketball shorts and
boxers down to his ankles, Romeo presented his uncut 8-inch cock looking
flaccid but Tom's gaze animated Romeo's cock bringing the naughty twink's
meat to life.
Pushing his smooth face into the gap between Romeo's legs, Tom could feel
the heat radiating off the footballer and the musky odour trapped within
Romeo's legs as a result of the high Floridian humidity. The actor's pink
tongue peeked out from between his lips and landed at the base of Romeo's
shaft, just above his short brown pubes. The taste was just as good as Tom
remembered and made even better by the thin layer of sweaty moisture that
came with it.
The superhero was so cute and dreamy, made even better by the cute dimples
sucking themselves in as Tom rose to Romeo's tip and quickly swallowed the
teenager's head. The footballer's shaft thickened between Tom's lips and a
semi became hard as the actor sucked hungrily on Romeo's sensitive
bulb. ["Don't cum for a few days before I arrive."] Tom had warned Romeo
and now the youngster knew why. This was supposed to be very quick and very
dirty, succeeding with the latter now it was time to make the former come
true.
Romeo's sweaty nuts were heavy with all the seed a horny teenager could
create in a few days; a matter that was only made worse when Tom dragged
him into the cubicle. Now Romeo's nuts were working double time and with
his fleshy head pulsing between Tom's soft lips, Romeo's teeth were
clenched in pain, desperate to scream to the entirety of Miami airport how
good he felt right now.
Ever since yesterday evening Tom had been ravenous for Romeo's cum, the
heavenly cream he'd first tasted a year earlier. The cute young footballer
hadn't changed much since then although Tom could tell that football
training had thickened Romeo's thighs a touch while growing a little older
had added a thin layer of facial hair around his cute mouth.
Perfectly pursed around Romeo's hard shaft, Tom rolled his lips along the
footballer's boner applying the perfect amount of pressure as he moved
north to south and back. Tom's brown eyes began looking up at Romeo's face,
appreciating just how cute the young Beckham was but for the most efficient
angle, Tom moved his head above Romeo's deliciously sweaty crotch and using
his tense neck muscles he began to propel himself hard and fast along
Romeo's pole.
The surrounding noise was loud and constant, drowning out the sound of
Tom's lips slurping and Romeo's subtle moans. The actor's medium length
hair began to catch some airtime as he hungrily worked Romeo's pole. The
skinny footballer tasted so fucking good, his head fresh and clean under
his foreskin while his shaft was now a mixture of Romeo's sweat, and the
strawberry flavour sparkling water Tom has taken a few sips of before
leaving security.
The hairs on Romeo's neck were on end, the fear that someone might hear
something and peer over the cubicle still lingered in the back of his mind,
how much would it cost to keep that fucker quiet? But ooooooooohhhhhhhhh,
it just felt too damn good, Romeo submitted, his eyes falling behind their
lids and indulging fully in the warm, wet pleasure of Tom's amazing
mouth. Each bob of the actor's head pulled Romeo's foreskin back over his
pink head and as Tom slid back down exposing the sensitive flesh, the
actor's tongue added to the pleasure, applying a slick layer of saliva as
it descended.
A public bathroom had plenty of interesting aromas but there was one that
dominated the air in Tom's nostrils. Each time the actor's moved south a
sharp inhale filled Tom's lungs with the smell of Romeo. The sweet sweat of
a skinny lad's crotch trapped within the curls of his upper leg hair and
the neatly trimmed carpet surrounding the base of his long, hard shaft was
Tom's idea of heaven on Earth, the only thing Tom needed now was Romeo's
hot load. And Romeo's nuts were never one to disappoint when someone worked
so hard to pleasure them. The horny footballer had an impressive sex drive,
which had been put to the test these last few days. Now with Tom's perfect
face sucking on his cock, Romeo's nuts were at boiling point.
There was just enough time for Tom to enjoy the taste of a pearl of precum
spreading across his tongue following another successful descent of the
footballer's cock. Romeo's head pulsed with increasing frequency,
anticipating his eventual eruption as his nuts started to tighten. Rolling
his tongue down Romeo's head again, Tom teased another swell of anger from
Romeo's hard cock then a hand gripped his shoulder, squeezing harder and
harder until a warm, salty substance filled his mouth in a torrent of
squirts. / Forcing his fist into his own mouth, Romeo gagged himself then
placing a hand on Tom's shoulder the young Beckham squeezed to warn Tom of
the cummy river he was about to receive. The footballer's nuts vibrated
hard against the plastic toilet seat as they expunged their heavy load,
firing warm cum up Romeo's solid shaft.
The force of Romeo's orgasm forced the footballer to shut his eyes tight,
squeezing them together as hard as he could to stop his eyeballs from
flying out of their sockets. Several days' worth of cum rushed up his shaft
and fired from his tool into Tom's waiting mouth as a celebration of the
superhero's excellent work. Romeo couldn't see it, but he could feel Tom
stop moving. The actor kept as still as possible and as if the build-up
wasn't good enough, Tom took advantage of his still state, sucking
repeatedly on Romeo's exploding bulb.
The speed of Romeo's orgasm was enough to convince Tom the footballer had
waited the few days of churning he'd requested but if that wasn't proof for
the actor, the thickness of his seed definitely was. Unusually, Romeo's cum
was so thick the consistency felt like a creamy milkshake as it flooded the
25-year-old's throat. Tom felt like he was forcefully chugging a beer at a
frat party with the way Romeo's thick seed filled his throat. Each shot was
followed by the next consistently for what must have been 15-20 seconds as
Romeo's nuts released their entire contents in one powerful torrent of
pleasure, drowning Tom in a delicious helping of hot boy seed.
After the initial explosive nature of his orgasm disabling most of his
senses, Romeo opened his eyes once again focussing on Tom's beautiful face
for the final few pulses of his hard cock. The actor had resumed bobbing
gently along Romeo's cock but only around an inch or so to continue
stimulating the footballer as his head squeezed out everything his nuts had
to offer. Romeo's head was tilted a little to the left meaning that below
Tom's handsome face he could watch the actor's Adams apple bouncing as Tom
forced down his thick seed just as fast as Romeo could deliver it. Tom's
brown eyes looked up at Romeo with a glint of happiness which Romeo
returned while dropping his hand from his mouth and smiling broadly.
The pulsing had subsided as another series of loud bangs told of someone
else using a nearby cubicle while the whirring, then blasting of a hand
dryer dominated the soundwaves. Sucking nice and hard, Tom made sure he
polished Romeo's cock clean and slipping off, he got to his feet,
straightened up and rearranged his own boner. The pair shared a wink while
Tom threw his hood back over his head and slipped on his sunglasses,
sliding out of the cubicle for Romeo to lock himself in afterwards. Romeo
yanked his shorts up and folded himself away, counting to 60 before
unlocking the cubicle again and slipping out.
Freshening himself up, Romeo left the bathroom to be welcomed by Tom
looking as inconspicuous as he possibly could wearing his hoody and
sunglasses indoors. The actor took a thirsty gulp of his sparkling water
then after a satisfied sigh he asked. "Where are we off to?" Tom beamed as
Romeo joined him then led the way towards the exit.
• Volume 2 - The Kickabout
The young Beckham knew all the best places to party, but at just 19 years
old he couldn't get into many of them. Fortunately for Romeo, Tom's main
reason for making the journey across the pond was to see the new hottest
ticket on the F1 calendar...and spend time with Romeo of course! Whether
they were shopping, surfing at the beach, doing hikes and tours or going to
major sporting events, Tom was happy as long as Romeo was with him.
After 3 years of travelling to Texas for the Circuit of the Americas, Lando
Norris was extremely excited to see the city of Miami. The young McLaren
driver arrived an extra day earlier with his boss Zak Brown. The American
team boss gave Lando a tour of the famous city before leaving his driver to
prepare physically and mentally for the Grand Prix weekend.
A major Lewis Hamilton fan, Tom had been pleasantly surprised by how cool
Lando was the times they had briefly met but Romeo's news was about to blow
his mind. "Guess what, dad got us McLaren passes this weekend and I've been
playing Lando Norris at FIFA online, he's gonna hang out with us later
today. "You're shitting me!!!" Tom gasped. "Nah, said he's in town a few
days early and figured I knew somewhere cool to go." Romeo beamed
proudly. "Oh, did you say I'm here too?" Tom asked, realising it was
sounding like a Lando-Romeo thing. "Of course, said he's met you a few
times already and he's excited to hang out." Romeo grinned.
"Hey Tom, what are you up to?" Lando messaged. "Having a kickabout with
Romeo and a few mates." Tom replied, adding their location. "He's coming!"
Tom called excitedly to Romeo who smiled coolly while Harry Crawford and
Harvey Neville shared a smile of excitement. Lando arrived a short while
later to find Tom and his three skinny friends shirtless as they kicked the
ball around under the hot Miami sun. [There is a god!] Lando thought to
himself as he took in the sight in front of him. All four lads were
seductively smooth and arousingly athletic, each wearing differing lengths
of shorts and socks to flaunt their skinny legs.
"Landoooooo." Tom called as the racer got within earshot. Lando beamed as
he arrived, bringing all four boys to convene on him. The greetings kicked
off with a warm, sweaty shirtless Tom Holland pulling Lando in for half a
hug. Before more respectable handshakes as Romeo introduced Harry then
Harvey. "What are we up to then?" Romeo asked Harry and Harvey. "Nothing."
Harry shrugged. "I have to be home in a bit." Harvey grumbled, clearly
annoyed to miss out on a chance to hang out with Lando. "Alright, we can
stay here a bit longer before flicking the ball through Harvey's legs and
running away, "NUTS!" Romeo chortled proudly, running away as Harvey set
off in chase.
"How was your flight?" Tom asked Lando, wondering how to start a
conversation with the cute racer. "Can't complain, how about yours?" Lando
replied while Harry nipped in between the pair to steal the ball. "Yeah,
uneventful." Tom beamed. "You any good at football?" Lando smirked,
refusing to allow the conversation to end. "Not really, I love Spurs, but
I'd never get beyond the preliminary trials. How about you?" Tom
chuckled. "I'm useless, I'd rather being a golf course." Lando
laughed. "Cool, you any good at that?" Tom smiled. "Nope!" Lando
grinned. "Ahh." "It's good fun though." Lando grinned. "Cool, next time I'm
home I'll challenge you to a game." Tom smiled.
The game between Harvey and Romeo seemed to be who could be the biggest
showboat. with the tricks becoming more elaborate the longer they spent
kicking the ball around. Harvey Neville certainly wasn't a bad looking boy,
a slender, young defender although he had a little extra beef to him in
comparison to skinny Romeo. Harvey also looked much fairer to Romeo and
with a short back and sides the young defender had quiffed his lush, short
brown hair. Harry Crawford was a little shorter than Romeo and also
relatively slim, but his hair was significantly longer than both Harvey's
and Romeo's. As Harry hustled around, showing off his tricks and flicks, a
bandana kept his flowing brown locks under control.
There was enough time for both Lando and Tom to get in a few tricks of
their own before Harvey called time. The defender hurried off ahead of the
three remaining boys who looked to Romeo for direction. "Home time I
guess." Romeo grinned. It felt so weird to have Lando Norris and Tom
Holland as his passengers but today that was Romeo's reality and he loved
it.
"Welcome to our Miami home." Romeo cried as he turned into an impressive
gated suburban house. "Fucking hell you guys know how to live!" Tom
laughed, looking at the American home and comparing it to his visit to
Beckingham Palace. True the British house had more grandeur, but this was
just as impressive. Large, sculpted hedges completed the perimeter and an
immaculate front lawn led up to the large white house. Romeo led the
quartet inside, walking straight through the hallway then the living room
and out into the garden. Another perfect lawn greeted them covered with
relaxing garden furniture and a little further from the house stood a pool
house. "You boys go get comfortable in the pool and we will go grab some
towels." Romeo smiled. "Ok dude." Tom smiled, taking the lead where Lando
had quietly fallen behind.
• Volume 3 - Hungry for Harry
Romeo had been the recipient of a terrific blowjob earlier that day and now
it was his turn to showcase his oral skills. Harry's shorts had already
begun to tent from the way Romeo explained they were going to grab some
towels which was a 2 second job for one person. The moment they were hidden
from view, Romeo fell to his knees and swung around, pulling Harry towards
the wall as he did so.
Seeing Romeo shrink in height, Harry's hands were hooked around his
waistband in a flash and as Romeo's face closed in, Harry's cut 7-inch cock
fell into view growing harder until Romeo's lips sealed themselves around
it. "Hmmm." Harry purred in a hush tone as Romeo's lips slid straight down
to the base of his cock pressing the Beckham's tonsils up against Harry's
swollen head.
One thing Romeo knew very well about his friend was that Harry had a
trigger and with the right amount of force and directional precision,
Romeo's mouth had found it. The footballer's tongue stroking the underside
of Harry's cock just where the base led to his balls encouraged Harry's
hand to press against Romeo's crown and mercilessly the horny lad began to
pump Romeo's skull full of his meat. As soon as Harry hand pressed against
Romeo's head the footballer relaxed his throat and focused solely on
breathing.
Pinching his firm arse cheeks together, Harry began to swing his hips,
jabbing Romeo's face with his throbbing, wet sword. The old days where
Romeo's hair was nice and long for leverage had gone but applying pressure
to his mate's scalp had no slack, meaning every thrust was efficiently
successful. Romeo's brown eyes looked up at his mate as he thrusted, his
white tank top showing off his bulging biceps as he pumped Romeo's face
full of cock and brown wires of hair peeking out from under Harry's sweaty
pits.
Harry knew his boy could take the punishment and that's what was so hot
about him. Throwing his long cock hard up into Romeo's cute skull, Harry
squeezed his head up against Romeo's firm, wet tonsils rapidly and
repeatedly. The soft hairs of Romeo's chin cushioned the blows of Harry's
sweaty nuts as they rocked forward while his nose squished into Harry's
swinging belly button. Reaching into his tank top with his left hand, Harry
squeezed his nipple while his right hand held Romeo as his horny prisoner.
Romeo couldn't see how Harry was clutching his own body, but the Beckham
knew his friend's process. Harry liked to call the shots and use those
bulging twink muscles he had beautifully sculpted to make all his fuck
buddies feel like they were getting a firm, manly experience. Each pump of
Harry's hard cock pressed his sweaty trail against Romeo's nose and the
footballer loved every minute of it. A little whiff of his mate every time
the horny fucker filled his skull full of throbbing hard meat felt so
rewarding.
The smooth scratching from the roof of Romeo's mouth against Harry's cut
head made the Bermudan shudder. This was why Romeo was his favourite
blowjob, the lad had learnt to take it so well, just relaxing his throat
and applying the perfect amount of pressure with those beautiful lips to
simulate Harry's shaft while Harry's head reacted to the satisfying feel of
the footballer's wet tonsils.
Ramming his shaft all the way into Romeo's face and pinning his belly
button to the footballer's forehead, Harry stifled a grunt as his nuts
began to unload. Dropping his nipple and placing his other hand on the back
of Romeo's head, Harry felt his balls bouncing with happiness as they
drained into the footballer's mouth.
There was never a warning with Harry, the cheeky bastard always came
without telling Romeo and that was part of the fun. One day the Bermudan
hoped he would make Romeo choke, but the talented footballer was always up
to the challenge, drinking Harry's seed down as smoothly as a glass of
milk. Rich, warm cum fired against Romeo's uvula and sucking it down
hungrily, Romeo drank his mate's seed. 8 shots of delicious, pearly cream
covered the back of Romeo's throat every other second while the cute Brit
swallowed thirstily.
"Yeahhh." Harry hissed, sliding his cock back a couple of inches just to
feel the pleasure of movement again as his cock fired more hot spunk into
Romeo's tonsils. The sucking sensation of Romeo's lips on Harry's exposed
head felt incredible as the footballer drank down his flowing seed. The
suction just added to Romeo's incredible sense of presence, the lad had
learnt how to make a man very happy.
Harry's nuts were still vibrating but his balls were practically
empty. Romeo had hungrily sucked down everything Harry had shot him so far
but to finish Harry off the footballer resumed bobbing, sliding up and down
a few inches slowly to tease out the final dregs of Harry's sweaty
nuts. "Grrrr yeah." Harry sighed as Romeo released his cock and got back to
his feet. "Thanks dude." Harry beamed, slapping Romeo's skinny arse and
taking a firm grip of Romeo's tensed cheek.
END
Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story.
If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on
pcwtosh@gmail.com and/or for updates: Instagram - pcwtoshx Twitter -
@pcwtosh
Here is the rest of my collection:
Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy
18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The
Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones,
The Twins Nextdoor, 13 Goo-uld Reasons Why, Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway,
Now You See Cole & Black and Green
Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer
Ripped Roses, Jack's Web & Naughty Neigbours.
Raging Scott, Swim Team, Swim Team 2, HRVY PTY & Swimnasium
Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk &
Deep Dipping in Dunkirk
Stranger Boys: Stranger Mendes, Oral Things, Someone Stranger in the Fuller
House & A Stranger Series of Events
Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY
No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86
North American Swedes & Fly Eagles Fly
Tennis series: Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the
Bahamas, Bulging Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple
Leafs, Made in Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea,
Sleeping Meadows, Team Building in Melbourne Park, Dominic and the Minaur &
Rey of the Acropolis
Football series: Lilywhite Hoops, From Paris with Love, The Hero and the
Zero, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Return to the Wolfpack, The Tails of
Two Nike Stars, Bayern Boys & Barca Buddies
Premier League Football Series
F1 World Series
Scrum Down - Rugby Series
On Ice - Hockey Series
England Cricket Boys Series
Diving Squad Series
Formula Football Series
BoysPlay Mansion Series
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/filming-deans-yoga-lessons | Date: Wed, 30 Oct 2024 10:47:17 +0100 From: Dude Subject: Filming Dean's Yoga-Lessons Filming Dean's Yoga-Lessons (gay - celebrity) Disclaimer: I am in not connected to Dean, Manflowyoga or anything related, in any way. I don't know him personally. It's purely a work of fiction. I started writing it just for fun. Please keep in mind that English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes. Maybe more stories will come. If you have any ideas feel free to write me an email: dude_markus@yahoo.de ___ Ok guys, that's it for today, see you on the next workout!", Dean says smiling into the camera. "It's a wrap!", the camera man shouts as Dean smiles, nods his head and starts picking up his training gear. I've been working at the local gym for several years now. It's a nice big gym with lots of training facilities -- and a couple of years ago my Boss updated the training area with some studio lights and movable walls -- it's the perfect studio space to film fitness videos, after our opening hours. Usually I'm there when people rent our studio for filming. I help in case there are any questions and take care that everything is put back in place after a shoot. It's a quick and easy way to earn some extra money. Dean has been filming his Yoga workouts in our studio for several years now. And I always enjoyed the shoots with him the most. First of all, he's super friendly, knows his stuff and...well..of course he's super hot. And he usually has the same team -- his friend/assistant and a camera man. Both are very chill and nice and over the years the four of us developed a nice professional friendship. But: None of them knows that I've been lusting over Dean ever since he came to the studio for the first time. They know I have a girlfriend. But they don't know that I'm bisexual. I often jerk off thinking about Dean's hairy pecs, big thighs, sweaty pits and hot ass. I never seen him naked -- even though I tried. But he usually heads straight to the changing room and the showers -- while I need to get the studio ready for the next day and, let's be honest, it would be creepy if I snuck into the shower "just because"... But then one day, everything was different. It was a weird day at the studio. We had some technical issues with the lights and then the sound equipment started acting up and Dean wasn't as positive and friendly as he usually was. He seemed tense and annoyed. But, he was doing his trainings topless today, which was always a very special highlight for me. Because of all the difficulties, filming began way too late and when all the routines were done, the camera guy and Dean's assistant (who organizes the shootings) both had to leave immediately, to pick up their kids and get to a dinner date. John, the camera guy, asked if it was OK to leave his equipment to pick it up the next day and I assured him that it was fine -- and all of a sudden, it was just Dean and I left in the dim lit studio. He started to pack up his training equipment while I started to try to move the background wall to the back. I struggled, Dean noticed and came over to help. He put his hands on top of the wall, his sweaty pits were close to my face. I could smell his manly musk. See the sweat in his pit, his pit hair was short -- but not completely shaved. Damn, I got hard almost immediately. I wanted to lick those pits so bad. He looked at me with his dreamy blue eyes, clearly noticing that I was staring at his pits and sweaty chest. "You OK, buddy?", he grinned at me. I nodded my head, trying to act normal. He let go of the wall, took a step back and said: "You know...I've noticed how you are ... looking at me." I wanted to deny it and say something, but before I could say something, he continued. "Don't worry, I don't mind. I'm cool with you looking at me. I had a really shitty day and it makes me, don't know...kind of...happy I guess, when I notice people admiring my body...guess I'm shallow like that." I looked up, saw him smiling at me. Gosh, he's so perfect and beautiful. "I...thank you Dean. I don't want to be creepy or weird. It's just...you know...". "Hey, really, no problem at all. Anyway, heading to the shower now...Wanna watch? Haha". He laughed, winking at me. I guess he wasn't being serious. I don't know why and how I had the courage, but I looked him in the eyes and said: "Oh you know damn right that I would love to watch...". I could see in his eyes that he knew that I wasn't joking. Suddenly there was some kind of tension in the air. Almost sexual. We were standing close together. I could smell his manly musk. He was taller than me. Looking at me. And after a few seconds of silence - that felt like hours -- he smiled and said "Well... I can't tell you when to take a shower and when not. None of my business...". And then he squeezed my shoulder and made his way to the locker room. I was perplex. I didn't know what to do. Was he being serious? Or was it just some fun between bros? I just knew that this was probably the best chance I had to finally see him naked. I took a deep breath and went to the locker room. I opened the door to the locker and could already hear the shower. "Damn, he's quick...how did he get to the shower so quickly?" I thought to myself as I entered the locker room. I saw his shorts and underwear lying on the bench. I moved further to the shower, getting more and more excited with every step. And finally, there he was. Standing in the big open shower room. Fully naked. With his back turned to me. I could see the water running down his back, down to his perfectly tight and fit ass. I was surprised to see that his butt was hairy -- just the right amount of hair. Fuuuck I wanted to cum immediately. I touched my bulge slightly when all of a sudden I could hear Dean's voice. "Well, look who's here. But dude, just watching a guy have a shower, now THAT'S creepy..." Is he seriously asking me to join him? He still had his back turned to me and looked over his should. His blue eyes looked at me, he smiled. I slowly started to undress. I took off my shirt and my shorts...and stepped to into the shower, naked and hard. I tried to cover my hard dick with my hands. He looked at me when I turned on the shower next to him. He smiled. "Woah dude, you really seem to like what you are seeing...". I glanced down and saw his beautiful dick. Finally. There it was. It was perfect. His hairy perfectly defined torso. A beautiful and sexy happy trail running down to a gorgeous thick cut cock. He was not hard, but he must be semi hard, by the looks of it. Thick, dangling between his legs. A nice trimmed bush with dark blonde hair above it. A thick mushroom head. And his balls...were heavy and big. I was obviously staring. And he knew. He turned towards me. "Is this what you expected?". I swallowed. My hands trying to cover my rock hard uncut cock, but failing. I nodded my head. He kept looking at me. Taking a step back, while taking the soap. He started to soap up his body. While keeping eye contact. He ignored my hard cock. He really seemed to love to be admired. Be worshipped. His hands moved over his pecs. His nipples were hard. He moved his hands down, over his hairy stomache, further down between his legs. He brushed against his balls, soaping up the area between his balls and thighs. His cock bounced with every move. He seemed to get even thicker. He slowly started to get hard. His balls were soapy and his cock grew even bigger and thicker until it was fully erect. His mushroom head was pointing upwards. He finally moved his soapy hand to his cock and gave it a stroke. He walked a step forward, back under the water. Tilting his head back, letting the water flow over his head and down on his body. His hard cock pulsating while the soap was moving down his body, framing his beautiful manhood. His cock was around 7,5 inches big, with a big and beautiful mushroom head. I couldn't help myself, I just had to touch my hard cock and started stroking it. He glanced at me, smirking. Oh gosh, he knows that I'm perving for him. Lusting. Craving. I want to feel his body, taste his cock...I want to squeeze his firm butt cheeks while he fucks me hard. His tongue filling my mouth, silencing my moans, while his cock was deep inside me. Until he fills my hungry hole with his hot cum, his butt clenching in my hands, thrusting his cock even deeper inside me. I was brought back to reality when I heard him chuckle, a very light but obviously nice chuckle. He watched me bating my hard cock...and he slowly started to stroke his dick. He moved his hand up and down the thick shaft, covering his big mushroom head with the palm of his hand, sliding back down again... I wanted to touch him. Feel him. I slowly moved closer to him, waiting for his reaction. Nothing. He kept stroking. Finally I was standing right in front of him. I slowly reached out my hand, slightly touched his hip. He closed his eyes while stroking his cock hard and fast. I kind of felt that I shouldn't press my luck. I felt that he didn't want me to jerk his cock. I just got that vibe. I moved my hand down to his balls and started to play with them. His immediate moaning was an obvious sign that he liked that. I squeezed them gently. They were big and heavy and smooth -- I moved them around in my hand, lightly squeezing them. My finger slightly gliding to the soft area between his ass and balls. I decided to not go further for now. He moaned and stroked his cock. I played with his balls while stroking my cock next to him. I looked down at his beautiful cock, feeling my orgasm getting closer. But I wanted to see him cum first. All of a sudden I felt his head against my shoulder and his hand on my back. He screamed and moaned as he shoots his thick hot cum all over my stomache, pubes and cock. I moaned in exctasy and shoot my own load all over his thighs and cock. For a moment we didn't move. We just stood there, water flowing over our naked hot bodies. Breathing. I slowly moved my hand to his semi hard cock. I felt his thick meat in my hand... I brushed my finger over his cockhead brushing of some of his cum. I took my finger in my mouth, tasting him. While looking into his beautiful eyes. He chuckled and gave me a soft slap on my butt. "Well, buddy...thanks for that. Really have to get going now though...." I grinned, took a step back and he continued his shower, as if nothing had happened. We got dressed, said goodbye and I went back to the locker room - Jerking off one more time before heading home - thinking about what just happened... Obviously it was super hot and erotic -- but at the same time I was confused. He was married and had two kids -- was he bisexual? Or just curious? Or did he just like the attention and being watched? Anyway, next time, I said to myself, I want to try to suck his delicious cock... I hope there will be a next time. To be continued. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Wed, 30 Oct 2024 10:47:17 +0100
From: Dude <dude_markus@yahoo.de>
Subject: Filming Dean's Yoga-Lessons
Filming Dean's Yoga-Lessons (gay - celebrity)
Disclaimer: I am in not connected to Dean, Manflowyoga or anything
related, in any way. I don't know him personally. It's purely a work of
fiction.
I started writing it just for fun. Please keep in mind that English is
not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes. Maybe more stories
will come. If you have any ideas feel free to write me an email:
dude_markus@yahoo.de
___
Ok guys, that's it for today, see you on the next workout!", Dean says
smiling into the camera.
"It's a wrap!", the camera man shouts as Dean smiles, nods his head
and starts picking up his training gear.
I've been working at the local gym for several years now. It's a nice
big gym with lots of training facilities -- and a couple of years ago my
Boss updated the training area with some studio lights and movable walls
-- it's the perfect studio space to film fitness videos, after our
opening hours.
Usually I'm there when people rent our studio for filming. I help in
case there are any questions and take care that everything is put back in
place after a shoot. It's a quick and easy way to earn some extra money.
Dean has been filming his Yoga workouts in our studio for several years
now. And I always enjoyed the shoots with him the most. First of all,
he's super friendly, knows his stuff and...well..of course he's super
hot. And he usually has the same team -- his friend/assistant and a
camera man. Both are very chill and nice and over the years the four of
us developed a nice professional friendship.
But: None of them knows that I've been lusting over Dean ever since he
came to the studio for the first time. They know I have a girlfriend. But
they don't know that I'm bisexual. I often jerk off thinking about
Dean's hairy pecs, big thighs, sweaty pits and hot ass. I never seen him
naked -- even though I tried. But he usually heads straight to the
changing room and the showers -- while I need to get the studio ready for
the next day and, let's be honest, it would be creepy if I snuck into
the shower "just because"...
But then one day, everything was different.
It was a weird day at the studio. We had some technical issues with the
lights and then the sound equipment started acting up and Dean wasn't as
positive and friendly as he usually was. He seemed tense and annoyed.
But, he was doing his trainings topless today, which was always a very
special highlight for me.
Because of all the difficulties, filming began way too late and when all
the routines were done, the camera guy and Dean's assistant (who
organizes the shootings) both had to leave immediately, to pick up their
kids and get to a dinner date. John, the camera guy, asked if it was OK
to leave his equipment to pick it up the next day and I assured him that
it was fine -- and all of a sudden, it was just Dean and I left in the
dim lit studio.
He started to pack up his training equipment while I started to try to
move the background wall to the back. I struggled, Dean noticed and came
over to help. He put his hands on top of the wall, his sweaty pits were
close to my face. I could smell his manly musk. See the sweat in his pit,
his pit hair was short -- but not completely shaved. Damn, I got hard
almost immediately. I wanted to lick those pits so bad.
He looked at me with his dreamy blue eyes, clearly noticing that I was
staring at his pits and sweaty chest. "You OK, buddy?", he grinned at
me. I nodded my head, trying to act normal. He let go of the wall, took a
step back and said: "You know...I've noticed how you are ... looking at
me." I wanted to deny it and say something, but before I could say
something, he continued. "Don't worry, I don't mind. I'm cool with
you looking at me. I had a really shitty day and it makes me, don't
know...kind of...happy I guess, when I notice people admiring my
body...guess I'm shallow like that."
I looked up, saw him smiling at me. Gosh, he's so perfect and beautiful.
"I...thank you Dean. I don't want to be creepy or weird. It's just...you
know...".
"Hey, really, no problem at all. Anyway, heading to the shower
now...Wanna watch? Haha". He laughed, winking at me. I guess he wasn't
being serious. I don't know why and how I had the courage, but I looked
him in the eyes and said: "Oh you know damn right that I would love to
watch...". I could see in his eyes that he knew that I wasn't joking.
Suddenly there was some kind of tension in the air. Almost sexual. We
were standing close together. I could smell his manly musk. He was taller
than me. Looking at me. And after a few seconds of silence - that felt
like hours -- he smiled and said "Well... I can't tell you when to take
a shower and when not. None of my business...". And then he squeezed my
shoulder and made his way to the locker room. I was perplex. I didn't
know what to do. Was he being serious? Or was it just some fun between
bros?
I just knew that this was probably the best chance I had to finally see
him naked. I took a deep breath and went to the locker room.
I opened the door to the locker and could already hear the shower.
"Damn, he's quick...how did he get to the shower so quickly?" I thought
to myself as I entered the locker room. I saw his shorts and underwear
lying on the bench. I moved further to the shower, getting more and more
excited with every step.
And finally, there he was. Standing in the big open shower room. Fully
naked. With his back turned to me. I could see the water running down his
back, down to his perfectly tight and fit ass. I was surprised to see
that his butt was hairy -- just the right amount of hair. Fuuuck I wanted
to cum immediately. I touched my bulge slightly when all of a sudden I
could hear Dean's voice. "Well, look who's here. But dude, just
watching a guy have a shower, now THAT'S creepy..."
Is he seriously asking me to join him? He still had his back turned to me
and looked over his should. His blue eyes looked at me, he smiled. I
slowly started to undress. I took off my shirt and my shorts...and stepped
to into the shower, naked and hard. I tried to cover my hard dick with my
hands. He looked at me when I turned on the shower next to him. He
smiled. "Woah dude, you really seem to like what you are seeing...". I
glanced down and saw his beautiful dick. Finally. There it was. It was
perfect. His hairy perfectly defined torso. A beautiful and sexy happy
trail running down to a gorgeous thick cut cock. He was not hard, but he
must be semi hard, by the looks of it. Thick, dangling between his legs.
A nice trimmed bush with dark blonde hair above it. A thick mushroom
head. And his balls...were heavy and big. I was obviously staring. And he
knew. He turned towards me. "Is this what you expected?". I swallowed.
My hands trying to cover my rock hard uncut cock, but failing. I nodded
my head. He kept looking at me. Taking a step back, while taking the
soap. He started to soap up his body. While keeping eye contact. He
ignored my hard cock. He really seemed to love to be admired. Be
worshipped. His hands moved over his pecs. His nipples were hard. He
moved his hands down, over his hairy stomache, further down between his
legs. He brushed against his balls, soaping up the area between his balls
and thighs. His cock bounced with every move. He seemed to get even
thicker. He slowly started to get hard. His balls were soapy and his cock
grew even bigger and thicker until it was fully erect. His mushroom head
was pointing upwards. He finally moved his soapy hand to his cock and
gave it a stroke. He walked a step forward, back under the water. Tilting
his head back, letting the water flow over his head and down on his body.
His hard cock pulsating while the soap was moving down his body, framing
his beautiful manhood. His cock was around 7,5 inches big, with a big and
beautiful mushroom head.
I couldn't help myself, I just had to touch my hard cock and started
stroking it. He glanced at me, smirking. Oh gosh, he knows that I'm
perving for him. Lusting. Craving. I want to feel his body, taste his
cock...I want to squeeze his firm butt cheeks while he fucks me hard. His
tongue filling my mouth, silencing my moans, while his cock was deep
inside me. Until he fills my hungry hole with his hot cum, his butt
clenching in my hands, thrusting his cock even deeper inside me. I was
brought back to reality when I heard him chuckle, a very light but
obviously nice chuckle.
He watched me bating my hard cock...and he slowly started to stroke his
dick. He moved his hand up and down the thick shaft, covering his big
mushroom head with the palm of his hand, sliding back down again... I
wanted to touch him. Feel him. I slowly moved closer to him, waiting for
his reaction. Nothing. He kept stroking. Finally I was standing right in
front of him. I slowly reached out my hand, slightly touched his hip. He
closed his eyes while stroking his cock hard and fast. I kind of felt
that I shouldn't press my luck. I felt that he didn't want me to jerk
his cock. I just got that vibe. I moved my hand down to his balls and
started to play with them. His immediate moaning was an obvious sign that
he liked that. I squeezed them gently. They were big and heavy and smooth
-- I moved them around in my hand, lightly squeezing them. My finger
slightly gliding to the soft area between his ass and balls. I decided to
not go further for now. He moaned and stroked his cock. I played with his
balls while stroking my cock next to him. I looked down at his beautiful
cock, feeling my orgasm getting closer. But I wanted to see him cum
first. All of a sudden I felt his head against my shoulder and his hand
on my back. He screamed and moaned as he shoots his thick hot cum all
over my stomache, pubes and cock. I moaned in exctasy and shoot my own
load all over his thighs and cock.
For a moment we didn't move. We just stood there, water flowing over our
naked hot bodies. Breathing. I slowly moved my hand to his semi hard
cock. I felt his thick meat in my hand... I brushed my finger over his
cockhead brushing of some of his cum. I took my finger in my mouth,
tasting him. While looking into his beautiful eyes. He chuckled and gave
me a soft slap on my butt. "Well, buddy...thanks for that. Really have to
get going now though...." I grinned, took a step back and he continued
his shower, as if nothing had happened.
We got dressed, said goodbye and I went back to the locker room - Jerking
off one more time before heading home - thinking about what just
happened... Obviously it was super hot and erotic -- but at the same time
I was confused. He was married and had two kids -- was he bisexual? Or
just curious? Or did he just like the attention and being watched?
Anyway, next time, I said to myself, I want to try to suck his delicious
cock... I hope there will be a next time.
To be continued.
</dude_markus@yahoo.de>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/formula-football/kylian-returns-to-monaco | Date: Mon, 5 Jun 2023 00:09:00 +0100 From: PCW Tosh Subject: Kylian Returns to Monaco Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence that this actually happened, but we can all dream. Stay healthy and practice safe sex! Happy reading. Formula Football 4.1: Kylian Returns to Monaco The world-famous Monaco Grand Prix brought in stars from across the world to be seen with motor racings elite. For Charles, this spectacular event was home and looking out on the streets he grew up on, he felt happy and privileged. Former A.S. Monaco star Kylian Mbappe had become a global superstar in the principality but his move to Paris Saint Germain had put him on the trajectory for footballing greatness. The French forward stood outside the Ferrari garage as the team worked on Charles' car, impressed by engineering excellence at work before his eyes. The Monegasque driver saw Kylian through the scrum of photographers and made his way out to the footballer. "Salut Kylian." Charles offered warmly, shaking the footballer's hand. "We need to talk about football." Charles whispered a little closer as the cameras snapped away furiously. "Is this about Monaco?" Kylian laughed nervously. "Yes, it is." "Ok ok, I'll come to your place on Tuesday?" Kylian conceded. "Good, enjoy the race!" Charles grinned, looking deep into Kylian's seductive brown eyes. } "Are you going to beat me up?" Kylian sent in a message to Charles watching the Ferrari pounding around the streets of Monte Carlo. "Maybe a little (wink)." Charles replied between the practice sessions. "Ok, I deserve it, can I make it up to you another way?" Kylian typed with a smile on his face. "You bring the beer (smile)." Charles replied quickly. Tuesday, the date was set. } On a mild, clear Tuesday evening Kylian arrived clutching a box of beer and a wide grin. "Hey." "Kylian, welcome. Let's go, did you bring your swimming shorts?" Charles smiled wickedly. "Errr no." Kylian frowned. "Good good, so don't fall in." Charles replied nonchalantly as he led them down to the marina and onto his boat. The racer's boat was a decent sized vessel, bigger than most personal boats, but not as large as some of the rich billionaire displays of wealth. Kylian made himself comfortable near the captain's station while Charles unhooked the moorings and prepared the boat to sail. "Are you ready?" "Oui oui capitan." Kylian grinned. The engine started first time and slowly, Charles maneuvered away from the packed marina before kicking into gear as they moved clear. "You want to open some beers?" Charles suggested as they headed towards the horizon across the calm Mediterranean Sea. Kylian took two bottles of beer from the cooler and popped them open, handing one to Charles. "Do you come here often?" Kylian beamed, throwing in a cheesy chat up line. "Ha, yes I do and you're welcome to join whenever you like." Charles smiled in reply. Kylian took the opportunity to appreciate Charles' short brown hair flapping in the breeze as the harbour disappeared from view. The sea moved gently around them, lapping at the small boat as it began to slow. Charles had found the spot, bringing the boat to a halt, the Monegasque dropped the anchor and moved away from the controls. Walking around to join the footballer, Charles sat down on the deck alongside Kylian, then placing his beer down Charles tilted his head towards the sky. "It's beautiful isn't it." Kylian whispered, looking up at the dark blue sky illuminated by a sea of bright, white stars. "It really is." Charles agreed, looking towards the sky, then back down at Kylian. Charles could feel that familiar feeling when an attractive man was this close to him. The Ferrari driver's pulse had increased and as he scanned the footballer's beautiful features, he realised that Kylian's eyes, which shone with a magical starlight reflection, had the same look he was giving the footballer. With the boat gently swaying in the sea, the breeze a light wind cooling the temperature that was rising within them and the peaceful tranquility of their surroundings, Charles and Kylian were slaves to romance. Charles' face approached Kylian's, as Kylian's approached Charles' and with a gentle peck at first, the sexy young athletes kissed. The Ferrari driver could feel the slightest tremor of nerves shaking its way through Kylian's body as they kissed. Instinctively the confident Monegasque took hold of Kylian's forearm and pressed his lips into the footballer's sighing gently. Charles' hand moved up and down Kylian's forearm, slowly and soothingly, building up Kylian's confidence with every passing second. Kylian allowed himself to indulge in Charles' beautiful face. Any angst he had felt as they set off burned away with a swish of Charles's tongue. The Ferrari driver's scratchy stubble moved over Kylian's smooth skin making their bond tighter as the footballer began to feel true lust for the F1 driver. After several minutes of gentle kissing, it was Kylian who began to lead proceedings, leaning into Charles' irresistible face encouraging the racer to give him more. Charles moved his grip down to Kylian's hands and taking the footballer gently he added more romance to their passionate embrace by linking their fingers together while sighing softly. Their lips danced romantically for a minute, just happy to be touching the lips of their opposite while the pleasure of their increased body contact began to affect all parts of their horny young bodies. Leaning a little closer to Charles, Kylian showed the racer he was ready to take this to the next level. The Ferrari driver had long lost his shyness when it came to guys and as soon as he was sure Kylian was in the mood, Charles advanced on the footballer pressing his weight into Kylian's muscular body. The pair carefully fell onto the boat's deck with Kylian lying on his back and Charles moving above the footballer. Placing his leg either side of Kylian's slim body, Charles pinned the PSG forward to the deck with his crotch and went to work, kissing firmly at Kylian's huge lips. The crisp sea air surrounded them in a perfect cocoon of ambient temperature, too cold to go shirtless unless you had the body heat of another sexy man to share. Kylian responded to Charles' advances by making a move of his own. The footballer's hands reached under Charles' shirt and pulled upwards suggestively. The F1 driver happily obliged, straightening his back and arms eventually breaking from Kylian's lips to allow his shirt to slide free. There was a brief pause while Charles remained still, shirtless and straddling the sexy footballer. Kylian's eyes drank in the F1 driver's sexy body, his cute oliveness diminished somewhat by the moonlight but the smooth, muscular tone to his body was clearly evident and those cute nipples were tiny and erect in the cool sea air. It was Charles' turn to make his curiosity known, reaching to the base of Kylian's shirt and pulling up he revealed to himself up close an image he'd seen many times before on the insides of his eyelids. Although Charles was an incredibly fit and athletic looking young man even he couldn't compete with Kylian's body. The PSG forward's torso was ripped to shreds, not an ounce of fat on those bones, nice meaty pecs and a gentle smoothness which led all the way down to his six pac and beyond. "Oh my god, I feel fat and ugly." Charles teased himself. With those self-deprecating words ringing in Kylian's ears, the footballer's instant reaction was to remind Charles just how sexy the F1 driver really was. Using his strength, Kylian rolled out of Charles' straddle and rolled the pair so that the Ferrari driver remained wrapped around his waist, but now it was Charles with his back to the deck and Kylian on top. The footballer's lips pressed forcefully into Charles' face while his crotch pressed against the Monegasque who wrapped his arms around Kylian's neck to bring their naked chests together. The kissing had increased in urgency now they were both fully in the moment, the darkness around them meant they were at peace, except for the angry boners determined to wage war on each other's bodies. Charles' hands wandered down the footballer's back, studying the black boy's impressive muscles as he did so. [Oh my god, so powerful!] Charles smiled to himself. The Ferrari driver's fingers found the back of Kylian's jeans and sliding his fingers into the gap behind, Charles placed both hands on the footballer's peachy bum cheeks, squeezing them through the cotton of his black boxers. Kylian reacted to Charles' groping hands by pinning his crotch tighter to the F1 driver's body while they kissed. Kylian noticed how Charles had begun to explore his body and the footballer began to do the same. Although Kylian's position was a little more constricted with the racer's tight grip, he reached down to hold Charles' smooth sides while they kissed. The footballer's hands traced Charles' sides, studying the Ferrari driver's ribs and inspecting the rate of his breathing while Kylian moved his body weight a little higher. Charles' breaths were becoming lighter as Kylian's weight tightened his airways, the Ferrari driver could feel the footballer's hands moving further down his body until he too took a nice firm handful of Charles' firm arse cheeks by forcing his fingers into the gap between Charles' arse and the deck. Charles could feel Kylian's hands massaging his cheeks through the F1 driver's jeans and decided to escalate again. The Monegasque's hands moved around to the front of Kylian's jeans and unbuckled the footballer. Charles pushed with his legs, forcing Kylian to break their kiss and pushing the footballer back slightly. Kylian watched Charles break from free his sexy predicament to move into another new position. The PSG forward who had remained on his knees looked so cute that Charles pounced into his face for one more passionate kiss then working his way down the footballer's body, Charles aimed to kiss something else he'd been dreaming about ever since he first saw Kylian in an A.S. Monaco kit. Kylian massaged the back of Charles' soft, straight brown hair as the Ferrari driver kissed his smooth neck, then his tensed pec. The footballer used his hand to descend Charles' body as the Ferrari driver descended his, stroking Charles' toned back while the Monegasque kissed his tight abs. Reaching his destination, Charles rested his hand on Kylian's lump and purred gently. The footballer responded by mumbling French obscenities before reaching into the gap between Charles' arm and body to grope the Ferrari driver through his jeans. At first Charles had wanted to suck Kylian through the fly of his boxers, but instinct told the Ferrari driver there was a 69 on offer. The Monegasque took a little more time, reaching under the waistband of Kylian's jeans and boxers, tugging them down suggestively to make the footballer rise into a full kneel. As expected, Kylian granted Charles access and as he did so the footballer also began to work at the front of Charles' jeans, opening the F1 driver up for better access to his crotch. No words were being spoken, both men working solely on body language. Two sports superstars were out on a boat in the Mediterranean, their jeans and boxers around their knees moving to lie on their sides top and tail about to do something they had both had many a hard daydream about. Charles held Kylian's throbbing, uncut 8-inch member under his nose and sucked in the air around him. [Oh my god.] Charles gasped to himself; the smell of the footballer's black meat was deliciously intoxicating. The Ferrari driver felt his own cock swell angrily in response to a surge of blood rushing around his body in excitement. Kylian had beaten Charles to it, the throb of Charles' desires pushing the Monegasque's hard cock between Kylian's juicy lips which grabbed Charles head willingly to engulf the Ferrari driver's shaft. The incredible sensation of Kylian's lips sliding over his head to pleasure his shaft forced Charles forward, his open mouth swallowing Kylian's head. The footballer's response was a high-pitched nasal grunt through Charles' shaft, happy with the feeling of the Monegasque's lips surrounding his wand. Both men gripped their lover by the thigh using the leverage to help propel their necks along each other's raging cocks. Kylian inhaled the Ferrari driver's delicious aroma, enjoying the light notes of body odour in Charles' neat brown pubes. The gentle mannish smell filling his nostrils made his own black cock thicken a touch, pulsing between Charles' travelling lips which doubled the excitement. The footballer's right hand held Charles' hip while his left hand searched for the Monegasque's balls, gently massaging them with a light application of pressure to stimulate them. ["Oh, baby yes!"] Charles agreed with Kylian's wandering hands. The feeling of the footballer's soft fingertips sliding under his hairy sack made his nuts twitch excitedly. Charles reciprocated by choking himself on Kylian's long black cock. Holding his face down against the base of Kylian's shaft, Charles treated himself to long draughts of the footballer's manly odour. Begrudgingly, the Ferrari driver dragged himself to the tip of Kylian's meaty sword, taking a quick second to play with the black boy's tip, using his tongue to tease and tantalise before swallowing the entire shaft again in one hungry gulp. The cool night air and the peaceful surroundings presented the perfect environment for an intimate 69. The sportsman used their lips to suck at the other man's tool while their hands explored their opposite's perfect body. Kylian tightened his grip on the Ferrari driver's legs, pulling them towards him hungrily as he pressed Charles' cock hard against his tonsils. The Monegasque felt compelled to match Kylian's intensity, this was his opportunity to enjoy the iconic footballer's perfect body and he was going to give it everything he had. Charles enjoyed the thickness of the 23-year-old's swollen head pressing against his own tonsils and felt his hole quiver with excitement desperate to feel it between him. The Ferrari driver's hole wasn't the only quivering ring on that boat. Kylian too harboured thoughts of the sexy 24-year-old filling his tight black hole with this delicious cock. As the pair of them worked hard to pleasure their partner in crime it was fast becoming a race to see who would blink first, who would have the guts to ask to be fucked. "Oh my God your cock tastes so good, I want you to fuck me with it." Charles begged with a tone of astonishment at how much fun he was having. [Fuck, I wanted to say that!] Kylian berated himself, "I can fuck you but only if you promise to fuck me too." He bargained. Charles didn't respond with words, sliding to the base of Kylian's cock and then straight back up to the tip the Ferrari driver popped off. Next Charles moved his hands round to the footballer's cheeks spreading them apart to expose his tight black hole and attacking it with his tongue, Charles began to rim the sexy footballer. Kylian dropped Charles' cock and allowed the F1 driver to concentrate on his rimjob. Charles' tongue swirled around Kylian's brown hole, then wiggled as he focused his attention at the footballer's entrance. Lingering at Kylian's doorway a little longer, Charles waited for the flesh to open slightly then diving into the gap with a pointed tip, the Monegasque's tongue entered Kylian's tight chute. Once Charles had wormed his way inside the footballer's hole, he became ravenous. The Ferrari driver's fingers squeezed hard at the impressive mounds that were Kylian's meaty arse cheeks. The 24-year-old pulled Kylian back onto his face, feeling the warmth of the footballer's cheeks surrounding his face. Charles' tongue stretched as far as it could, searching for all the flavour it could find. This was fast becoming irresistibly addictive for Charles whose 7-inch cock had begun to beg for attention. The Ferrari driver could sense the tightness of Kylian's ring slowly turning in his favour, the more time he spent at the footballer's hole, the easier it became for his tongue to tipple at the fleshy insides of the football megastar. Kylian too was finding great pleasure from Charles' anal exploration. The sexy Monegasque had no inhibitions about feeding his tongue into the footballer's arse causing Kylian's cock to pulse. Feeling a hint of jealousy and a tinge of curiosity, Kylian pushed his face between the racer's slim legs. Finding the Ferrari's driver's furry hole, Kylian ran his tongue along Charles' opening. The pair of them found themselves escalating against each other, Kylian penetrating Charles' ring while Charles pushed deeper into Kylian's black hole, then Kylian pushing further into Charles' olive hole while Charles poked his tongue deeper still, drinking the sexy footballer's delicious essence. Kylian hadn't appreciated how sexy a double rim 69 actually could be but within a dozen seconds of eating Charles' hole he was convinced. The Monegasque was a stunning young man and had kept himself in amazing shape. Charles' neat hole begged for all the attention it could get and Kylian was more than willing to give it. The night air surrounding them in a peaceful silence was broken only by the gentle waves and the ravenous slurping of two horny athletes. Forcing his smooth face into Charles' warm, olive cheeks, Kylian closed his eyes and devoured that rich, delicious flavour which he would crave forevermore. Charles was desperate to advance but that would mean peeling himself away from possibly the most irresistible arse he'd ever eaten. The Monegasque counted down from 60 giving himself another full minute of tonguing the black boy's sexy insides before he finally pulled his tongue free and gave a long deep sigh. "I have you fuck you so bad!" Charles smiled. Kylian gave himself a few more seconds inside Charles before he pulled free and nodded excitedly. In the blink of an eye Charles had pounced into position, yanking his jeans to his ankles and rotating so that his cock had lined up with the footballer's hole. Using the slickness of their combined spit, Charles began to lean on Kylian's hole. The footballer drew in a long breath, held, then pushed out his ring allowing Charles' bare cock to begin its raw entry. The instant Kylian's hole proceeded to widen the pair were groaning in unison, Charles' thick head led the way stretching Kylian wider until there was finally enough space for Charles to enter. Kylian's pink ring held onto the Ferrari driver's head momentarily, slowing Charles' progress as his bulb struggled to open the black boy up. The application of a little more force from the top was enough to push the thickest part of Charles' head beyond the tightest part of Kylian's ring and with an excited grunt, they were officially interlocked. "You feel good." Kylian breathed encouragingly, beaming up at Charles who returned the smile. The Monegasque maintained eye contact with Kylian as he pressed his cock forward. In the darkness he couldn't quite make out where his cock and the footballer's ring met, but he could appreciate Kylian's handsome face in the glistening moonlight, watching it tense as he slid his hard cock deeper within the tight black boy. The Ferrari driver held his shaft steady, halfway between his body and Kylian's arse, sliding his hand towards him as his cock burrowed down deeper. "So good." Kylian whispered again as the bare Ferrari driver pressed enough cock inside his black hole for him to release it. Now that Charles had reached far enough inside the bottom, he could leave his cock to stand freely and using his beautiful olive legs, he could drive his way into the bottom's sexy hole. A cooling gust of wind felt calming around them as Charles built his way up to holding Kylian at his sides in order for the Monegasque to begin his assault. Kylian just continued to push out his arse hole, allowing Charles the freedom of his chute. The footballer's tight brown insides clung so tight to Charles' cock as it advanced the Ferrari driver could sense his nuts didn't care about the rest of him, they just wanted to drive deep into this sexy boy's warm cunt and deposit their load. The top maintained his self-control admirably, sliding himself just a few inches each way slowly. Kylian reached up behind Charles' neck and pulled the top's handsome face towards him. Charles adjusted his position, spreading his legs a little wider so he could reach lower and plant a kiss on the black boy's thick, juicy lips. Now they were locked at the lips they could passionately kiss as Charles pressed down further into Kylian's tight black belly. Everything felt so easy, kissing at Kylian's lips and pressing his cock down into Kylian's tight belly, Charles only had to follow his instincts to make this night special for both of them. Increasing the power of his thrusts, Charles was now very gently slapping against the black boy's muscular arse. That black body hugging tight around his olive cock was the best thing Charles had ever felt and although he was fucking Kylian deeper the strokes remained slow and deliberate. To add to the passion, Kylian also increased the tightness of his grip, letting Charles know how much wanted the handsome top, how much he loved that raw Monegasque cock as it travelled up his hole until Charles' head brushed the inside of his ring then thudded straight back down, crushing his neat pubes against Kylian's brown arse cheeks and holding them there for a moment to enjoy the kiss before going again. Between them, the footballer stroked his hard 8-inch cock which lay there begging to be touched. Kylian kept his strokes short, sweet and very infrequent as the feeling of Charles' cock inside him was more than enough to initiate several pulses of excitement. Mindlessly, the footballer stroked himself so that his foreskin did all the work, slowly creeping back and forth over his extremely sensitive head, his senses at their highest just from the multiple connections of their sexy young bodies. Charles had to be the one to break their kiss, begrudgingly leaving those bulging lips for the time being. The Ferrari driver felt he needed to remind himself who he was fucking and although the eyes told him that, the rest of the footballer's body was the mental image he wanted tattooed in his mind for all eternity. "Turn over." Charles whispered, continuing to rock but slowing so that Kylian could roll onto his back. Straightening his back so he was at a right angle, even in the low light Charles could see the amazing athleticism in Kylian's stunning body. The footballer's beautiful face, then his smooth chin and neck, those broad shoulders, his dark and muscular pecs, those broad nipples, that sensational toned and griddled torso, those bulging biceps, his shaved crotch and that long, dark 8-inch cock. Charles felt his cock begging for more to take full advantage of this image of perfection. Placing his hand on top of Kylian's meaty, brown pecs, Charles used them as leverage to rock back and forth inside the footballer's tight hole. Below him the footballer looked, felt and sounded so good. A symphony of moans fell from Kylian's lips with every stroke of the racer's bare cock stroking up into his dark, sexy body, the feeling of his tight ring clinging tight to Charles' shaft felt glorious while his meaty pectoral muscles tensed to greet Charles' weight each time the Ferrari driver speared him deep and in the darkness those beautiful lips on that handsome looked sensational as the footballer cheered Charles on. To accompany his cheering, Kylian reached down with one hand taking hold of Charles' clenched right arse cheek. Squeezing the firm muscle Kylian beamed happily, feeling it harden each time the Ferrari driver drove his cock deep inside the footballer's sexy body. The romance of the moment surprised them both. With the cool wind around them on a beautiful, clear night they immersed themselves in the pure sexiness of their lover. Kylian had a hold of Charles' warm arse in one hand while his second hand left his cock briefly to do a tour of the Monegasque starting at his slim yet powerful leg, covered in a modest coat of hair, then up and round to the Ferrari driver's slender torso. Underneath that smooth olive skin, Kylian could feel Charles' abs and then his pecs tensing as he threw his body into the footballer's delightful hole. Kylian raised his hand up to stroke the rough stubble around the top's handsome chin and then returning to his own cock, Kylian began to pump his hard cock. Without a free hand Charles couldn't explore Kylian in the same way he had just caressed the horny Monegasque. Instead, Charles used his cock to explore the insides of the tight Frenchman while his eyes watched the way Kylian's body responded to him. Jabbing his cock to the left of the black boy's tight hole brought another groan of enjoyment from the bottom whose cock also seemed to grow larger as a result. Charles then did the same but pointing more to the right, bringing yet more vocal appreciation from the bottom who was now beginning to warble constantly. Finally, Charles drove his long straight and up delivering every inch of his bare 7-inch cock straight up into Kylian's irresistible hole at the rate of two strokes a second. "Yeah, yeah, YEAH!" Kylian agreed, pleasured by Charles' cock rubbing the membrane of his sensitive insides. There was a new tightness to Charles' grip, squeezing the bottom tighter to make sure every shot had the maximum effect. Feeling aroused by the top's extra force holding down to pump him full of cock, Kylian could feel his balls coiling as he stroked his hard cock. "Yes, baby, yessss." Kylian hissed as his beautiful brown balls hugged tightly to his skin and allowed Charles' next thrust to force a load of Kylian's hot cum to shoot across his tensed abs. "Oh my God, that's so hot, your body is so fucking hot!" Charles exclaimed, watching Kylian's dark skin shine with his bright cream as it splashed across his torso. The sight of glistening cum decorating Kylian's stunning body was the catalyst for Charles to find a gear he had never found before. The slender Ferrari driver rocked his entire body weight into the sexy black boy, sliding his bare 7-inch cock into the warm tightness of Kylian's rectum at nearly 3 strokes a second. Watching the sexy black boy cum from his own powerful thrusts was everything Charles needed and more. Groaning with every shot of cock Charles gave him, Kylian told the top how much he loved his perfect cock. The PSG forward's nuts were becoming lighter with every passing second, shooting sweet velvet up through his hard cock and out over his tense torso. It was at that moment Charles made the end of Kylian's orgasm feel like one of the best he'd even had. / The next thrust was the one that took Charles over the edge. Kylian's perfect black boy hole had been convulsing arousingly for at least 20 seconds through the intense moaning face of the horny bottom and combined with Charles' own deep thrusting conditions were perfect for the top's eruption. "Yes, yes, fucking sexy black boy, yesss!" Charles bellowed into the night air as his next jab flooded Kylian's tight guts with a thick load of his creamy jizz. The top was now desperate with his thrusts, pulling his cock back only a few inches to stab it back as hard as he could into Kylian's perfect body. Kylian stroked the last drops of his cum out from his thick, dark head then reached out with both hands to feel the sensation of Charles' powerful body. Kylian's left hand took hold of the racer's tense thigh while his right gripped Charles' tense bicep. "Oh my God." Kylian exclaimed, feeling the power of Charles' horny body as it tensed to pump another hard thrust into his aching body. To add to the tightened grip of his hands, Kylian also squeezed his legs tighter, not enough to impede Charles' progress but just enough to communicate how amazing the Monegasque's body felt as it pumped the footballer full of Charles' warm velvet. The Ferrari driver continued to pump although his strength was beginning to wane. Strong grunts emitted from the grumbling top as he threw his crotch into Kylian's firm arse several more times, milking his shaft for everything it had. The strokes slowed and although he was practically empty, Charles sent a couple more thrusts into the footballer's cum-filled hole. "Fuck." Charles hissed, beginning to pull himself only to be stopped by the footballer. Kylian held Charles close and tight, not allowing the Ferrari driver to pull away from him. The air around them remained peaceful and relatively still, cooling their sweaty bodies as they sucked in as much air as they could to regulate their excited heart rates. Reaching for the racer's chin, Kylian pulled Charles in for another kiss, sucking the sweet passion from the sexy Monegasque's lips as his swollen head throbbed within his tight arse. The sex may have finished but the kisses were as ravenous as ever, forcing their tongues deep into each other's throats in a battle for supremacy of their sexual desires. Feeling his soft cock being squeezed out of Kylian's black boy hole, Charles gave the softest moan into the footballer's face. Now they were separated, Charles threw himself to the deck, spinning onto his back as he landed with a thud. The breathing had eased somewhat but remained audible as the pair looked at each other through the gloom. Two of the most attractive men in their sports lay naked and satisfied as they looked into each other's eyes. "I'm so sorry baby?" Charles whispered. "For what?" Kylian breathed. "For not letting you top." Charles sighed, leaning forward to place another kiss upon Kylian's lips. The footballer giggled. "I came first baby." Kylian reminded him. "Hmmm, yes you did." Charles beamed rocking back into the footballer for another kiss. "It's ok though, I will get you next time, I promise." Kylian smiled, holding Charles' body tight. For another 10 minutes the pair lay together, listening to the water lapping at the boat's hull. "I've never been so relaxed." Kylian smiled, caressing the Monegasque's rough face. "I've never been so excited." Charles countered, leaning into Charles for yet another smooch. "You are so beautiful Kylian, will we do this again?" Charles asked boldly. "Hopefully...not..." Kylian responded. "...I want some of that nice olive arse." Kylian grinned. "Please do." Charles beamed. There was still time to snuggle, and they did with Charles affording himself another 5 minutes wrapped around Kylian's body. Finally pushing himself away from the football idol, Charles dressed himself and kicked the engine back into gear, ready to take them home. END Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story. If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on pcwtosh@gmail.com. Here is the rest of my collection: Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy 18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones, The Twins Nextdoor, 13 Goo-uld Reasons Why & Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway. The Diving Squad 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 & 6. Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer Ripped Roses, Jack's Web & Naughty Neigbours. Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY & Swimnasium. Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk & Deep Dipping in Dunkirk, Stranger Boys: Stranger Mendes, Oral Things & Someone Stranger in the Fuller House Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86 North American Swedes & Fly Eagles Fly Cricket series: England Cricket Boys, From Rapid to Star, Scorcher from the Caribbean, Inside the Bio Bubble, A Little Closer to Home, Ducking the First Balls & The Captains' Club. Rugby series: Scrum Down, Clash of the Centres, Henry Gets Some Bone, Maro, Becoming the Dragon & Thudding Ford. Tennis series: Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the Bahamas, Bulging Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple Leafs, Made in Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Sleeping Meadows & Team Building in Melbourne Park. Football series: Chelsea Training, Winter in Portsmouth, Graduation Ceremony, Welsh Cherries, Cherries Go Blue, King Power, Three Lions of King Power, Loving Gunners, Bad Boys Gone Naughty, Confident Canary, Lilywhite Hoops, From Paris with Love, Lion Cubs, Behind Blue Doors, The Fifteen-Legged Dragon, The Hero and the Zero, When Harry Met Trent, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, The Trials of Romeo Beckham, Anything but Swish, Swish, Phil-ed by a Villain, The Warm Up, Return to the Wolfpack, Jadon gets his Phil, A Norwich Tale, The Tails of Two Nike Stars, Operation: Harvey's Boxers, Bayern Boys & Wingin' it. 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Date: Mon, 5 Jun 2023 00:09:00 +0100
From: PCW Tosh <pcwtosh@gmail.com>
Subject: Kylian Returns to Monaco
Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence
that this actually happened, but we can all dream.
Stay healthy and practice safe sex!
Happy reading.
Formula Football 4.1: Kylian Returns to Monaco
The world-famous Monaco Grand Prix brought in stars from across the world
to be seen with motor racings elite. For Charles, this spectacular event
was home and looking out on the streets he grew up on, he felt happy and
privileged.
Former A.S. Monaco star Kylian Mbappe had become a global superstar in the
principality but his move to Paris Saint Germain had put him on the
trajectory for footballing greatness. The French forward stood outside the
Ferrari garage as the team worked on Charles' car, impressed by engineering
excellence at work before his eyes.
The Monegasque driver saw Kylian through the scrum of photographers and
made his way out to the footballer. "Salut Kylian." Charles offered warmly,
shaking the footballer's hand. "We need to talk about football." Charles
whispered a little closer as the cameras snapped away furiously. "Is this
about Monaco?" Kylian laughed nervously. "Yes, it is." "Ok ok, I'll come to
your place on Tuesday?" Kylian conceded. "Good, enjoy the race!" Charles
grinned, looking deep into Kylian's seductive brown eyes.
}
"Are you going to beat me up?" Kylian sent in a message to Charles watching
the Ferrari pounding around the streets of Monte Carlo. "Maybe a little
(wink)." Charles replied between the practice sessions. "Ok, I deserve it,
can I make it up to you another way?" Kylian typed with a smile on his
face. "You bring the beer (smile)." Charles replied quickly. Tuesday, the
date was set.
}
On a mild, clear Tuesday evening Kylian arrived clutching a box of beer and
a wide grin. "Hey." "Kylian, welcome. Let's go, did you bring your swimming
shorts?" Charles smiled wickedly. "Errr no." Kylian frowned. "Good good, so
don't fall in." Charles replied nonchalantly as he led them down to the
marina and onto his boat.
The racer's boat was a decent sized vessel, bigger than most personal
boats, but not as large as some of the rich billionaire displays of
wealth. Kylian made himself comfortable near the captain's station while
Charles unhooked the moorings and prepared the boat to sail. "Are you
ready?" "Oui oui capitan." Kylian grinned.
The engine started first time and slowly, Charles maneuvered away from the
packed marina before kicking into gear as they moved clear. "You want to
open some beers?" Charles suggested as they headed towards the horizon
across the calm Mediterranean Sea. Kylian took two bottles of beer from the
cooler and popped them open, handing one to Charles. "Do you come here
often?" Kylian beamed, throwing in a cheesy chat up line. "Ha, yes I do and
you're welcome to join whenever you like." Charles smiled in reply. Kylian
took the opportunity to appreciate Charles' short brown hair flapping in
the breeze as the harbour disappeared from view.
The sea moved gently around them, lapping at the small boat as it began to
slow. Charles had found the spot, bringing the boat to a halt, the
Monegasque dropped the anchor and moved away from the controls. Walking
around to join the footballer, Charles sat down on the deck alongside
Kylian, then placing his beer down Charles tilted his head towards the
sky. "It's beautiful isn't it." Kylian whispered, looking up at the dark
blue sky illuminated by a sea of bright, white stars. "It really is."
Charles agreed, looking towards the sky, then back down at Kylian.
Charles could feel that familiar feeling when an attractive man was this
close to him. The Ferrari driver's pulse had increased and as he scanned
the footballer's beautiful features, he realised that Kylian's eyes, which
shone with a magical starlight reflection, had the same look he was giving
the footballer. With the boat gently swaying in the sea, the breeze a light
wind cooling the temperature that was rising within them and the peaceful
tranquility of their surroundings, Charles and Kylian were slaves to
romance.
Charles' face approached Kylian's, as Kylian's approached Charles' and with
a gentle peck at first, the sexy young athletes kissed. The Ferrari driver
could feel the slightest tremor of nerves shaking its way through Kylian's
body as they kissed. Instinctively the confident Monegasque took hold of
Kylian's forearm and pressed his lips into the footballer's sighing
gently. Charles' hand moved up and down Kylian's forearm, slowly and
soothingly, building up Kylian's confidence with every passing second.
Kylian allowed himself to indulge in Charles' beautiful face. Any angst he
had felt as they set off burned away with a swish of Charles's tongue. The
Ferrari driver's scratchy stubble moved over Kylian's smooth skin making
their bond tighter as the footballer began to feel true lust for the F1
driver. After several minutes of gentle kissing, it was Kylian who began to
lead proceedings, leaning into Charles' irresistible face encouraging the
racer to give him more.
Charles moved his grip down to Kylian's hands and taking the footballer
gently he added more romance to their passionate embrace by linking their
fingers together while sighing softly. Their lips danced romantically for a
minute, just happy to be touching the lips of their opposite while the
pleasure of their increased body contact began to affect all parts of their
horny young bodies. Leaning a little closer to Charles, Kylian showed the
racer he was ready to take this to the next level.
The Ferrari driver had long lost his shyness when it came to guys and as
soon as he was sure Kylian was in the mood, Charles advanced on the
footballer pressing his weight into Kylian's muscular body. The pair
carefully fell onto the boat's deck with Kylian lying on his back and
Charles moving above the footballer. Placing his leg either side of
Kylian's slim body, Charles pinned the PSG forward to the deck with his
crotch and went to work, kissing firmly at Kylian's huge lips.
The crisp sea air surrounded them in a perfect cocoon of ambient
temperature, too cold to go shirtless unless you had the body heat of
another sexy man to share. Kylian responded to Charles' advances by making
a move of his own. The footballer's hands reached under Charles' shirt and
pulled upwards suggestively. The F1 driver happily obliged, straightening
his back and arms eventually breaking from Kylian's lips to allow his shirt
to slide free. There was a brief pause while Charles remained still,
shirtless and straddling the sexy footballer. Kylian's eyes drank in the F1
driver's sexy body, his cute oliveness diminished somewhat by the moonlight
but the smooth, muscular tone to his body was clearly evident and those
cute nipples were tiny and erect in the cool sea air.
It was Charles' turn to make his curiosity known, reaching to the base of
Kylian's shirt and pulling up he revealed to himself up close an image he'd
seen many times before on the insides of his eyelids. Although Charles was
an incredibly fit and athletic looking young man even he couldn't compete
with Kylian's body. The PSG forward's torso was ripped to shreds, not an
ounce of fat on those bones, nice meaty pecs and a gentle smoothness which
led all the way down to his six pac and beyond. "Oh my god, I feel fat and
ugly." Charles teased himself.
With those self-deprecating words ringing in Kylian's ears, the
footballer's instant reaction was to remind Charles just how sexy the F1
driver really was. Using his strength, Kylian rolled out of Charles'
straddle and rolled the pair so that the Ferrari driver remained wrapped
around his waist, but now it was Charles with his back to the deck and
Kylian on top. The footballer's lips pressed forcefully into Charles' face
while his crotch pressed against the Monegasque who wrapped his arms around
Kylian's neck to bring their naked chests together. The kissing had
increased in urgency now they were both fully in the moment, the darkness
around them meant they were at peace, except for the angry boners
determined to wage war on each other's bodies.
Charles' hands wandered down the footballer's back, studying the black
boy's impressive muscles as he did so. [Oh my god, so powerful!] Charles
smiled to himself. The Ferrari driver's fingers found the back of Kylian's
jeans and sliding his fingers into the gap behind, Charles placed both
hands on the footballer's peachy bum cheeks, squeezing them through the
cotton of his black boxers. Kylian reacted to Charles' groping hands by
pinning his crotch tighter to the F1 driver's body while they kissed.
Kylian noticed how Charles had begun to explore his body and the footballer
began to do the same. Although Kylian's position was a little more
constricted with the racer's tight grip, he reached down to hold Charles'
smooth sides while they kissed. The footballer's hands traced Charles'
sides, studying the Ferrari driver's ribs and inspecting the rate of his
breathing while Kylian moved his body weight a little higher. Charles'
breaths were becoming lighter as Kylian's weight tightened his airways, the
Ferrari driver could feel the footballer's hands moving further down his
body until he too took a nice firm handful of Charles' firm arse cheeks by
forcing his fingers into the gap between Charles' arse and the deck.
Charles could feel Kylian's hands massaging his cheeks through the F1
driver's jeans and decided to escalate again. The Monegasque's hands moved
around to the front of Kylian's jeans and unbuckled the footballer. Charles
pushed with his legs, forcing Kylian to break their kiss and pushing the
footballer back slightly. Kylian watched Charles break from free his sexy
predicament to move into another new position. The PSG forward who had
remained on his knees looked so cute that Charles pounced into his face for
one more passionate kiss then working his way down the footballer's body,
Charles aimed to kiss something else he'd been dreaming about ever since he
first saw Kylian in an A.S. Monaco kit.
Kylian massaged the back of Charles' soft, straight brown hair as the
Ferrari driver kissed his smooth neck, then his tensed pec. The footballer
used his hand to descend Charles' body as the Ferrari driver descended his,
stroking Charles' toned back while the Monegasque kissed his tight
abs. Reaching his destination, Charles rested his hand on Kylian's lump and
purred gently. The footballer responded by mumbling French obscenities
before reaching into the gap between Charles' arm and body to grope the
Ferrari driver through his jeans.
At first Charles had wanted to suck Kylian through the fly of his boxers,
but instinct told the Ferrari driver there was a 69 on offer. The
Monegasque took a little more time, reaching under the waistband of
Kylian's jeans and boxers, tugging them down suggestively to make the
footballer rise into a full kneel. As expected, Kylian granted Charles
access and as he did so the footballer also began to work at the front of
Charles' jeans, opening the F1 driver up for better access to his
crotch. No words were being spoken, both men working solely on body
language. Two sports superstars were out on a boat in the Mediterranean,
their jeans and boxers around their knees moving to lie on their sides top
and tail about to do something they had both had many a hard daydream
about.
Charles held Kylian's throbbing, uncut 8-inch member under his nose and
sucked in the air around him. [Oh my god.] Charles gasped to himself; the
smell of the footballer's black meat was deliciously intoxicating. The
Ferrari driver felt his own cock swell angrily in response to a surge of
blood rushing around his body in excitement. Kylian had beaten Charles to
it, the throb of Charles' desires pushing the Monegasque's hard cock
between Kylian's juicy lips which grabbed Charles head willingly to engulf
the Ferrari driver's shaft.
The incredible sensation of Kylian's lips sliding over his head to pleasure
his shaft forced Charles forward, his open mouth swallowing Kylian's
head. The footballer's response was a high-pitched nasal grunt through
Charles' shaft, happy with the feeling of the Monegasque's lips surrounding
his wand. Both men gripped their lover by the thigh using the leverage to
help propel their necks along each other's raging cocks.
Kylian inhaled the Ferrari driver's delicious aroma, enjoying the light
notes of body odour in Charles' neat brown pubes. The gentle mannish smell
filling his nostrils made his own black cock thicken a touch, pulsing
between Charles' travelling lips which doubled the excitement. The
footballer's right hand held Charles' hip while his left hand searched for
the Monegasque's balls, gently massaging them with a light application of
pressure to stimulate them. ["Oh, baby yes!"] Charles agreed with Kylian's
wandering hands. The feeling of the footballer's soft fingertips sliding
under his hairy sack made his nuts twitch excitedly. Charles reciprocated
by choking himself on Kylian's long black cock. Holding his face down
against the base of Kylian's shaft, Charles treated himself to long
draughts of the footballer's manly odour. Begrudgingly, the Ferrari driver
dragged himself to the tip of Kylian's meaty sword, taking a quick second
to play with the black boy's tip, using his tongue to tease and tantalise
before swallowing the entire shaft again in one hungry gulp.
The cool night air and the peaceful surroundings presented the perfect
environment for an intimate 69. The sportsman used their lips to suck at
the other man's tool while their hands explored their opposite's perfect
body. Kylian tightened his grip on the Ferrari driver's legs, pulling them
towards him hungrily as he pressed Charles' cock hard against his
tonsils. The Monegasque felt compelled to match Kylian's intensity, this
was his opportunity to enjoy the iconic footballer's perfect body and he
was going to give it everything he had. Charles enjoyed the thickness of
the 23-year-old's swollen head pressing against his own tonsils and felt
his hole quiver with excitement desperate to feel it between him.
The Ferrari driver's hole wasn't the only quivering ring on that
boat. Kylian too harboured thoughts of the sexy 24-year-old filling his
tight black hole with this delicious cock. As the pair of them worked hard
to pleasure their partner in crime it was fast becoming a race to see who
would blink first, who would have the guts to ask to be fucked.
"Oh my God your cock tastes so good, I want you to fuck me with it."
Charles begged with a tone of astonishment at how much fun he was
having. [Fuck, I wanted to say that!] Kylian berated himself, "I can fuck
you but only if you promise to fuck me too." He bargained. Charles didn't
respond with words, sliding to the base of Kylian's cock and then straight
back up to the tip the Ferrari driver popped off. Next Charles moved his
hands round to the footballer's cheeks spreading them apart to expose his
tight black hole and attacking it with his tongue, Charles began to rim the
sexy footballer.
Kylian dropped Charles' cock and allowed the F1 driver to concentrate on
his rimjob. Charles' tongue swirled around Kylian's brown hole, then
wiggled as he focused his attention at the footballer's entrance. Lingering
at Kylian's doorway a little longer, Charles waited for the flesh to open
slightly then diving into the gap with a pointed tip, the Monegasque's
tongue entered Kylian's tight chute.
Once Charles had wormed his way inside the footballer's hole, he became
ravenous. The Ferrari driver's fingers squeezed hard at the impressive
mounds that were Kylian's meaty arse cheeks. The 24-year-old pulled Kylian
back onto his face, feeling the warmth of the footballer's cheeks
surrounding his face. Charles' tongue stretched as far as it could,
searching for all the flavour it could find. This was fast becoming
irresistibly addictive for Charles whose 7-inch cock had begun to beg for
attention. The Ferrari driver could sense the tightness of Kylian's ring
slowly turning in his favour, the more time he spent at the footballer's
hole, the easier it became for his tongue to tipple at the fleshy insides
of the football megastar.
Kylian too was finding great pleasure from Charles' anal exploration. The
sexy Monegasque had no inhibitions about feeding his tongue into the
footballer's arse causing Kylian's cock to pulse. Feeling a hint of
jealousy and a tinge of curiosity, Kylian pushed his face between the
racer's slim legs. Finding the Ferrari's driver's furry hole, Kylian ran
his tongue along Charles' opening. The pair of them found themselves
escalating against each other, Kylian penetrating Charles' ring while
Charles pushed deeper into Kylian's black hole, then Kylian pushing further
into Charles' olive hole while Charles poked his tongue deeper still,
drinking the sexy footballer's delicious essence.
Kylian hadn't appreciated how sexy a double rim 69 actually could be but
within a dozen seconds of eating Charles' hole he was convinced. The
Monegasque was a stunning young man and had kept himself in amazing
shape. Charles' neat hole begged for all the attention it could get and
Kylian was more than willing to give it. The night air surrounding them in
a peaceful silence was broken only by the gentle waves and the ravenous
slurping of two horny athletes. Forcing his smooth face into Charles' warm,
olive cheeks, Kylian closed his eyes and devoured that rich, delicious
flavour which he would crave forevermore.
Charles was desperate to advance but that would mean peeling himself away
from possibly the most irresistible arse he'd ever eaten. The Monegasque
counted down from 60 giving himself another full minute of tonguing the
black boy's sexy insides before he finally pulled his tongue free and gave
a long deep sigh. "I have you fuck you so bad!" Charles smiled. Kylian gave
himself a few more seconds inside Charles before he pulled free and nodded
excitedly.
In the blink of an eye Charles had pounced into position, yanking his jeans
to his ankles and rotating so that his cock had lined up with the
footballer's hole. Using the slickness of their combined spit, Charles
began to lean on Kylian's hole. The footballer drew in a long breath, held,
then pushed out his ring allowing Charles' bare cock to begin its raw
entry. The instant Kylian's hole proceeded to widen the pair were groaning
in unison, Charles' thick head led the way stretching Kylian wider until
there was finally enough space for Charles to enter.
Kylian's pink ring held onto the Ferrari driver's head momentarily, slowing
Charles' progress as his bulb struggled to open the black boy up. The
application of a little more force from the top was enough to push the
thickest part of Charles' head beyond the tightest part of Kylian's ring
and with an excited grunt, they were officially interlocked. "You feel
good." Kylian breathed encouragingly, beaming up at Charles who returned
the smile.
The Monegasque maintained eye contact with Kylian as he pressed his cock
forward. In the darkness he couldn't quite make out where his cock and the
footballer's ring met, but he could appreciate Kylian's handsome face in
the glistening moonlight, watching it tense as he slid his hard cock deeper
within the tight black boy. The Ferrari driver held his shaft steady,
halfway between his body and Kylian's arse, sliding his hand towards him as
his cock burrowed down deeper. "So good." Kylian whispered again as the
bare Ferrari driver pressed enough cock inside his black hole for him to
release it. Now that Charles had reached far enough inside the bottom, he
could leave his cock to stand freely and using his beautiful olive legs, he
could drive his way into the bottom's sexy hole.
A cooling gust of wind felt calming around them as Charles built his way up
to holding Kylian at his sides in order for the Monegasque to begin his
assault. Kylian just continued to push out his arse hole, allowing Charles
the freedom of his chute. The footballer's tight brown insides clung so
tight to Charles' cock as it advanced the Ferrari driver could sense his
nuts didn't care about the rest of him, they just wanted to drive deep into
this sexy boy's warm cunt and deposit their load. The top maintained his
self-control admirably, sliding himself just a few inches each way slowly.
Kylian reached up behind Charles' neck and pulled the top's handsome face
towards him. Charles adjusted his position, spreading his legs a little
wider so he could reach lower and plant a kiss on the black boy's thick,
juicy lips. Now they were locked at the lips they could passionately kiss
as Charles pressed down further into Kylian's tight black belly.
Everything felt so easy, kissing at Kylian's lips and pressing his cock
down into Kylian's tight belly, Charles only had to follow his instincts to
make this night special for both of them. Increasing the power of his
thrusts, Charles was now very gently slapping against the black boy's
muscular arse. That black body hugging tight around his olive cock was the
best thing Charles had ever felt and although he was fucking Kylian deeper
the strokes remained slow and deliberate. To add to the passion, Kylian
also increased the tightness of his grip, letting Charles know how much
wanted the handsome top, how much he loved that raw Monegasque cock as it
travelled up his hole until Charles' head brushed the inside of his ring
then thudded straight back down, crushing his neat pubes against Kylian's
brown arse cheeks and holding them there for a moment to enjoy the kiss
before going again.
Between them, the footballer stroked his hard 8-inch cock which lay there
begging to be touched. Kylian kept his strokes short, sweet and very
infrequent as the feeling of Charles' cock inside him was more than enough
to initiate several pulses of excitement. Mindlessly, the footballer
stroked himself so that his foreskin did all the work, slowly creeping back
and forth over his extremely sensitive head, his senses at their highest
just from the multiple connections of their sexy young bodies.
Charles had to be the one to break their kiss, begrudgingly leaving those
bulging lips for the time being. The Ferrari driver felt he needed to
remind himself who he was fucking and although the eyes told him that, the
rest of the footballer's body was the mental image he wanted tattooed in
his mind for all eternity. "Turn over." Charles whispered, continuing to
rock but slowing so that Kylian could roll onto his back.
Straightening his back so he was at a right angle, even in the low light
Charles could see the amazing athleticism in Kylian's stunning body. The
footballer's beautiful face, then his smooth chin and neck, those broad
shoulders, his dark and muscular pecs, those broad nipples, that
sensational toned and griddled torso, those bulging biceps, his shaved
crotch and that long, dark 8-inch cock. Charles felt his cock begging for
more to take full advantage of this image of perfection.
Placing his hand on top of Kylian's meaty, brown pecs, Charles used them as
leverage to rock back and forth inside the footballer's tight hole. Below
him the footballer looked, felt and sounded so good. A symphony of moans
fell from Kylian's lips with every stroke of the racer's bare cock stroking
up into his dark, sexy body, the feeling of his tight ring clinging tight
to Charles' shaft felt glorious while his meaty pectoral muscles tensed to
greet Charles' weight each time the Ferrari driver speared him deep and in
the darkness those beautiful lips on that handsome looked sensational as
the footballer cheered Charles on.
To accompany his cheering, Kylian reached down with one hand taking hold of
Charles' clenched right arse cheek. Squeezing the firm muscle Kylian beamed
happily, feeling it harden each time the Ferrari driver drove his cock deep
inside the footballer's sexy body. The romance of the moment surprised them
both. With the cool wind around them on a beautiful, clear night they
immersed themselves in the pure sexiness of their lover. Kylian had a hold
of Charles' warm arse in one hand while his second hand left his cock
briefly to do a tour of the Monegasque starting at his slim yet powerful
leg, covered in a modest coat of hair, then up and round to the Ferrari
driver's slender torso. Underneath that smooth olive skin, Kylian could
feel Charles' abs and then his pecs tensing as he threw his body into the
footballer's delightful hole. Kylian raised his hand up to stroke the rough
stubble around the top's handsome chin and then returning to his own cock,
Kylian began to pump his hard cock.
Without a free hand Charles couldn't explore Kylian in the same way he had
just caressed the horny Monegasque. Instead, Charles used his cock to
explore the insides of the tight Frenchman while his eyes watched the way
Kylian's body responded to him. Jabbing his cock to the left of the black
boy's tight hole brought another groan of enjoyment from the bottom whose
cock also seemed to grow larger as a result. Charles then did the same but
pointing more to the right, bringing yet more vocal appreciation from the
bottom who was now beginning to warble constantly. Finally, Charles drove
his long straight and up delivering every inch of his bare 7-inch cock
straight up into Kylian's irresistible hole at the rate of two strokes a
second.
"Yeah, yeah, YEAH!" Kylian agreed, pleasured by Charles' cock rubbing the
membrane of his sensitive insides. There was a new tightness to Charles'
grip, squeezing the bottom tighter to make sure every shot had the maximum
effect. Feeling aroused by the top's extra force holding down to pump him
full of cock, Kylian could feel his balls coiling as he stroked his hard
cock. "Yes, baby, yessss." Kylian hissed as his beautiful brown balls
hugged tightly to his skin and allowed Charles' next thrust to force a load
of Kylian's hot cum to shoot across his tensed abs.
"Oh my God, that's so hot, your body is so fucking hot!" Charles exclaimed,
watching Kylian's dark skin shine with his bright cream as it splashed
across his torso. The sight of glistening cum decorating Kylian's stunning
body was the catalyst for Charles to find a gear he had never found
before. The slender Ferrari driver rocked his entire body weight into the
sexy black boy, sliding his bare 7-inch cock into the warm tightness of
Kylian's rectum at nearly 3 strokes a second. Watching the sexy black boy
cum from his own powerful thrusts was everything Charles needed and more.
Groaning with every shot of cock Charles gave him, Kylian told the top how
much he loved his perfect cock. The PSG forward's nuts were becoming
lighter with every passing second, shooting sweet velvet up through his
hard cock and out over his tense torso. It was at that moment Charles made
the end of Kylian's orgasm feel like one of the best he'd even had. / The
next thrust was the one that took Charles over the edge. Kylian's perfect
black boy hole had been convulsing arousingly for at least 20 seconds
through the intense moaning face of the horny bottom and combined with
Charles' own deep thrusting conditions were perfect for the top's
eruption. "Yes, yes, fucking sexy black boy, yesss!" Charles bellowed into
the night air as his next jab flooded Kylian's tight guts with a thick load
of his creamy jizz. The top was now desperate with his thrusts, pulling his
cock back only a few inches to stab it back as hard as he could into
Kylian's perfect body.
Kylian stroked the last drops of his cum out from his thick, dark head then
reached out with both hands to feel the sensation of Charles' powerful
body. Kylian's left hand took hold of the racer's tense thigh while his
right gripped Charles' tense bicep. "Oh my God." Kylian exclaimed, feeling
the power of Charles' horny body as it tensed to pump another hard thrust
into his aching body. To add to the tightened grip of his hands, Kylian
also squeezed his legs tighter, not enough to impede Charles' progress but
just enough to communicate how amazing the Monegasque's body felt as it
pumped the footballer full of Charles' warm velvet.
The Ferrari driver continued to pump although his strength was beginning to
wane. Strong grunts emitted from the grumbling top as he threw his crotch
into Kylian's firm arse several more times, milking his shaft for
everything it had. The strokes slowed and although he was practically
empty, Charles sent a couple more thrusts into the footballer's cum-filled
hole. "Fuck." Charles hissed, beginning to pull himself only to be stopped
by the footballer.
Kylian held Charles close and tight, not allowing the Ferrari driver to
pull away from him. The air around them remained peaceful and relatively
still, cooling their sweaty bodies as they sucked in as much air as they
could to regulate their excited heart rates. Reaching for the racer's chin,
Kylian pulled Charles in for another kiss, sucking the sweet passion from
the sexy Monegasque's lips as his swollen head throbbed within his tight
arse. The sex may have finished but the kisses were as ravenous as ever,
forcing their tongues deep into each other's throats in a battle for
supremacy of their sexual desires.
Feeling his soft cock being squeezed out of Kylian's black boy hole,
Charles gave the softest moan into the footballer's face. Now they were
separated, Charles threw himself to the deck, spinning onto his back as he
landed with a thud. The breathing had eased somewhat but remained audible
as the pair looked at each other through the gloom. Two of the most
attractive men in their sports lay naked and satisfied as they looked into
each other's eyes. "I'm so sorry baby?" Charles whispered. "For what?"
Kylian breathed. "For not letting you top." Charles sighed, leaning forward
to place another kiss upon Kylian's lips. The footballer giggled. "I came
first baby." Kylian reminded him. "Hmmm, yes you did." Charles beamed
rocking back into the footballer for another kiss. "It's ok though, I will
get you next time, I promise." Kylian smiled, holding Charles' body tight.
For another 10 minutes the pair lay together, listening to the water
lapping at the boat's hull. "I've never been so relaxed." Kylian smiled,
caressing the Monegasque's rough face. "I've never been so excited."
Charles countered, leaning into Charles for yet another smooch. "You are so
beautiful Kylian, will we do this again?" Charles asked boldly.
"Hopefully...not..." Kylian responded. "...I want some of that nice olive
arse." Kylian grinned. "Please do." Charles beamed. There was still time to
snuggle, and they did with Charles affording himself another 5 minutes
wrapped around Kylian's body. Finally pushing himself away from the
football idol, Charles dressed himself and kicked the engine back into
gear, ready to take them home.
END
Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story.
If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on
pcwtosh@gmail.com.
Here is the rest of my collection:
Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy
18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The
Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones,
The Twins Nextdoor, 13 Goo-uld Reasons Why & Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway.
The Diving Squad 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 & 6.
Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer
Ripped Roses, Jack's Web & Naughty Neigbours.
Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY & Swimnasium.
Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk &
Deep Dipping in Dunkirk,
Stranger Boys:
Stranger Mendes, Oral Things & Someone Stranger in the Fuller House
Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY
No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86
North American Swedes & Fly Eagles Fly
Cricket series:
England Cricket Boys, From Rapid to Star, Scorcher from the Caribbean,
Inside the Bio Bubble, A Little Closer to Home, Ducking the First Balls &
The Captains' Club.
Rugby series:
Scrum Down, Clash of the Centres, Henry Gets Some Bone, Maro, Becoming the
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Tennis series:
Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the Bahamas, Bulging
Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple Leafs, Made in
Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Sleeping Meadows &
Team Building in Melbourne Park.
Football series:
Chelsea Training, Winter in Portsmouth, Graduation Ceremony, Welsh
Cherries, Cherries Go Blue, King Power, Three Lions of King Power, Loving
Gunners, Bad Boys Gone Naughty, Confident Canary, Lilywhite Hoops, From
Paris with Love, Lion Cubs, Behind Blue Doors, The Fifteen-Legged Dragon,
The Hero and the Zero, When Harry Met Trent, Austria v Germany in Chelsea,
The Trials of Romeo Beckham, Anything but Swish, Swish, Phil-ed by a
Villain, The Warm Up, Return to the Wolfpack, Jadon gets his Phil, A
Norwich Tale, The Tails of Two Nike Stars, Operation: Harvey's Boxers,
Bayern Boys & Wingin' it.
F1 Series:
F1 World & Life in Monaco, Magic Monza & Magical Monza, Marina Bay, Surrey
Holiday, The Home of British Motorsport, The Champ is Here, Samba in Sao
Paulo, You're Fired, The Apprentice's Apprentice, L'Accademia, McLaren's
Days of Future Past, The Enemy Within & Bonus Night
Ice Hockey Series:
On Ice, On Ice Mighty Ducks, Buffalo Bound, Power Surge, Canadian Countdown
to the Curtain Raiser & Anaheim Sucks.
Formula Football Series:
All The Way From Memphis, The Beach & Georgie's Pudding in Mason's Pie.
BoysPlay Mansion:
Genesis
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/mushroom-heads/mushroom-heads-4 | Date: Mon, 4 Mar 2024 13:47:15 -0500
From: Mark Smith <bodyworkbymarknyc@gmail.com>
Subject: Mushroom Heads: The Last of Yas. Chapter 4, Celebrity
I've cum more times thank to NIFTY than any lover ever. Show them how
much the cummunity means to you and send them some
cash. (link https://donate.nifty.org/)
CONTENT: An explicit gay retelling of the Last of Us. Will Joel be able
to keep Eli safe? And from what?
Sci-fi / Fantasy
Slash Fiction
Incest (in later episodes)
celebrity
If you like this story, consider sending your feedback
to bodyworkbymarknyc@gmail.com I'm looking to write the whole show and
want to hear from you. Connect online at @Gayfan_Erotica on x
Treat me to a cup of coffee or some lube. $storiesbymark on cashapp
CHAPTER 4: POP POP POP ON THE FARM: BILL AND FRANK:
________________
"The rules are simple," Joel said as we walked on the old Route 90,
the branches of the trees crowding overhead. "Don't ask about my past, and
I won't ask about yours."
"I don't have a past I'm 18." The only real past I had to speak of
is everything that had happened in the last ten days. In the morning, after
Trey had died and I still hadn't turned, Joel had agreed to take me out of
the city. We had only run into one bunch of infected along the way. All of
them were runners. They came at us fast, but Joel had Kane's machine gun
and mowed them down. He didn't even stop, just shot them as they charged
him. I'd never seen a man so calm under pressure. Either Joel had a death
wish, or he was just as capable and deadly as Martin had told me he would
be. Getting a chance to see the infected up close in the daylight, I was
scared by what I saw. Their skin had weird purple lesions and fungal
growths that sprouted around their orifices. They moved almost humanly, but
as if they were a full-grown adult learning to walk. Any thought I had of
not doing precisely what Joel wanted of me vanished in that first
firefight. He may be cold and distant, but the man was a trained killer.
"Well, I won't ask you about your past, Eli. We're just in this
till we get to Bill and Frank's." I thought of letting the silence stretch
between us, but there was nothing else to do on the road, and I was
curious.
"Who are they?" I finally asked as the morning gave way to the
afternoon.
"I said no questions."
"You said about your past. I just want to know who they
are. Especially if you're going to leave me with them."
"You'll get along fine there." He gave me a knowing look and half
of a smile. It was the only emotion I had seen him show since we left
Boston. He had barely talked for a full after Trey had died. Just grunted
and pointed the way to go. He stared up between the branches at the blue
sky overhead. "Trey would have called them friends."
"And you?" Joel was silent for a long moment.
"You're not gonna just let me walk there in quiet, are you?"
"Martin told me to trust no one, and now you're gonna leave me with
strangers, so yeah, I'd like to know who they are." Joel went back to being
silent. He was more stoic than a rock. We walked for another ten minutes in
silence, the morning air only broken by the sounds of the birds whirling
overhead.
"I'd call them friends too... They found each other in this
madness, and they made it work. Frank told me the story once; he's the kind
one. Bill. Well, Bill is an odd one. Sort of looks like Santa Claus but
acts like the Grinch."
"Who?" Joel looked at me, and a flicker of sadness crossed his face.
"Doesn't matter. I'll tell you about em best I can, though there is a lot
you're too young for."
"I'm old enough.
"Look. They met after the world ended, and like everyone who met in those
times, I think they were just grateful to have someone to talk to at
first." The story started slowly. A sentence here or there, as if he, too,
was trying to remember their story. But it spooled out from him as we
walked in the autumn air.
JOEL
________________
Trey's death had left me empty. I'd lost a lot in this
life. Somehow never thought I'd lose Trey. Feeling him die in my arms, I
realized I'd taken him for granted. He was a good man. Better than I was,
and it was only that he asked me as his dying wish to take this kid to Bill
and Frank that I was. If I had had it my way, I'm not sure what I would
do. Maybe try my luck finding a car and starting my drive to Jackson,
Wyoming, or just walk into a nest of infected and try to take as many of
those fuckers with me before they got me too. All I knew is none of my
plans really featured the kid.
He was a loose end, a liability. In the morning, when he wasn't
infected, I realized Trey had been right. This kid was immune. I didn't
know what that meant exactly, but a lot of people would end up fighting
over this kid when he realized what he was. It was better I just kept my
distance. Better for both of us, he had his destiny, and I had mine. It was
easier not to get attached and let the science geeks sort it out.
I kept cursing Martin for saddling me with this fucking kid. He knew what
he was, and he still had shoved him off on me. I'd never been close to
Martin, but I knew Tommy had told him about Sam. Martin probably knew the
kid would be safe with me because some part of me would be trying to atone
for the son I had failed to protect. But fuck, it was a head trip realizing
this kid wasn't just any kid; he was everyone's kid. The promise of a world
without any infected. The thought alone was enough to put my nerves on
edge, probably while I'd been turning at every twig snap, ready to mow down
a legion of infected if any of them sprung up.
I'd honor Trey's final wish of getting the boy safely to Bill and Franks as
penance for all the years I should have let down my walls and let him into
my heart. But after that, I was making a B-line for Tommy. With Trey gone,
Tommy was all the family I had left, and I wasn't about to lose him too.
At the rate we were walking, we had at least another day on the road before
we got to Bill and Frank's. After that, the kid would be out of my
life. Figured it was probably best to give the kid a primer on what his
life was gonna be like with the boys, so I started trying to think back and
remember the stories Frank had told me about his early years with Bill. If
anything, it would shut the kid up, and I wouldn't have to answer questions
about every fucking thing we saw on the side of the road. I needed a drink
and maybe an afternoon of fucking Frank while Bill smoked one of those
Cuban cigars he kept squirreled away for days when he wanted to pig out and
go, full leather dad. A day with some men would help calm me down and
certainly help me from having all these stray thoughts about fucking
Eli. The way that pert ass bounced as it walked made me think dirty
thoughts.
________________
Frank
________________
"Hello," I called out from inside the pit. "What sort of fuck had dug a
trench around their house. Can someone fucking get me out of here?" The
first thing I saw was the barrel of his gun as it peered over the trench
down at me. I hadn't really expected anyone to hear me, startled I yelled
up at him, "I'm not infected. I promise."
"Why are you in my pit." his voice sounded Republican.
"I was just walking through. Trying to make my way to Boston." he
was backlit by the sun, and I couldn't make out much.
"It's another 25 miles down the road." the voice drawled back.
"Yeah, well, I'm in a pit now. So if you can, just let me out I'll
be on my way."
"Can't do that."
"Why?"
"You may be infected."
"Well, I'm not."
"Good then, if you're not infected, you won't be infected
tomorrow." With that, he walked away. I looked at myself in the steadily
diminishing daylight; all 5 feet 10 of my slender frame was dirty, and I
was sure my floppy hair was a mess of twigs and leaves. Ten minutes later,
he tossed the end of a baguette into the hole and left without saying a
word. That was the last I saw of him all afternoon or evening. I should
have known he was a stubborn old bull then.
---
"You're still human." His voice woke me up. At some point in the
night, I had fallen asleep. I stared up out of the hole at the man above
me. He was backlit by the morning sun, but he cut an impressive figure. A
bear of a man. He must have stood 6 foot 2, with a big belly and a bigger
beard. He looked to be just past 40. Distinguished by the trials of life.
"I told you. I'm just trying to get to Boston."
"No one wanted to go to Boston even before the world ended." I
laughed at him.
"I'm only headed there because the Baltimore QZ fell, and I know
I'm not gonna survive long on my own."
"Well, you can tell me about your survival skills over dinner."
"Dinner?!"
"I'll be back to get you out of the hole when I finish my work." He was
gone as soon as he had said it.
---
"I thought you said dinner," I called up. It must have been close
to 10 PM I had long since figured he'd forgotten about me.
"I got busy."
"Doing what?"
"Checking the rest of my traps."
"The rest of them!? How many do you have?" Something in my bones
just told me this place would be my end; I was never leaving here.
"Enough to keep me safe." He paused for a long moment. "You like
rabbits?"
"Rabbit?"
"You're not the only thing I've caught."
"I do."
"Well, I'll come get you once I've got dinner on the stove."
"I can help you!" I called after him, but he had already turned to walk
away. "I'm a homosexual. We're good in a kitchen."
---
The ladder slid into the hole.
"Come on up." I scrambled out of the hole faster than I had climbed
anything in my life. When I got to the top, I had my first chance to really
look around. We were standing 20 feet away from a makeshift fence. Beyond
that was what looked like several pristine blocks of a New England
town. "Strip."
"Ask a man his name first."
"Need to make sure they're aren't any bites."
"It's been two days."
"Still." He cocked the gun. I pulled off my clothes quickly. Like
me, they were covered in dirt and dried mud. I tossed them into a pile near
his feet. I thought of leaving my boxers on, but his look told me that
wouldn't be enough. I tossed them off and then grabbed my cock with my
hand. He had that gruffness about him that gets softened by the homosexual
lifestyle leading me to believe this man must be straight. He looked me
over with a clinical eye. It reminded me of what happened after swim
practice as a kid. The coach would return to the locker room and line up
all the boys to check how our bodies were developing under his
tutelage. Being inspected by him made me grow into a man who always wanted
to please the straight men in my life. As I stood there, I cursed the
coach's name--a lifetime of standing naked and at attention for the
straight men in my life.
"I don't like dirt in the house, so leave the clothes here." the
way he told me what to do was second nature to him. It made my dick jump.
"Am I eating dinner naked?" Maybe I was wrong about him being
straight.
"I thought you might want a shower." he turned and walked towards
the house. I followed, not knowing what to do. "And I've raided some of the
neighbor's houses for clothes that might fit a trim man. 30-inch waist?"
"Yes. How'd you know?"
"I'm good at sizing men up."
---
"I've never felt this clean." I was wearing the clothes he had picked out
for me. A pair of acid-washed jeans and an old green t-shirt that said,
`Wild Man.'
"You a dirty man?" there wasn't even a hint of a smile as he said it. Ever
since I had begun walking around his house, I had begun to suspect that
maybe my initial thought that the man had been straight was misguided, but
then he'd go and spout off something like this without a trace of irony,
and I'd realize there was no way he could be gay. His home was a mausoleum
to antiques and the presence of an older woman long since passed.
"Supposed not, just haven't had a warm shower in 3 months."
"3 months?"
"I've been on the road that long from Baltimore. Hot shower. Dinner. Drink!
It's like I've died and gone to heaven." I took a big mouthful and stared
down the well-set mahogany table at the handsome bear sitting opposite
me. He was curt and dismissive, but I could see a man who wanted to soften
up underneath his hard exterior.
"Not Heaven, just Lincoln, Mass."
"Why are you here in Lincoln all by yourself?"
"Wouldn't leave when they rounded us up for the QZ. Now this town is my
own."
"Just you."
"Just me."
"Sounds lonely."
"Worlds lonely these days." We looked at each other for a moment. Both of
our forks were frozen on their way to our mouths. He had such soft-looking
lips for a harsh man; plump was the only way I could describe them. I kept
imagining them on my cheek, my neck my back. Biting his lower lip between
my teeth and his flesh give and open.
"Who was the last person you talked to?" I asked when the silence was too
much.
"It was my mom's wake the week before the world died."
"That was two years ago."
"Then two years." I raised my glass of red wine to him.
"Well, here's to the best dinner I've had in two years. This wine pairs
perfectly with this rabbit."
"Thank you for noticing. We will switch to a Harvest Reisling to go with
the apple pie for dessert."
"Desert wine. Was this how you seduced all the women before the world
ended." He took a big drink of his wine.
"They're never were any women."
"How about men?" He looked at me and then took a big gulp of the red,
finishing it in one.
---
"It's so thick." I moaned as his cock pressed against my sphincter.
"The way you ate everything on your plate, I figured you had a big
appetite." I started up at him from my back, lying naked in his bed. He
loomed over me--a raw and masculine bear. His belly was nice and thick, and
I kept rubbing my hands across his fur as he looked down at me. We had
finished dinner and another few glasses of wine when he stood up and
announced it was time to go to bed. Not knowing what to do, I followed
him. I thought he might point me to a room, but he just walked into his
room and closed the door behind him. We stood there, unsure of what to do
next, until I reached out and placed my hand against his crotch. That was
all we needed. The kisses came furiously at first. From both of us, we
ripped off each other's clothes and made our way toward the four-poster
bed.
"Be gentle with me." He moved my legs until they rested on his pecs
and then firmly but deliberately pushed his thumb into my mouth. I moaned
back at him.
"You gonna set the table."
"Yes, sir."
"You gonna wash the dishes."
"Yes, sir."
"Then I think you can stick around another week." He moved the head
of his dick off my ass and pushed his thumb into my sphincter. "And we can
use that time to loosen you up."
"Please fuck me. Please."
"Soon. I don't want to break my new toy after unwrapping it. Now
moan for papa bear." He shoved his finger deeper inside me, and I
shuttered. His finger went right to my prostate and started rubbing it. I
began leaking pre-cum almost instantly. As he worked and rubbed on me, I
felt my sphincter open up, craving more of him. I tensed my hole on his
fingers, milking his hand as he felt my insides. I looked up into his eyes,
and he just smiled before spitting on my face. I looked back in shock, but
he slapped me across the face before I could say anything.
"Ughhhh, Bill." I moaned.
"You like that slut?"
"Fuck."
"You want more?" I thought about it, his hand resting gently on my
cheek. It was so big. Everything about him was big. I nodded once. His
finger pushed deeper into me, and as I moaned, he slapped me again.
"Train you up."
"Yes, Bill."
"Call me Papa." So I did.
---
I stayed that week, the next, and the one after that. Before we
knew it, we were making plans for the winter together. Then the winter
came. Driven indoors for what felt like weeks at a time, we found different
ways to distract ourselves, and he discovered every way to make my body
moan.
---
"I have a present for you." He said, walking up to me as I sat in
the noonday sun next to our vegetable patch. He was wearing the brown and
red plaid shirt I loved, unbuttoned with a pair of Carhartts. He looked
like every construction stud I had jerked off to when I had been growing up
on the outskirts of Baltimore. But he was mine. This stud had bent me over
his bed every night after dinner and every morning when I woke to take his
cock.
"Is it our anniversary already."
"I pulled you from my hole three years ago."
"Pulled me out of one hole just to get deep into mine."
"Something like that." I had never had a man claim my hole so wholly. His
dick wasn't the longest dick that had ever fucked me, but it was the
thickest. Getting fucked by him had hurt for the first few months I had
been here. But I quickly realized the only way I would keep him happy was
to train my hole. I'd wake up early in the morning or sneak back from the
fields where we grew our vegetables to slip in my butt plug. It was one of
the few possessions I brought when I left Baltimore. Spending time training
my hole before he used me was the only thing that kept me from limping
around the house all day.
"Oh fuck, I don't know if my hole can handle another session," I
said with a fake whimper. He had woken me up this morning and fucked me so
long and deep.
"You're going to like this."
"I mean, I always like it," I said I slipped out of my chair and
got onto my knees. I loved the feel of the grass on my skin I loved
spending a moment tasting the day's sweat on his dick.
"Close your eyes."
"Oh."
"I made this for you," he said, stepping before me. I could feel
the heat coming off his body. "And I know it's gonna make you a good boy."
I heard him unbuckle his belt, and the pants drop to the earth. "This is
one of those presents that's for me, as much as it is for you." He said.
"Papa..." I put my hands on his thick thighs. He leaned down and
kissed me on the head. Then I heard the sense of something being unscrewed.
"Take a deep breath." he closed one of my nostrils by pressing his
finger against it and then put a bottle under my free nostril. The scent
was overpowering and familiar, with a hint of strawberries underneath
it. "You never get to complain about me being too thick."
"Pops. You made Poppers?"
"Strawberry flavored." Just like my boy's hole." I moaned as the poppers
hit my head. I never thought I would smell something like this again. The
freedom. Everything left my mind, but the smell of his cock took my nose to
the bottle and shoved me into his swollen crotch.
I loved his cock. The shape of it. The thick head with a wide piss slit and
the solid weight of his thick cock. Seven inches long and seven inches
wide. His pubes were wiry and coarse, and I loved the feel of them on my
cheek. He used to wake me up in the morning, beating his cock against his
chest. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. He looked dreamy in the
golden light as he slapped his cock against my cheek.
"Prettiest little fucker I ever did trap he said. Now goon out." He shoved
the bottle under my other nostril, and I drank in the stretch. I started to
moan, but he quickly shoved my head down on his cock, and it was all I
could do not to choke. He shoved my head up and down and up and down. Using
my hair to hold me where he wanted. Deeper and deeper, he worked his shaft
down my throat. Opening me up. Making me gag. Pulling my head off his cock
to watch the spit lines leak out of my mouth, connecting his cock to my
face.
"Good faggot" he said, opening my mouth with his fingers. "These poppers
gonna turn you into a slut almost as dumb as those infected. Brain starved
bimbo with cock on the brain. Would you like that only serve cock all day?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do anything for Pops poppers won't you."
"Yes, sir."
"Let me work that hole open get my hole first in you." I let out a deep
moan. Frank had been talking about wanting to fist me for months now. Said,
opening up my hole like that would make it easier for him to fuck me. I
kept complaining if it was before the infection when we had poppers and
better lube, I'd let him, but now that we had the poppers, I knew I didn't
have an excuse. I moaned back at him. I wanted him to claim that from
me. Take my hole.
"Papa Bear, you'll destroy me."
"You're mine to destroy. Right now, just focus on my cock." He uncapped the
poppers again and gave me a good hit. "That right. Just worship my
dick. Just like that." I worked the cock with my mouth. Making sure to
slide my tongue up his shaft with every thrust and then let my lips tinger
his head. He loved it when I alternated between deep thrusts and worshiping
the head of his prick. Kept him hard without coming for ages so that he
could edge himself inside me for hours.
Drunk on the poppers, I lay there amongst the vegetables, filling my mouth
with his cock until I felt his body shift.
"Keep focusing on this cock, baby. Papa Bear is gonna take care of you." I
opened my eyes to watch him reach over and pick an ear of corn from a
nearby stock. He peeled the husk, all the while looking at me. "Show me
what you can do, boy." With his cock still in my mouth, I shimmied myself
out of the shorts I was wearing. My juicy ass was framed by the worn straps
of the old jock strap he made me wear. Bill had a few rules in his house
that he asked me to live by. But one of them was that I was either wearing
one of his old jock straps or nothing at all.
"Good boy." then he pressed the tip of the corn to my asshole. The shudder
that worked its way through my body had me gasping for air, but Bill kept
his cock slammed to the back of my throat. And wouldn't let me off.
"You told me all those stories about when you would go to the bars and let
men breed your holes simultaneously. Now show Papa what you were talking
about."
I fought against his hand until I freed myself from being trapped on his
cock.
"It needs lube, sir."
"Such a bitchy bottom." He mumbled before taking the corn and shoving it
into my mouth. "Spit on it, boy, because this is all the lube you're
getting," I mumbled out a yes as I took as much of the corn as I could in
my throat. He reached around and slapped me once hard across the ass.
"Now open up this hole." I moaned and pushed myself back against the
corn. Making sure to arch my back as much as I could. It slipped in inch by
inch until I felt like I could barely take any more squirming on the corn
while I buried my face in his cock. "Good hole. Let Papa work you open."
He kept drilling my ass with the corn and gagging me on his cock. The
sensations were almost overwhelming as he used and abused me. Whenever I
started to pull myself up for air, he would grab me by the hair and pull me
off his cock to shove more poppers into my nose.
"You are nothing but a hole today." He said before spitting on my face. My
cock quivered as he did that. Even if he weren't one of the last men on
Earth, I would have done anything to please him.
When I could barely prop myself up anymore because my head was spinning, he
pulled the ear of corn from my ass and tossed it over the fence.
"Next year will have wild corn." He grabbed me by the balls and viciously
tugged on them until he had maneuvered me onto my back. He looked down at
me in the grass and spit on me again. "You ready for this thick dick now,
boy?" I looked up at him and nodded. I was ready for whatever he wanted to
give me.
Letting go of my balls, he knelt in the grass behind me, lifting my legs.
"Fuck I love the look of your beat-up hole. Finally ready to take this dick
without crying.
He lined up the head of his dick with my asshole and then face me for one
last his of poppers as he looked into my eyes.
Good boy. No, be quiet, or the infected will hear you." Before I could ask
him what he meant, he slapped one hand over my mouth and used the other to
grab me by the throat. He pinned me to the earth and, with one vicious
thrust, pushed himself deep into me. I tried to cry out, but no air escaped
my throat. His eyes turned wicked, and I swear I saw fire dance In his eyes
as he looked at me.
"You are nothing but my cunt, and today you learn that."
He fucked me into the earth until the tears streamed down his face, and his
load leaked out of me. I'm sure I blacked out once or twice because I could
hardly remember the last hour when I finally returned to myself. Everything
was a haze of cum and poppers and the scent of strawberries. He was dressed
and sitting next to me. Smoking one of the few cigars we had left.
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Frank. And I've been mad
the world ended for years now, but I can't be mad any longer because its
ending is what brought you to me. I love you, Frank." The tears welled up
in my eyes once more. In all the time we had spent together, he had yet to
tell me he loved me.
"I love you too, Bill." He reached down and tousled my hair.
"I know."
"I don't want to live a day without you."
"Well, I don't think you'll have to. Can't imagine you surviving without
someone to cook you rabbit and choose your jock strap."
"I don't think I could."
________________
ELI
"This town looks abandoned," I said as Joel walked towards the gate. "You
sure this is where Bill and Frank live?"
"Yeah."
"Looks dead." The last day on the road hadn't been that bad. Joel had
started to tell me stories, and having him talk about something at least
took my mind off the pain in my feet. Felt like I had walked a million
miles, not 20. On our first night out of Boston, we had slept off the road
in a grove of trees. It had been cold, and I had thought Joel might lay
down near me to share body warmth, but he just let me be. I woke shivering
at 6 am to find Joel already up, waiting for the sun to rise. We got to
walking right away. I'd been looking forward to meeting Bill and Frank all
day, if not them, certainly the hot shower Joel had told me about. That
sounded pretty nice right about now, but looking around the deserted town,
thoughts of showering quickly left my head.
"Come on." Joel punched a code in the door, which opened to his touch. We
walked into the small town square, and Joel cocked his gun.
"Somethings not right. Stay close." We made our way towards a beautiful old
home, the front door of which was blowing in the breeze.
"Bill?" Joel called out, "Frank?" We stepped into their dining room. The
table was still set--unwashed plates and bottles of wine all around.
"Stay here, Eli," Joel said as he left the dining room and headed towards
the stairs. Surprised by this still life staring back at me, I looked
around the room. On the mantle was a letter. Somehow it seemed out of place
amongst all the brown furniture, so I walked over to it and found that it
was addressed,' to whoever finds this. Probably Joel and Trey.' I figured I
counted as whomever, so I opened the letter and began to read.
"Don't bemoan our deaths." The letter began. "It was our choice."
"Joel!" I called out. "You're gonna wanna read this."
"What?" He called down. I skimmed the letter fast.
"They left a letter saying not to go in their room." I heard him walking
slowly down the steps. He emerged back into the dining room with a somber
look on his face.
"So they're dead."
"Yeah. They committed suicide a few months ago. Said not to worry; they did
it because Frank's health was failing, and Bill couldn't live without him."
"Bill could be a son-of-a-bitch, but he loved Frank fiercely." Joel punched
the wall once. "Fuck."
"Says your welcome to everything in their storage under the house. Code is
the opposite of the front gate." Joel let out a sharp laugh. "What?"
"Means the passcode is 6969. Such a dumb joke."
"Why is that number funny," I asked.
"You know something you just had to be a teenager before the apocalypse to
enjoy."
"Well, he says to take the guns and the keys to the truck. He also
mentioned that he has a fresh batch of poppers, whatever those are. And he
wanted to ensure you and Trey get up to no good using them." At the mention
of Trey, a frown crossed Joel's face. Deepening his already wrinkled
brow. "Joel, what are poppers?"
"Nothing, kid. Nothing you'd have any use for."
"Well, what's next then? You can't just leave me here; they're dead." Joel
was quiet for a long moment, and he just looked at me. I finally broke away
from his gaze. Maybe being stuck here wouldn't be so bad. The place had big
gates, guns, and poppers, whatever that was.
"I'm still going after my brother Eli. He should be somewhere in
Wyoming. Not far from Salt Lake where the fireflies are meant to be. I'd
say now that we got a truck, you can ride co-pilot."
"Yeah!" I jumped up and knocked the table, causing one of the glasses of
wine to fall over and shatter against the floor. "Sorry," I said to no one
in particular.
"Why don't you clean that up? Dishes too. We're gonna stay here tonight."
"Does that mean we can watch a movie?!" I said
"What?"
"I noticed a TV and a bunch of VHS when we came in. We had some back with
FEDRA. Could we please do a movie night?" Joel looked at me for a long
while and then laughed.
"Sure, kid. It's probably what they made all the poppers for in the first
place."
"What's that?"
"Well, you use poppers to clean VHS. Makes it nice and easy to slide em in
and watch em."
"Oh, cool. Then yeah, let's get the poppers, and I'll see if there is
popcorn." Joel might not know it, but I was determined to make him like me. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
<pre>Date: Mon, 4 Mar 2024 13:47:15 -0500
From: Mark Smith <bodyworkbymarknyc@gmail.com>
Subject: Mushroom Heads: The Last of Yas. Chapter 4, Celebrity
I've cum more times thank to NIFTY than any lover ever. Show them how
much the cummunity means to you and send them some
cash. (link https://donate.nifty.org/)
CONTENT: An explicit gay retelling of the Last of Us. Will Joel be able
to keep Eli safe? And from what?
Sci-fi / Fantasy
Slash Fiction
Incest (in later episodes)
celebrity
If you like this story, consider sending your feedback
to bodyworkbymarknyc@gmail.com I'm looking to write the whole show and
want to hear from you. Connect online at @Gayfan_Erotica on x
Treat me to a cup of coffee or some lube. $storiesbymark on cashapp
CHAPTER 4: POP POP POP ON THE FARM: BILL AND FRANK:
________________
"The rules are simple," Joel said as we walked on the old Route 90,
the branches of the trees crowding overhead. "Don't ask about my past, and
I won't ask about yours."
"I don't have a past I'm 18." The only real past I had to speak of
is everything that had happened in the last ten days. In the morning, after
Trey had died and I still hadn't turned, Joel had agreed to take me out of
the city. We had only run into one bunch of infected along the way. All of
them were runners. They came at us fast, but Joel had Kane's machine gun
and mowed them down. He didn't even stop, just shot them as they charged
him. I'd never seen a man so calm under pressure. Either Joel had a death
wish, or he was just as capable and deadly as Martin had told me he would
be. Getting a chance to see the infected up close in the daylight, I was
scared by what I saw. Their skin had weird purple lesions and fungal
growths that sprouted around their orifices. They moved almost humanly, but
as if they were a full-grown adult learning to walk. Any thought I had of
not doing precisely what Joel wanted of me vanished in that first
firefight. He may be cold and distant, but the man was a trained killer.
"Well, I won't ask you about your past, Eli. We're just in this
till we get to Bill and Frank's." I thought of letting the silence stretch
between us, but there was nothing else to do on the road, and I was
curious.
"Who are they?" I finally asked as the morning gave way to the
afternoon.
"I said no questions."
"You said about your past. I just want to know who they
are. Especially if you're going to leave me with them."
"You'll get along fine there." He gave me a knowing look and half
of a smile. It was the only emotion I had seen him show since we left
Boston. He had barely talked for a full after Trey had died. Just grunted
and pointed the way to go. He stared up between the branches at the blue
sky overhead. "Trey would have called them friends."
"And you?" Joel was silent for a long moment.
"You're not gonna just let me walk there in quiet, are you?"
"Martin told me to trust no one, and now you're gonna leave me with
strangers, so yeah, I'd like to know who they are." Joel went back to being
silent. He was more stoic than a rock. We walked for another ten minutes in
silence, the morning air only broken by the sounds of the birds whirling
overhead.
"I'd call them friends too... They found each other in this
madness, and they made it work. Frank told me the story once; he's the kind
one. Bill. Well, Bill is an odd one. Sort of looks like Santa Claus but
acts like the Grinch."
"Who?" Joel looked at me, and a flicker of sadness crossed his face.
"Doesn't matter. I'll tell you about em best I can, though there is a lot
you're too young for."
"I'm old enough.
"Look. They met after the world ended, and like everyone who met in those
times, I think they were just grateful to have someone to talk to at
first." The story started slowly. A sentence here or there, as if he, too,
was trying to remember their story. But it spooled out from him as we
walked in the autumn air.
JOEL
________________
Trey's death had left me empty. I'd lost a lot in this
life. Somehow never thought I'd lose Trey. Feeling him die in my arms, I
realized I'd taken him for granted. He was a good man. Better than I was,
and it was only that he asked me as his dying wish to take this kid to Bill
and Frank that I was. If I had had it my way, I'm not sure what I would
do. Maybe try my luck finding a car and starting my drive to Jackson,
Wyoming, or just walk into a nest of infected and try to take as many of
those fuckers with me before they got me too. All I knew is none of my
plans really featured the kid.
He was a loose end, a liability. In the morning, when he wasn't
infected, I realized Trey had been right. This kid was immune. I didn't
know what that meant exactly, but a lot of people would end up fighting
over this kid when he realized what he was. It was better I just kept my
distance. Better for both of us, he had his destiny, and I had mine. It was
easier not to get attached and let the science geeks sort it out.
I kept cursing Martin for saddling me with this fucking kid. He knew what
he was, and he still had shoved him off on me. I'd never been close to
Martin, but I knew Tommy had told him about Sam. Martin probably knew the
kid would be safe with me because some part of me would be trying to atone
for the son I had failed to protect. But fuck, it was a head trip realizing
this kid wasn't just any kid; he was everyone's kid. The promise of a world
without any infected. The thought alone was enough to put my nerves on
edge, probably while I'd been turning at every twig snap, ready to mow down
a legion of infected if any of them sprung up.
I'd honor Trey's final wish of getting the boy safely to Bill and Franks as
penance for all the years I should have let down my walls and let him into
my heart. But after that, I was making a B-line for Tommy. With Trey gone,
Tommy was all the family I had left, and I wasn't about to lose him too.
At the rate we were walking, we had at least another day on the road before
we got to Bill and Frank's. After that, the kid would be out of my
life. Figured it was probably best to give the kid a primer on what his
life was gonna be like with the boys, so I started trying to think back and
remember the stories Frank had told me about his early years with Bill. If
anything, it would shut the kid up, and I wouldn't have to answer questions
about every fucking thing we saw on the side of the road. I needed a drink
and maybe an afternoon of fucking Frank while Bill smoked one of those
Cuban cigars he kept squirreled away for days when he wanted to pig out and
go, full leather dad. A day with some men would help calm me down and
certainly help me from having all these stray thoughts about fucking
Eli. The way that pert ass bounced as it walked made me think dirty
thoughts.
________________
Frank
________________
"Hello," I called out from inside the pit. "What sort of fuck had dug a
trench around their house. Can someone fucking get me out of here?" The
first thing I saw was the barrel of his gun as it peered over the trench
down at me. I hadn't really expected anyone to hear me, startled I yelled
up at him, "I'm not infected. I promise."
"Why are you in my pit." his voice sounded Republican.
"I was just walking through. Trying to make my way to Boston." he
was backlit by the sun, and I couldn't make out much.
"It's another 25 miles down the road." the voice drawled back.
"Yeah, well, I'm in a pit now. So if you can, just let me out I'll
be on my way."
"Can't do that."
"Why?"
"You may be infected."
"Well, I'm not."
"Good then, if you're not infected, you won't be infected
tomorrow." With that, he walked away. I looked at myself in the steadily
diminishing daylight; all 5 feet 10 of my slender frame was dirty, and I
was sure my floppy hair was a mess of twigs and leaves. Ten minutes later,
he tossed the end of a baguette into the hole and left without saying a
word. That was the last I saw of him all afternoon or evening. I should
have known he was a stubborn old bull then.
---
"You're still human." His voice woke me up. At some point in the
night, I had fallen asleep. I stared up out of the hole at the man above
me. He was backlit by the morning sun, but he cut an impressive figure. A
bear of a man. He must have stood 6 foot 2, with a big belly and a bigger
beard. He looked to be just past 40. Distinguished by the trials of life.
"I told you. I'm just trying to get to Boston."
"No one wanted to go to Boston even before the world ended." I
laughed at him.
"I'm only headed there because the Baltimore QZ fell, and I know
I'm not gonna survive long on my own."
"Well, you can tell me about your survival skills over dinner."
"Dinner?!"
"I'll be back to get you out of the hole when I finish my work." He was
gone as soon as he had said it.
---
"I thought you said dinner," I called up. It must have been close
to 10 PM I had long since figured he'd forgotten about me.
"I got busy."
"Doing what?"
"Checking the rest of my traps."
"The rest of them!? How many do you have?" Something in my bones
just told me this place would be my end; I was never leaving here.
"Enough to keep me safe." He paused for a long moment. "You like
rabbits?"
"Rabbit?"
"You're not the only thing I've caught."
"I do."
"Well, I'll come get you once I've got dinner on the stove."
"I can help you!" I called after him, but he had already turned to walk
away. "I'm a homosexual. We're good in a kitchen."
---
The ladder slid into the hole.
"Come on up." I scrambled out of the hole faster than I had climbed
anything in my life. When I got to the top, I had my first chance to really
look around. We were standing 20 feet away from a makeshift fence. Beyond
that was what looked like several pristine blocks of a New England
town. "Strip."
"Ask a man his name first."
"Need to make sure they're aren't any bites."
"It's been two days."
"Still." He cocked the gun. I pulled off my clothes quickly. Like
me, they were covered in dirt and dried mud. I tossed them into a pile near
his feet. I thought of leaving my boxers on, but his look told me that
wouldn't be enough. I tossed them off and then grabbed my cock with my
hand. He had that gruffness about him that gets softened by the homosexual
lifestyle leading me to believe this man must be straight. He looked me
over with a clinical eye. It reminded me of what happened after swim
practice as a kid. The coach would return to the locker room and line up
all the boys to check how our bodies were developing under his
tutelage. Being inspected by him made me grow into a man who always wanted
to please the straight men in my life. As I stood there, I cursed the
coach's name--a lifetime of standing naked and at attention for the
straight men in my life.
"I don't like dirt in the house, so leave the clothes here." the
way he told me what to do was second nature to him. It made my dick jump.
"Am I eating dinner naked?" Maybe I was wrong about him being
straight.
"I thought you might want a shower." he turned and walked towards
the house. I followed, not knowing what to do. "And I've raided some of the
neighbor's houses for clothes that might fit a trim man. 30-inch waist?"
"Yes. How'd you know?"
"I'm good at sizing men up."
---
"I've never felt this clean." I was wearing the clothes he had picked out
for me. A pair of acid-washed jeans and an old green t-shirt that said,
`Wild Man.'
"You a dirty man?" there wasn't even a hint of a smile as he said it. Ever
since I had begun walking around his house, I had begun to suspect that
maybe my initial thought that the man had been straight was misguided, but
then he'd go and spout off something like this without a trace of irony,
and I'd realize there was no way he could be gay. His home was a mausoleum
to antiques and the presence of an older woman long since passed.
"Supposed not, just haven't had a warm shower in 3 months."
"3 months?"
"I've been on the road that long from Baltimore. Hot shower. Dinner. Drink!
It's like I've died and gone to heaven." I took a big mouthful and stared
down the well-set mahogany table at the handsome bear sitting opposite
me. He was curt and dismissive, but I could see a man who wanted to soften
up underneath his hard exterior.
"Not Heaven, just Lincoln, Mass."
"Why are you here in Lincoln all by yourself?"
"Wouldn't leave when they rounded us up for the QZ. Now this town is my
own."
"Just you."
"Just me."
"Sounds lonely."
"Worlds lonely these days." We looked at each other for a moment. Both of
our forks were frozen on their way to our mouths. He had such soft-looking
lips for a harsh man; plump was the only way I could describe them. I kept
imagining them on my cheek, my neck my back. Biting his lower lip between
my teeth and his flesh give and open.
"Who was the last person you talked to?" I asked when the silence was too
much.
"It was my mom's wake the week before the world died."
"That was two years ago."
"Then two years." I raised my glass of red wine to him.
"Well, here's to the best dinner I've had in two years. This wine pairs
perfectly with this rabbit."
"Thank you for noticing. We will switch to a Harvest Reisling to go with
the apple pie for dessert."
"Desert wine. Was this how you seduced all the women before the world
ended." He took a big drink of his wine.
"They're never were any women."
"How about men?" He looked at me and then took a big gulp of the red,
finishing it in one.
---
"It's so thick." I moaned as his cock pressed against my sphincter.
"The way you ate everything on your plate, I figured you had a big
appetite." I started up at him from my back, lying naked in his bed. He
loomed over me--a raw and masculine bear. His belly was nice and thick, and
I kept rubbing my hands across his fur as he looked down at me. We had
finished dinner and another few glasses of wine when he stood up and
announced it was time to go to bed. Not knowing what to do, I followed
him. I thought he might point me to a room, but he just walked into his
room and closed the door behind him. We stood there, unsure of what to do
next, until I reached out and placed my hand against his crotch. That was
all we needed. The kisses came furiously at first. From both of us, we
ripped off each other's clothes and made our way toward the four-poster
bed.
"Be gentle with me." He moved my legs until they rested on his pecs
and then firmly but deliberately pushed his thumb into my mouth. I moaned
back at him.
"You gonna set the table."
"Yes, sir."
"You gonna wash the dishes."
"Yes, sir."
"Then I think you can stick around another week." He moved the head
of his dick off my ass and pushed his thumb into my sphincter. "And we can
use that time to loosen you up."
"Please fuck me. Please."
"Soon. I don't want to break my new toy after unwrapping it. Now
moan for papa bear." He shoved his finger deeper inside me, and I
shuttered. His finger went right to my prostate and started rubbing it. I
began leaking pre-cum almost instantly. As he worked and rubbed on me, I
felt my sphincter open up, craving more of him. I tensed my hole on his
fingers, milking his hand as he felt my insides. I looked up into his eyes,
and he just smiled before spitting on my face. I looked back in shock, but
he slapped me across the face before I could say anything.
"Ughhhh, Bill." I moaned.
"You like that slut?"
"Fuck."
"You want more?" I thought about it, his hand resting gently on my
cheek. It was so big. Everything about him was big. I nodded once. His
finger pushed deeper into me, and as I moaned, he slapped me again.
"Train you up."
"Yes, Bill."
"Call me Papa." So I did.
---
I stayed that week, the next, and the one after that. Before we
knew it, we were making plans for the winter together. Then the winter
came. Driven indoors for what felt like weeks at a time, we found different
ways to distract ourselves, and he discovered every way to make my body
moan.
---
"I have a present for you." He said, walking up to me as I sat in
the noonday sun next to our vegetable patch. He was wearing the brown and
red plaid shirt I loved, unbuttoned with a pair of Carhartts. He looked
like every construction stud I had jerked off to when I had been growing up
on the outskirts of Baltimore. But he was mine. This stud had bent me over
his bed every night after dinner and every morning when I woke to take his
cock.
"Is it our anniversary already."
"I pulled you from my hole three years ago."
"Pulled me out of one hole just to get deep into mine."
"Something like that." I had never had a man claim my hole so wholly. His
dick wasn't the longest dick that had ever fucked me, but it was the
thickest. Getting fucked by him had hurt for the first few months I had
been here. But I quickly realized the only way I would keep him happy was
to train my hole. I'd wake up early in the morning or sneak back from the
fields where we grew our vegetables to slip in my butt plug. It was one of
the few possessions I brought when I left Baltimore. Spending time training
my hole before he used me was the only thing that kept me from limping
around the house all day.
"Oh fuck, I don't know if my hole can handle another session," I
said with a fake whimper. He had woken me up this morning and fucked me so
long and deep.
"You're going to like this."
"I mean, I always like it," I said I slipped out of my chair and
got onto my knees. I loved the feel of the grass on my skin I loved
spending a moment tasting the day's sweat on his dick.
"Close your eyes."
"Oh."
"I made this for you," he said, stepping before me. I could feel
the heat coming off his body. "And I know it's gonna make you a good boy."
I heard him unbuckle his belt, and the pants drop to the earth. "This is
one of those presents that's for me, as much as it is for you." He said.
"Papa..." I put my hands on his thick thighs. He leaned down and
kissed me on the head. Then I heard the sense of something being unscrewed.
"Take a deep breath." he closed one of my nostrils by pressing his
finger against it and then put a bottle under my free nostril. The scent
was overpowering and familiar, with a hint of strawberries underneath
it. "You never get to complain about me being too thick."
"Pops. You made Poppers?"
"Strawberry flavored." Just like my boy's hole." I moaned as the poppers
hit my head. I never thought I would smell something like this again. The
freedom. Everything left my mind, but the smell of his cock took my nose to
the bottle and shoved me into his swollen crotch.
I loved his cock. The shape of it. The thick head with a wide piss slit and
the solid weight of his thick cock. Seven inches long and seven inches
wide. His pubes were wiry and coarse, and I loved the feel of them on my
cheek. He used to wake me up in the morning, beating his cock against his
chest. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. He looked dreamy in the
golden light as he slapped his cock against my cheek.
"Prettiest little fucker I ever did trap he said. Now goon out." He shoved
the bottle under my other nostril, and I drank in the stretch. I started to
moan, but he quickly shoved my head down on his cock, and it was all I
could do not to choke. He shoved my head up and down and up and down. Using
my hair to hold me where he wanted. Deeper and deeper, he worked his shaft
down my throat. Opening me up. Making me gag. Pulling my head off his cock
to watch the spit lines leak out of my mouth, connecting his cock to my
face.
"Good faggot" he said, opening my mouth with his fingers. "These poppers
gonna turn you into a slut almost as dumb as those infected. Brain starved
bimbo with cock on the brain. Would you like that only serve cock all day?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do anything for Pops poppers won't you."
"Yes, sir."
"Let me work that hole open get my hole first in you." I let out a deep
moan. Frank had been talking about wanting to fist me for months now. Said,
opening up my hole like that would make it easier for him to fuck me. I
kept complaining if it was before the infection when we had poppers and
better lube, I'd let him, but now that we had the poppers, I knew I didn't
have an excuse. I moaned back at him. I wanted him to claim that from
me. Take my hole.
"Papa Bear, you'll destroy me."
"You're mine to destroy. Right now, just focus on my cock." He uncapped the
poppers again and gave me a good hit. "That right. Just worship my
dick. Just like that." I worked the cock with my mouth. Making sure to
slide my tongue up his shaft with every thrust and then let my lips tinger
his head. He loved it when I alternated between deep thrusts and worshiping
the head of his prick. Kept him hard without coming for ages so that he
could edge himself inside me for hours.
Drunk on the poppers, I lay there amongst the vegetables, filling my mouth
with his cock until I felt his body shift.
"Keep focusing on this cock, baby. Papa Bear is gonna take care of you." I
opened my eyes to watch him reach over and pick an ear of corn from a
nearby stock. He peeled the husk, all the while looking at me. "Show me
what you can do, boy." With his cock still in my mouth, I shimmied myself
out of the shorts I was wearing. My juicy ass was framed by the worn straps
of the old jock strap he made me wear. Bill had a few rules in his house
that he asked me to live by. But one of them was that I was either wearing
one of his old jock straps or nothing at all.
"Good boy." then he pressed the tip of the corn to my asshole. The shudder
that worked its way through my body had me gasping for air, but Bill kept
his cock slammed to the back of my throat. And wouldn't let me off.
"You told me all those stories about when you would go to the bars and let
men breed your holes simultaneously. Now show Papa what you were talking
about."
I fought against his hand until I freed myself from being trapped on his
cock.
"It needs lube, sir."
"Such a bitchy bottom." He mumbled before taking the corn and shoving it
into my mouth. "Spit on it, boy, because this is all the lube you're
getting," I mumbled out a yes as I took as much of the corn as I could in
my throat. He reached around and slapped me once hard across the ass.
"Now open up this hole." I moaned and pushed myself back against the
corn. Making sure to arch my back as much as I could. It slipped in inch by
inch until I felt like I could barely take any more squirming on the corn
while I buried my face in his cock. "Good hole. Let Papa work you open."
He kept drilling my ass with the corn and gagging me on his cock. The
sensations were almost overwhelming as he used and abused me. Whenever I
started to pull myself up for air, he would grab me by the hair and pull me
off his cock to shove more poppers into my nose.
"You are nothing but a hole today." He said before spitting on my face. My
cock quivered as he did that. Even if he weren't one of the last men on
Earth, I would have done anything to please him.
When I could barely prop myself up anymore because my head was spinning, he
pulled the ear of corn from my ass and tossed it over the fence.
"Next year will have wild corn." He grabbed me by the balls and viciously
tugged on them until he had maneuvered me onto my back. He looked down at
me in the grass and spit on me again. "You ready for this thick dick now,
boy?" I looked up at him and nodded. I was ready for whatever he wanted to
give me.
Letting go of my balls, he knelt in the grass behind me, lifting my legs.
"Fuck I love the look of your beat-up hole. Finally ready to take this dick
without crying.
He lined up the head of his dick with my asshole and then face me for one
last his of poppers as he looked into my eyes.
Good boy. No, be quiet, or the infected will hear you." Before I could ask
him what he meant, he slapped one hand over my mouth and used the other to
grab me by the throat. He pinned me to the earth and, with one vicious
thrust, pushed himself deep into me. I tried to cry out, but no air escaped
my throat. His eyes turned wicked, and I swear I saw fire dance In his eyes
as he looked at me.
"You are nothing but my cunt, and today you learn that."
He fucked me into the earth until the tears streamed down his face, and his
load leaked out of me. I'm sure I blacked out once or twice because I could
hardly remember the last hour when I finally returned to myself. Everything
was a haze of cum and poppers and the scent of strawberries. He was dressed
and sitting next to me. Smoking one of the few cigars we had left.
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Frank. And I've been mad
the world ended for years now, but I can't be mad any longer because its
ending is what brought you to me. I love you, Frank." The tears welled up
in my eyes once more. In all the time we had spent together, he had yet to
tell me he loved me.
"I love you too, Bill." He reached down and tousled my hair.
"I know."
"I don't want to live a day without you."
"Well, I don't think you'll have to. Can't imagine you surviving without
someone to cook you rabbit and choose your jock strap."
"I don't think I could."
________________
ELI
"This town looks abandoned," I said as Joel walked towards the gate. "You
sure this is where Bill and Frank live?"
"Yeah."
"Looks dead." The last day on the road hadn't been that bad. Joel had
started to tell me stories, and having him talk about something at least
took my mind off the pain in my feet. Felt like I had walked a million
miles, not 20. On our first night out of Boston, we had slept off the road
in a grove of trees. It had been cold, and I had thought Joel might lay
down near me to share body warmth, but he just let me be. I woke shivering
at 6 am to find Joel already up, waiting for the sun to rise. We got to
walking right away. I'd been looking forward to meeting Bill and Frank all
day, if not them, certainly the hot shower Joel had told me about. That
sounded pretty nice right about now, but looking around the deserted town,
thoughts of showering quickly left my head.
"Come on." Joel punched a code in the door, which opened to his touch. We
walked into the small town square, and Joel cocked his gun.
"Somethings not right. Stay close." We made our way towards a beautiful old
home, the front door of which was blowing in the breeze.
"Bill?" Joel called out, "Frank?" We stepped into their dining room. The
table was still set--unwashed plates and bottles of wine all around.
"Stay here, Eli," Joel said as he left the dining room and headed towards
the stairs. Surprised by this still life staring back at me, I looked
around the room. On the mantle was a letter. Somehow it seemed out of place
amongst all the brown furniture, so I walked over to it and found that it
was addressed,' to whoever finds this. Probably Joel and Trey.' I figured I
counted as whomever, so I opened the letter and began to read.
"Don't bemoan our deaths." The letter began. "It was our choice."
"Joel!" I called out. "You're gonna wanna read this."
"What?" He called down. I skimmed the letter fast.
"They left a letter saying not to go in their room." I heard him walking
slowly down the steps. He emerged back into the dining room with a somber
look on his face.
"So they're dead."
"Yeah. They committed suicide a few months ago. Said not to worry; they did
it because Frank's health was failing, and Bill couldn't live without him."
"Bill could be a son-of-a-bitch, but he loved Frank fiercely." Joel punched
the wall once. "Fuck."
"Says your welcome to everything in their storage under the house. Code is
the opposite of the front gate." Joel let out a sharp laugh. "What?"
"Means the passcode is 6969. Such a dumb joke."
"Why is that number funny," I asked.
"You know something you just had to be a teenager before the apocalypse to
enjoy."
"Well, he says to take the guns and the keys to the truck. He also
mentioned that he has a fresh batch of poppers, whatever those are. And he
wanted to ensure you and Trey get up to no good using them." At the mention
of Trey, a frown crossed Joel's face. Deepening his already wrinkled
brow. "Joel, what are poppers?"
"Nothing, kid. Nothing you'd have any use for."
"Well, what's next then? You can't just leave me here; they're dead." Joel
was quiet for a long moment, and he just looked at me. I finally broke away
from his gaze. Maybe being stuck here wouldn't be so bad. The place had big
gates, guns, and poppers, whatever that was.
"I'm still going after my brother Eli. He should be somewhere in
Wyoming. Not far from Salt Lake where the fireflies are meant to be. I'd
say now that we got a truck, you can ride co-pilot."
"Yeah!" I jumped up and knocked the table, causing one of the glasses of
wine to fall over and shatter against the floor. "Sorry," I said to no one
in particular.
"Why don't you clean that up? Dishes too. We're gonna stay here tonight."
"Does that mean we can watch a movie?!" I said
"What?"
"I noticed a TV and a bunch of VHS when we came in. We had some back with
FEDRA. Could we please do a movie night?" Joel looked at me for a long
while and then laughed.
"Sure, kid. It's probably what they made all the poppers for in the first
place."
"What's that?"
"Well, you use poppers to clean VHS. Makes it nice and easy to slide em in
and watch em."
"Oh, cool. Then yeah, let's get the poppers, and I'll see if there is
popcorn." Joel might not know it, but I was determined to make him like me.
</pre>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/formula-football/georgies-pudding-in-masons-pie | Date: Mon, 3 Apr 2023 08:00:00 +0100 From: PCW Tosh Subject: Georgie's Pudding in Mason's Pie Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence that this actually happened, but we can all dream. Stay healthy and practice safe sex! Happy reading. Formula Football 3: Georgie's Puding in Mason's Pie George Russell sauntered through the paddock; his coveralls peeled down to his hips as he walked. The young British driver could feel the eyes following him as he strode around with his chin held high. Some of those who turned to look were attracted by the tall Brit's confidence which emitted around him. Others noticed George's fine arse which held his coveralls up, his slim upper body covered in a thin racing baselayer which left little to the imagination, everyone could see that George was in incredible shape. Mason Mount sat transfixed on the TV screen, watching George as he strutted. Something about the way the Mercedes driver moved, the confidence and the physique under his skin-tight clothing called to Mason. [Mental note, make sure we have a chat with George at Sports Personality.] Mason told himself. Mason picked up his phone and found a message from his Chelsea teammate, Timo Werner, "You still want to go to the Grand Prix sometime? Maybe we can do the Monaco Grand Prix?" "Fuck yes, danke <3!!!!" He replied excitedly. Timo could get the lads into the F1 paddock with Red Bull and Mason wasn't going to miss the opportunity for a photoshoot with megastars like Mercedes drivers Lewis and George. At the end of the French spring, Mason landed in Nice and along with his Chelsea teammate Timo Werner they were driven to the infamous city of Monte Carlo. "Is this your first time in Monte Carlo?" Timo asked Mason, watching the way the English midfielder was taking in the scenery. "Yeah. Looks pretty cool." Mason replied into the glass. "Yeah, I've heard it's pretty sweet here." Timo added. "Sweet, I'm looking forward to it." Mason beamed back to Timo who returned the smile. After driving for an hour, the car pulled into the paddock and security allowed them in, it was the first time in a long time Mason had entered somewhere and suddenly felt as though he was just a normal young English lad. The driver stepped out and opened the door for the footballers who skipped into the warm French summer's morning. "Merci." Timo nodded, shaking the driver's hand and slipping him a tip. Timo led the way through the paddock towards the Red Bull garages. The electric atmosphere excited Mason who giggled uncontrollably causing Timo to smirk himself. "Don't wet your knickers Mase." Timo grinned. "You wish mate, none of the yellow stuff." Mason sniggered. "Horny little bitch. Don't embarrass me." Timo hissed as they came to a stop at the Red Bull garage. "I won't, I promise." Mason continued down to the next set of garages and peered into the Mercedes garage. The sheer number of men and women running around busily working on the two magnificent machines amazed the Chelsea star. Suddenly behind Mason there was an explosion of excitement, fans running towards something the footballer couldn't quite make it. In the scrum of cameras and waving autograph books, Mason could make out two figures all in black walking towards him. Moving to the side to let the mass of people past him, Mason watched on in awe as 7-time World Champion Lewis Hamilton and his teammate, former F2 champion George Russell made their way to their cars. Rejoining Timo, Mason and the German watched as the engineers fired the cars up and their drivers took them out onto the circuit. Watching the navy-blue cars pull away with a roar, Mason felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The roar from the crowd as the cars circulated made the footballers feel as though they were at Stamford Bridge in front of their beloved fans. Timo hugged Mason around the waist as they both smiled before pointing at the camera as F1 TV panned to the footballers. Following the first practice session the drivers jumped out of their cars and attended their debriefs while Mason and Timo watched the engineers hard at work making modifications to the cars. The activity was amazing to see, thinking about how much work went into making Chelsea a successful football team, the hive of activity around the two cars made the footballers think there was so much more to F1 than the fans saw on TV. The Red Bull Racing team hosted a fantastic dinner with perfectly prepared meat and fish, luxurious desserts and expensive wines from the south of France. Mason and Timo sat together beaming as they stuffed their faces, "Food's so good." Mason beamed between bites. "Yeah, told you it'd be fun." Timo agreed, Mason nodded in agreement. "Sup boys." A voice spoke from above. World Champion Max Verstappen beamed down upon the Chelsea star. "Hey dude." Timo grinned through a mouthful of food, jumping up and throwing his arms around Max. The Dutchman reciprocated, closing his arms around Timo and cuddling the little German then noticing Mason he winked towards the Englishman. "Hey." "Alright mate." Mason replied. "See you later yeah." Max smiled at Timo who returned the favour. "You abandoning me later?" Mason asked, shovelling down another mouthful of food. "You can come along if you like." Timo replied nonplussed. "You're alright, might see if I can get a pic with the Mercedes boys." "Traitor." Timo chuckled. Practice 2 and the cars hit the track to a symphony of noise. Mason and Timo chuckled, pointing at themselves on the F1 TV feed again. The Red Bulls were having a mixed session, World Champion Max Verstappen up with the front runners while Checo was a little further back unable to find the raw speed Max had. Every time the stunning Red Bulls returned to the garage, the Chelsea boys whipped out their phones taking pictures and videos of the team at work. The chequered flag dropped, and the mechanics got to work as the drivers climbed out of their vehicles. The grandstands emptied while the footballers headed into the paddock. Fans took pictures frantically of the F1 superstars and of Timo and Mason as they joined the buzz. Posing for picture after picture, Timo and Mason worked their way back to the Red Bull hospitality wing where they were treated to bottles of San Miguel beer and canapes. Following their debrief, the Red Bull drivers joined the post practice function to mingle with the guests. Spotting the Chelsea lads, Max moved towards them. "Enjoying yourself boys?" Max beamed. "I'm looking forward to Sunday when you do some actual work." Timo teased. "Hmm, and I'll enjoy it when you score an actual goal." Max retorted with a cutting backhand of a response. Mason could sense a sexual tension between the pair in this verbal cock fight, [to be a fly on the wall.] Mason sniggered to himself. "What's going on with you and Max?" Mason asked Timo after Max had left them again to mingle with more of the guests. "Nothing." Timo lied. "Red Bullshit." Mason scoffed, "Well fine, just leave a hanger on the door when I go for a walk later." Mason giggled. "Why, is your mum here?" Timo replied, flushing red as he spoke. "Haha, bitch." Mason snorted, falling onto Timo's shoulder. A couple more beers later, it was time to go. Timo shuffled nervously thinking up his excuse to abandon Mason. "I'm gonna head back in a sec, if you want to stay though man." Timo slurred. "Nahhh." Mason giggled, looking into Timo's blue eyes. [The fucker's trying to ditch me.] Mason clocked, hiding a judgemental frown. "Yeah, that's cool. I'm gonna walk through the paddock for a bit." Mason smiled. "Ok buddy, see you in the hotel." Timo beamed, throwing his arms around Mason's shoulders and hugging him tight then disappearing off. Emptying his 5th beer, Mason placed the bottle down on the table and headed for the exit. Walking out into the warm Monte Carlo evening the paddock was still semi busy. The Chelsea star heading down towards the end of the paddock and back to the hotel to chill. "You alright?" Mason looked in the direction of the concerned sounding voice. "Yeah, yeah. George Russell!!!" Mason blurted, his jaw falling in shock at the sight of the Mercedes driver right there. "Mason Mount." George replied, sounding unimpressed. "What are you doing here?" He continued. "Was at the Red Bull thing." Mason replied, pointing towards the Red Bull hospitality area. "Ahh nice, had a few beers and heading back?" George inquired. "Yeah, I guess." Mason replied, sounding unsure. The Mercedes driver had been walking by and slowed at the sight of Mason meandering through the paddock. "Up for a game of FIFA?" George smiled. "Ahh ok, I'm, like, drunk though, so I'm not gonna be my best." Mason explained. "Even better." George chuckled. "Come with me." He finished marching off with Mason jogging after him. George pushed his motorhome door open followed by the Chelsea star. "Cool place." Mason started as he drank in the clean, modern decor of the Mercedes motorhome. "Pretty decent innit." George replied, heading into the living area. "Take a seat " George continued heading over to the TV and opening a cabinet below it. Pulling out two PlayStation controllers and a remote. The machine started and the TV flashed into life while George made his way over to the couch throwing himself down next to Mason. Handing the footballer the controller, George took the opportunity to check Mason out from close quarters. "Thanks." Mason grinned, looking deep into the Mercedes driver's eyes. "Ahhh it's Tekken. Lemme change it." George announced, glancing over to the screen. "Nah, that's ok!" Mason replied, preventing George from getting up by holding the 24-year-old's leg. "Keen!" George beamed. "Absolutely!!" Mason grinned back at him. George's mind took no time at all to work out the equation. The Mercedes driver tossed his controller aside and moved in for the kiss. Mason found himself being caught semi off guard not realising how good a flirt he was. George's full, pouting lips pressed into Mason's, pushing the footballer's head back against the back of the chair. Mason reached around George's torso to pull the Mercedes driver towards him. With no words, just body language, George ended up above the footballer forcing his tongue into Mason's throat while his slender body weighed down on Mason's slender body. The Mercedes driver broke away and in response Mason could only blush and hide his face. George took the opportunity to check Mason out and smiled. "You gonna invite me to the football some time?" George grinned. "Maybe, who do you support?" Mason chuckled. "Who do you support in F1, cos I heard it was Lewis and Lando." George glanced at Mason with a raised eyebrow. "I like you too. I'm backing all the Brits." Mason giggled. "Good good, so I'll see you at The Bridge then." George grinned, switching the game on. The alcohol had taken hold of Mason's senses and after losing two matchups, the silly Mason began to surface. Halfway through losing his third straight matchup, Mason reached across flicking George's controls. "Gerroff!!!" George bellowed, pulling his controller away from Mason's reach. The cheeky footballer reached across again, this time succeeding in knocking the controller out of George's hand. "Cunt!!!" George spat, trying to dive for the controller and taking Mason down with him. The Pompey lad still giggled uncontrollably, "Think that's funny." George barked through gritted teeth, feigning anger. "Yeah." Mason laughed on. "Fine!" George hissed, grabbing Mason and pulling him to the ground, pinning the 23-year-old to sit down on the ground with his athletic body. "You got me, like in the game.' Mason laughed adorably. "So, I win again?" George smirked. "You win again." Mason conceded with a twinkle in his eyes that George knew only too well. George leaned in closer to Mason's face, watching Mason's lips pucker as he approached until they were united. The Mercedes driver stared deep into Mason's brown eyes as the footballer granted him both control and access to his mouth. George grinned tasting the alcohol on Mason's breath as his tongue slithered along the inside of the Chelsea star's mouth. George took Mason's compliance as a green light and adding a little more intensity, the Mercedes driver pushed forward into the footballer's lips. At 6'2" (1.88m) George had a height advantage over Mason and as the F1 driver applied more weight to Mason's lips, the footballer allowed George to push him back onto the couch. Mason's arms reached up around George's back and as a Mercedes driver fed Mason his tongue, the footballer stroked his back encouragingly. To Mason's delight, George responded to his encouragement by adding a little more force behind his lips and grinding his crotch down into Mason's. Unlike Mason, George had a sober night. The Mercedes driver's breath tasted like fresh coffee which Mason suspected he may have had after a nice healthy dinner. The footballer wasn't shy to make his intentions known and reaching under the hem of George's shirt, Mason began to ease the fabric up towards the racer's head. George was in two minds, thinking to himself whether or not this was a good idea so close to race day but how often did this opportunity come about? The Mercedes driver allowed his lips to part from Mason's and stretching out his arms, George allowed his shirt to slide free. "Wow!" Mason giggled, his eyes studying George's upper body. "Surprised?" George grinned back, proud that his effort in the gym had not gone unnoticed. It was George's turn to peel off Mason's shirt. The footballer wore an outer shirt which he left unbuttoned over a nice slim-fit t-shirt. George placed his fingers under the hem of Mason's purple t-shirt and gave it one firm tug upwards giving Mason just enough time to lift his back off the couch and let it slide free. "Holy moly!" George gasped at the sight of Mason's naked torso, "Just as good as in your pics!" George finished. "My pics?" Mason repeated with a cheeky smile, "What d'ya mean?" He asked inquisitively. "Never mind." George waved dismissively. "You like my topless pics?" Mason persisted. George didn't answer, raising a finger to his lips the F1 driver closed the gap between his face and Mason's once more planting a firm kiss on the Pompey lad. Mason didn't need any further reassurance; George's accidental slip had given the footballer an extra inside into George's mindset. With George's weight back on him, Mason raised his legs to straddle the Mercedes driver's waist. Mason squeezed George tight making his intentions clear to the East Anglian. For an added touch, the footballer began to caress George's smooth torso gently sliding his fingers across the F1 driver's firm pecs. Since Mason had become increasingly handsy, George decided that he too would explore the 23-year-old's body. The Mercedes driver stared at the footballer's smooth chest, running his hands along Mason's pale, toned sides giving them a gentle squeeze. George then decided to one up Mason and guided his hands straight down to Mason's arse. The footballer groaned as George's hands gripped his tight buttocks. In addition to his wandering fingers George also leant into Mason's crotch with his own just to feel them both throb through their shorts. Mason inhaled, making himself even thinner in George's hands. The Chelsea footballer also lifted his legs a little higher as George's wandering hands explored his firm asked cheeks. Gradually George's hands move closer and closer to Mason's waistband and as they moved across the seam George's fingers slipped underneath pulling Mason's shorts and boxers up in one dominant drag. Mason giggled a submissive little laugh as George exposed his lower half. George ignored the 23-year-old's laughter and held the footballer's legs shoulder width apart; he looked down Mason's thick muscular thighs. Next the Mercedes driver reached down to his own waistband pushing his shorts down past his arse allowing them to fall to his knees where he knelt on the soft couch. "Yes boyyyyy!" Mason cheered at the sight of George's 8.5-inch cock at full mast and ready for action. "I hope you're gonna fuck me with that big dick." Mason giggled shamelessly. "Hmmm, I've got to work tomorrow maybe you should fuck yourself with it." George winked. "Deal!" Mason snapped, pushing himself up to sit upright. "Now feed it to me." Mason demanded. "Uh-huh." George frowned, shaking his head and his index finger simultaneously. "You're a big boy, you can feed yourself." George winked smugly. Mason pushed George back gently, guiding the F1 driver to sit back and relax. George followed Mason's guidance and sat back in his chair with his legs nicely spread to give Mason all the access he needed. The Chelsea midfielder reached down to take hold of George's cock at the base, then sliding his palm up and down the Mercedes driver's thick log a couple of times Mason licked his lips before descending to swallow the top half. Mason was now in his element, with George's beautiful cock poking into his face the young footballer ran his lips seductively along George's shaft. The 24-year-old responded by mumbling words of encouragement, softly under his breath as Mason quickly got into his stride bouncing up and down 6 inches deep on George's cock. Mason kept his eyes locked on George's long hard cock as his lips travelled along the firm yet tender skin. The sight of George's neat bush moving towards his face excited Mason every repetition. More than anything Mason loved the flavour but George's hard meat, the driver's thick wand tasted fresh as though George had showered since driving earlier in the day. The Chelsea star spread his fingers wide up making sure that a few of his fingers rested upon George's balls slowly massaging them whilst he sucked. George grunted again as Mason began to pick up his speed, the Chelsea star's cute lips were perfect for slathering his saliva along George's throbbing shaft. While Mason used his hand to stroke George's balls and keep the Mercedes driver's cock steady, George used his left hand to rest upon Mason's short brown hair then his right hand reached into the gap between Mason's arm and body locating the footballer's hard 7-inch cock. It was Mason's turn to offer some sound effects as George's fist closed around his shaft and carefully began to slide along the top half, Mason's cock reacted by pulsing with approval. Mason's eagerness to impress made the Pompey lad so endearingly cute. As a Wolves fan George didn't care much for Mason's antics on the pitch, recently scoring a free kick against his team in a Premier League match. However, with a cock in his mouth George appreciated Mason's work ethic with yet more moaning and groaning. The Chelsea star had worked his way down George's shaft and now the 23-year-old was so far down the F1 driver's shaft his nose pressed against George's firm crotch. The Mercedes driver's bush was impressively neat with a trimmed lawn of light brown hairs no more than 3 milimetres in length covering the racer's privates. The aroma from George's crotch was positively delightful, the manly smell of beechwood and other masculine aromas tickles Mason's nostril hairs as he assisted himself with George's long cock. George's self-confidence always made him a very vocal lad, willing to make his thoughts known. While Mason treated him to a professional standard blowjob, the Mercedes driver felt his personality fighting its way through. "Fuck me lad, you know so what you're doing don't you." George smiled watching Mason's beautiful lips hard at work. The footballer's eyes travelled up George's body to connect with them and without leaving George's cock, the footballer's deep brown eyes responded to George's kind words with a glint of pride. "That's my boy, suck that big bad dick!" George grinned proudly. George's words were music to Mason's ears who rewarded the formula one driver with even more velocity. The Chelsea star reached down for his own rock hard 7-inch uncut cock treating himself to a few tugs of his raging boner before George took back control. Mason's eyes disappeared behind their lids while he continued to blow George determinedly. While he concentrated solely on pleasuring the Wolverhampton Wanderers fan's delicious cock, George treated him in turn to a series of strokes, peeling his foreskin back just enough to reveal the footballer's raging purple head before returning back to Mason's face. George could feel what his balls had to offer stirring gently within his nut sack. Mason was in no danger of missing out on the Mercedes driver's cock, not after this sensational oral effort. The Mercedes driver had plenty of juice in him and with every roll of Mason's cute neck, the footballer teased George preparing him for the next level. "Fuck me mate, you feel so damn good on that cock it's unreal. The only thing better would be if you sat on it." George grinned, leaving the ball firmly in Mason's court. George's words were exactly what the footballer wanted to hear, the 23-year-old slipped off George's head and looking straight up into the Mercedes driver's eyes he smiled. "Want me to climb aboard then?" Mason giggled excitedly. "Go for it mate!" George nodded without hesitation. "You got any lube, you're pretty big dude?" Mason asked. "No need mate. Just stand up and turn around." George laughed, waving his hand dismissively. Mason was never one to argue with a sexy top and standing up in front of the Mercedes driver he presented George with his glorious arse. The F1 driver reached forward to hold the warm round orbs up and leant forward to kiss Mason's sexy arse. "Oh yeah." George sighed between kisses as he moved from cheek to cheek of the Pompey lad's pert arse. Mason's pale globes were tight and firm, muscular from a season of squats that had made the Chelsea star's lower half even more irresistible. George rubbed his hands over the barely visible coat of light brown hairs leading him into Mason's arse and opening the footballer's cheeks, George exposed Mason's pink hole. Mason felt two firm palms push the base out of his arse cheeks up and then out. The Chelsea star arched his back in order to look down on George's handsome face as the Mercedes driver advanced into the gap with his tongue outstretched. Both men gave an audible groan of happiness as the 24-year-old pressed his tongue straight into Mason's sweet hole. George inhaled Mason's essence as his tongue wandered inside the footballer's hole. The Pompey lad smelt like he'd had a day out in the sun, covered in sweat and sunscreen, Mason exuded pure sex. George wriggled his tongue within Mason's tight hole, slathering the fine brown hairs coating his entrance, the racer could feel the excitement building as they prepared for what was coming next. The Mercedes driver tightened his grip on Mason's buns, pulling them down around his smooth cheeks. Curling his tongue up into Mason's cavity, George sucked hungrily at the footballer's hole for what felt like an eternity. The sexy Chelsea slut backed his ring into George's face. Cooing softly, Mason enjoyed the attention of 24-year-old's tongue slipping and sliding across his hole, slowly loosening his insides in preparation for something much larger and more impressive to take its place. The footballer couldn't resist, using his glutes he backed onto George's face gently thrusting his ring along the Mercedes driver's outstretched tongue. [Filth!] George smiled to himself; his taste buds full of Mason's body odour. The more tongue George gave Mason, the more the footballer responded by backing his cunt up onto George's face. "You like my hole, Georgie?' Mason sniggered from up front, the reply to which he was going to enjoy. George could detect the playfulness in Mason's tone and pulling the footballer's arse even tighter to his face, George pushed his tongue as far as it could reach within Mason's body. George couldn't reply verbally to Mason's question but the extra attention he was giving to the footballer's arse was enough of a response to bring a submissive moan from Mason. The pitch of the noise the 23-year-old made was exactly what George wanted to hear, this little bitch was his now and the Chelsea star was very nearly ready to ride his solid cock. The Mercedes driver withdrew from Mason's hole and shot a mouthful of spit across the footballer's hole then dived back in, smearing his phlegmy mucus across the fine hairs leading into Mason's entrance. George's swollen 8.5-inch boner throbbed again with increasing anger, and he decided the time was right to give in. George moved himself back onto the couch, sitting with his back against the backrest and his legs apart. Whilst Mason turned to face him, George removed his shorts and boxers flicked them free of his ankles. "Holy Jesus." Mason beamed inspecting George's smooth, bronze body with a very noticeable bulge in his pecs. "Haha, stop stalling skinny boy and sit on my dick." George barked. "Yes sir!" Mason beamed, throwing a meaty thigh across George's lap. Taking hold of George's long, hard cock Mason lowered himself gradually and paused briefly as George's tip rested against his entrance. "Ooooooooh." Mason exhaled. The weight of his body versus the point of George's cock against his ring was only ending one way. The footballer's walls opened quickly to allow George into his tight tunnel. The Mercedes driver took hold of Mason's chin and engaged the busy bottom in a soothing kiss. With his lips locked against George's, Mason could only grunt as George's large head progressed beyond his ring and the pair became fully connected. "Fucking hell that feels good." George exhaled as Mason's sexy body surrounded his shaft. The usually proactive footballer had to be patient as his body slowly became accustomed to its long, thick intruder. George's thickness was Mason's main problem, the Mercedes driver's meaty shaft had to open Mason's hole up nice and wide in order to advance inside a process made easier with the addition of alcohol to dull the footballer's senses. "Lean back." George instructed. The Pompey lad did exactly as he was told, rocking back onto his palms without missing a stroke of George's hard cock. The Mercedes driver's eyes lit up as the new angle showcased the full beauty of Mason's bottom and more importantly offered George a view of the footballer's raw hole sliding up and down along his hard cock. "Wank yourself off too." George breathed through the pleasure of Mason's bouncing. The footballer beamed and shifting his weight into a triangle of his muscular legs and his left arm, Mason took hold of his flopping boner. The Chelsea star's uncut 7-inch cock looked so good as Mason took a firm grip of it, holding it halfway up and rolling his fist back and forth double the speed from his bouncing body. "Fuck me, that's hot!" George exclaimed as the pleasurable feelings around his cock were now coupled with the pleasurable sight of Mason's sexy body working itself and himself simultaneously. Those meaty footballer legs, nice and thick to send him running around that pitch with speed and power, looked irresistible with a fair, manly coat of light brown hairs running from his ankles all the way up to the nice, cute gap between Mason's peachy cheeks. George wasn't the only one enjoying his view. Mason looked down on the Mercedes driver, studying his smooth torso as he bounced along George's cock. The way that the top's abs tensed ready for impact was adorable. George's crotch and abs were the perfect springboard for Mason to ram his arse down into just to bounce 8 inches up into the air and then force himself down again, hungrily impaling himself for the racer's throbbing meat. The broadness of George's chest was just as impressive. The top's smooth pecs were bulging hard from his intense work at the gym. The muscularity of his upper body was clearly defined even from Mason's withdrawn angle. The footballer could appreciate the smoothness of George's light bronze skin, the extra beef his muscle had given him and those arousingly hot nipples which lay nice and broad with a dark brown colour looking good enough to eat. George's handsome face served as the perfect place to focus Mason's gaze as he stroked his hard cock. The Mercedes driver's large blue eyes shone up at him happily, delighted by the pleasure of Mason's sexy body riding him. The top's strong jaw clenched hard in pleasure as the Chelsea stud bounced, sending tingles of pleasure from the bottom's bare hole through George's big bare cock. Mason crunched his sexy arse down, swallowing all 8.5 inches of Norfolk meat inside his hungry little belly, using the feeling of deep penetration to thicken his own raging boner. "Yeah, Masey boy, keep doing it like that." George groaned. Mason knew from the F1 he'd seen on TV that the Mercedes driver wasn't afraid of vocalising his opinions, a quality the footballer enjoyed very much indeed. "You like my tight little butt, Georgie?" Mason panted back as he bounced a little faster. "Oh, you slutty little cunt." George beamed, realising Mason had decided to reciprocate his sexy chat. "You know it big boy, Masey loves a nice meaty cock." Mason chuckled, thrusting from his hips to slide his ring along the Mercedes driver's moreish cock. "Prove it, ride it harddd then dirty boy!" George grinned. The chat dissolved into concentration and suddenly the stakes began to rise. Mason's slender waist moved with venom, crashing down hard into George's strong body as he fucked himself. The athletic footballer proved his excellent stamina as he bounced smoothly and consistently, using all 8.5 inches of George's cock as a live dildo to pleasure himself with. As much as he wanted George to get up off the couch and pulverise his insides with his perfect long wand, he knew the racer couldn't so close to the Grand Prix. No, instead Mason just pulled his crotch up as far and high as he could before slamming back down into George's waist to appreciate that epic feeling of anal penetration at its very best. The footballer punished himself willingly, smashing the top's bare head into his sphincter sending sparks of pain through his body and into his own pulsing cock. The Chelsea lad could do this all night if he had to, but with his cock in his hand, it wouldn't be long until the depth and girth tipped him over the edge. George too felt he was blessed with incredible stamina, when it came to sex he could last for a long time when he needed to. The top loved to be in control, to watch his lover writhe and squirm with intense pleasure as he fed them his delicious meat. Mason was clearly no different, the cute little footballer's cock was pulsing hard as he fucked himself with George's wood and the Mercedes driver had to admit that he looked incredibly sexy as he did so. Those beautiful dimples in the Chelsea stud's cheeks were adorable as he breathed through his self-inflicted pain. "How close are you, my friend?" George asked. "A little while to go yet, I think." Mason smiled. "Hmmm you dirty little shit." George laughed. "You?" "I'm ok, wanna see you shoot first." George huffed. "Ok, I'll speed up." Mason agreed, realising he might be wearing the top out a bit. The bottom's senses weren't quite as sharp as they could be with the amount of alcohol, he'd consumed but Mason could still find the right spot to bring him closer. The other reason George needed Mason to hurry up was that the top was resisting the urge to thrust his large cock up into Mason's slutty little belly. Although George could drain his nuts on a Grand Prix weekend, the physical exertion of thrusting would get him into trouble with his trainer and he wanted to avoid that. Quietly, Mason was really enjoying the feeling of control he had over George. Normally the soccer scally would be there taking whatever the top was willing to give him but with the knowledge that George wasn't allowed to get behind the steering wheel tonight, it gave Mason a sense of control he was loving a lot more than he had realised. George wanted Mason to cum first but secretly Mason wanted to try and make George blow first. The sexy bottom slid along George's shaft, feeling the way the hard meat throbbed between the lips of his pink hole and decided how he was going to achieve their climax. The bottom shifted his body weight forward and straightened his back. Mason's movements were now nice and straight, moving his hole up and down with his hot body along George's throbbing sword. "Fucking hell yes." George chortled as Mason's sexy body moved towards him, close enough to touch as it bounced. The talented bottom gazed deep into George's eyes as he spread his legs a little wider and sinking down onto George's prick, they both felt the tip of George's cock press further inside Mason than at any point so far tonight. "Oh, shit Mase, fucking shit!!!" George growled as the footballer's raw hole sucked in his sensitive head. The footballer's tight cunt had squeezed George's tip enough to let the fireworks commence. Until now George had remained passive throughout but with his nuts in charge the Mercedes driver began to drive his crotch up into Mason's body. "God yes!" George screamed as his cock exploded up into Mason's drunk belly. "Fucking fill me up." Mason purred, his eyes rolling up into the back of their sockets as he continued to bounce along George's exploding cock. The footballer moved slowly and deliberately, holding himself down on George's head a little longer while the top filled him with his warm seed. Mason used the feeling of George's cum squirting inside as the final ingredient to trigger his own orgasm. "Yeah, fucked the cum outta me." Mason groaned as George pushed another load into him which in turn forced a shot of his cream to squirt up into the air, landing on George's sculptured torso. "Shit yes mate!" George replied, as his shaft squeezed another hot load into Mason's arse, a sensation heightened by the sight of the footballer's own orgasm. Two hairy thighs tensed as they lowered Mason's hole down onto George's lap against, the top's 8.5-inch mast stroking the underside of Mason's sphincter as it coated the bottom's insides with another load of velvet cream. Mason's hairy nuts blasted another volley of his cum out over George's smooth chest, the thick cream landing across the racer's smooth neck. Using his hips, Mason added a little extra body language to each descent as his hole swallowed George's hard shaft, milking it of another shot. "You dirty little cunt." George sneered, throwing his crotch up into Mason's arse and holding the footballer there. Mason's reward was the rest of George's cum, firing into his hot arse, the final three shots draining the Mercedes driver's cock of his creamy cum. After the pop of George's cock escaping his tight hole, Mason shimmied up the racer's body as the weakening shots continued to squirt from his hard cock. "Uhhhh." Mason purred as the last few drops dribbled from his head, dripping down onto George's torso. The Chelsea star slowed the speed of his bounces, carefully massaging his still pulsing boner. Looking down at the mess splattered across the Mercedes driver's front, then up at his handsome face, Mason dropped his softening cock to the side and pulled George in for a brief kiss. "Hmmm, lovely." George giggled, raising his hand to his face and wiping the trail of cum Mason had left on the side of his face. "Sorry." Mason blushed. "Don't be silly mate." George beamed back. The footballer stood up with his softening cock hanging down in front of him. "Know what you're doing don't you." George grinned. "Ha, you calling me a slut?" Mason laughed. "Alright have, haven't I." George chuckled. "Nah mate, just saying that was very good indeed, took it like a pro." he explained. "Yeah boy, I can be a bit of a slut though, might as well while I still have my looks innit." Mason giggled. "I hear you mate, only young once innit." George agreed, looking up at Mason. "You don't have to go straight away though mate, we can still chill and play that game." He continued, realising that the footballer looked a bit lost. "You set it back up and I'll just mop this up." George finished, gesturing towards his sticky abs and jumping off the couch. Mason watched George disappear and set up the games console while the Mercedes driver mopped himself dry. Returning with a satisfied look on his face and a clean torso, George threw himself into the chair alongside Mason still fully naked. "How are you feeling?" George started. "Yeah, pretty good, you? Hopefully you're not too tired." Mason replied. "I'm fighting fit and ready for tomorrow." George beamed, throwing his fists forward like a boxer. "Awesome, I'm really excited, I hope you do well." Mason smiled. "Is it your first Grand Prix?" George asked. "Yes mate." Mason nodded enthusiastically. "Awesome, you'll have a blast!" George chortled. "I hope so, would be great if you won." Mason beamed. "Ha, yeah it would, don't hold your breath though, need a miracle of some sort." George replied. "I'll do some extra praying for you." Mason chuckled. "Hope you have a great time and I'm sure I'll catch you at an after party." George grinned. } Stumbling back into his hotel room an hour later, Mason fell onto his bed beaming with happiness and his arse saturated with George's cum. Today was the day he became a big F1 fan and this weekend he hoped there would be much more of the same. Hanging out with Timo was always great fun and he'd even heard that England teammate Phil Foden would be in Monaco this weekend too. This would be a weekend to remember, and he knew it! END Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story. If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on pcwtosh@gmail.com. Here is the rest of my collection: Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy 18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones, The Twins Nextdoor, 13 Goo-uld Reasons Why & Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway. The Diving Squad 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 & 6. Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer. Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY, Swimnasium & Ripped Roses Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk & Deep Dipping in Dunkirk, Stranger Boys: Stranger Mendes, Oral Things & Someone Stranger in the Fuller House Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86 North American Swedes & Fly Eagles Fly Cricket series: England Cricket Boys, From Rapid to Star, Scorcher from the Caribbean, Inside the Bio Bubble, A Little Closer to Home, Ducking the First Balls & The Captains' Club. Rugby series: Scrum Down, Clash of the Centres, Henry Gets Some Bone, Maro, Becoming the Dragon & Thudding Ford. Tennis series: Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the Bahamas, Bulging Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple Leafs, Made in Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Sleeping Meadows & Team Building in Melbourne Park. Football series: Chelsea Training, Winter in Portsmouth, Graduation Ceremony, Welsh Cherries, Cherries Go Blue, King Power, Three Lions of King Power, Loving Gunners, Bad Boys Gone Naughty, Confident Canary, Lilywhite Hoops, From Paris with Love, Lion Cubs, Behind Blue Doors, The Fifteen-Legged Dragon, The Hero and the Zero, When Harry Met Trent, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, The Trials of Romeo Beckham, Anything but Swish, Swish, Phil-ed by a Villain, The Warm Up, Return to the Wolfpack, Jadon gets his Phil, A Norwich Tale, The Tails of Two Nike Stars, Operation: Harvey's Boxers & Bayern Boys. 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Date: Mon, 3 Apr 2023 08:00:00 +0100
From: PCW Tosh <pcwtosh@gmail.com>
Subject: Georgie's Pudding in Mason's Pie
Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence
that this actually happened, but we can all dream.
Stay healthy and practice safe sex!
Happy reading.
Formula Football 3: Georgie's Puding in Mason's Pie
George Russell sauntered through the paddock; his coveralls peeled down to
his hips as he walked. The young British driver could feel the eyes
following him as he strode around with his chin held high. Some of those
who turned to look were attracted by the tall Brit's confidence which
emitted around him. Others noticed George's fine arse which held his
coveralls up, his slim upper body covered in a thin racing baselayer which
left little to the imagination, everyone could see that George was in
incredible shape.
Mason Mount sat transfixed on the TV screen, watching George as he
strutted. Something about the way the Mercedes driver moved, the confidence
and the physique under his skin-tight clothing called to Mason. [Mental
note, make sure we have a chat with George at Sports Personality.] Mason
told himself.
Mason picked up his phone and found a message from his Chelsea teammate,
Timo Werner, "You still want to go to the Grand Prix sometime? Maybe we can
do the Monaco Grand Prix?" "Fuck yes, danke <3!!!!" He replied excitedly.
Timo could get the lads into the F1 paddock with Red Bull and Mason wasn't
going to miss the opportunity for a photoshoot with megastars like Mercedes
drivers Lewis and George.
At the end of the French spring, Mason landed in Nice and along with his
Chelsea teammate Timo Werner they were driven to the infamous city of Monte
Carlo. "Is this your first time in Monte Carlo?" Timo asked Mason, watching
the way the English midfielder was taking in the scenery. "Yeah. Looks
pretty cool." Mason replied into the glass. "Yeah, I've heard it's pretty
sweet here." Timo added. "Sweet, I'm looking forward to it." Mason beamed
back to Timo who returned the smile.
After driving for an hour, the car pulled into the paddock and security
allowed them in, it was the first time in a long time Mason had entered
somewhere and suddenly felt as though he was just a normal young English
lad. The driver stepped out and opened the door for the footballers who
skipped into the warm French summer's morning. "Merci." Timo nodded,
shaking the driver's hand and slipping him a tip.
Timo led the way through the paddock towards the Red Bull garages. The
electric atmosphere excited Mason who giggled uncontrollably causing Timo
to smirk himself. "Don't wet your knickers Mase." Timo grinned. "You wish
mate, none of the yellow stuff." Mason sniggered. "Horny little
bitch. Don't embarrass me." Timo hissed as they came to a stop at the Red
Bull garage. "I won't, I promise."
Mason continued down to the next set of garages and peered into the
Mercedes garage. The sheer number of men and women running around busily
working on the two magnificent machines amazed the Chelsea star. Suddenly
behind Mason there was an explosion of excitement, fans running towards
something the footballer couldn't quite make it. In the scrum of cameras
and waving autograph books, Mason could make out two figures all in black
walking towards him. Moving to the side to let the mass of people past him,
Mason watched on in awe as 7-time World Champion Lewis Hamilton and his
teammate, former F2 champion George Russell made their way to their cars.
Rejoining Timo, Mason and the German watched as the engineers fired the
cars up and their drivers took them out onto the circuit. Watching the
navy-blue cars pull away with a roar, Mason felt the hairs on the back of
his neck stand up. The roar from the crowd as the cars circulated made the
footballers feel as though they were at Stamford Bridge in front of their
beloved fans. Timo hugged Mason around the waist as they both smiled before
pointing at the camera as F1 TV panned to the footballers.
Following the first practice session the drivers jumped out of their cars
and attended their debriefs while Mason and Timo watched the engineers hard
at work making modifications to the cars. The activity was amazing to see,
thinking about how much work went into making Chelsea a successful football
team, the hive of activity around the two cars made the footballers think
there was so much more to F1 than the fans saw on TV.
The Red Bull Racing team hosted a fantastic dinner with perfectly prepared
meat and fish, luxurious desserts and expensive wines from the south of
France. Mason and Timo sat together beaming as they stuffed their faces,
"Food's so good." Mason beamed between bites. "Yeah, told you it'd be fun."
Timo agreed, Mason nodded in agreement. "Sup boys." A voice spoke from
above. World Champion Max Verstappen beamed down upon the Chelsea
star. "Hey dude." Timo grinned through a mouthful of food, jumping up and
throwing his arms around Max. The Dutchman reciprocated, closing his arms
around Timo and cuddling the little German then noticing Mason he winked
towards the Englishman. "Hey." "Alright mate." Mason replied. "See you
later yeah." Max smiled at Timo who returned the favour.
"You abandoning me later?" Mason asked, shovelling down another mouthful of
food. "You can come along if you like." Timo replied nonplussed. "You're
alright, might see if I can get a pic with the Mercedes boys." "Traitor."
Timo chuckled.
Practice 2 and the cars hit the track to a symphony of noise. Mason and
Timo chuckled, pointing at themselves on the F1 TV feed again. The Red
Bulls were having a mixed session, World Champion Max Verstappen up with
the front runners while Checo was a little further back unable to find the
raw speed Max had. Every time the stunning Red Bulls returned to the
garage, the Chelsea boys whipped out their phones taking pictures and
videos of the team at work.
The chequered flag dropped, and the mechanics got to work as the drivers
climbed out of their vehicles. The grandstands emptied while the
footballers headed into the paddock. Fans took pictures frantically of the
F1 superstars and of Timo and Mason as they joined the buzz. Posing for
picture after picture, Timo and Mason worked their way back to the Red Bull
hospitality wing where they were treated to bottles of San Miguel beer and
canapes.
Following their debrief, the Red Bull drivers joined the post practice
function to mingle with the guests. Spotting the Chelsea lads, Max moved
towards them. "Enjoying yourself boys?" Max beamed. "I'm looking forward to
Sunday when you do some actual work." Timo teased. "Hmm, and I'll enjoy it
when you score an actual goal." Max retorted with a cutting backhand of a
response. Mason could sense a sexual tension between the pair in this
verbal cock fight, [to be a fly on the wall.] Mason sniggered to himself.
"What's going on with you and Max?" Mason asked Timo after Max had left
them again to mingle with more of the guests. "Nothing." Timo lied. "Red
Bullshit." Mason scoffed, "Well fine, just leave a hanger on the door when
I go for a walk later." Mason giggled. "Why, is your mum here?" Timo
replied, flushing red as he spoke. "Haha, bitch." Mason snorted, falling
onto Timo's shoulder.
A couple more beers later, it was time to go. Timo shuffled nervously
thinking up his excuse to abandon Mason. "I'm gonna head back in a sec, if
you want to stay though man." Timo slurred. "Nahhh." Mason giggled, looking
into Timo's blue eyes. [The fucker's trying to ditch me.] Mason clocked,
hiding a judgemental frown. "Yeah, that's cool. I'm gonna walk through the
paddock for a bit." Mason smiled. "Ok buddy, see you in the hotel." Timo
beamed, throwing his arms around Mason's shoulders and hugging him tight
then disappearing off.
Emptying his 5th beer, Mason placed the bottle down on the table and headed
for the exit. Walking out into the warm Monte Carlo evening the paddock was
still semi busy. The Chelsea star heading down towards the end of the
paddock and back to the hotel to chill. "You alright?" Mason looked in the
direction of the concerned sounding voice. "Yeah, yeah. George Russell!!!"
Mason blurted, his jaw falling in shock at the sight of the Mercedes driver
right there. "Mason Mount." George replied, sounding unimpressed. "What are
you doing here?" He continued. "Was at the Red Bull thing." Mason replied,
pointing towards the Red Bull hospitality area. "Ahh nice, had a few beers
and heading back?" George inquired. "Yeah, I guess." Mason replied,
sounding unsure. The Mercedes driver had been walking by and slowed at the
sight of Mason meandering through the paddock. "Up for a game of FIFA?"
George smiled. "Ahh ok, I'm, like, drunk though, so I'm not gonna be my
best." Mason explained. "Even better." George chuckled. "Come with me." He
finished marching off with Mason jogging after him.
George pushed his motorhome door open followed by the Chelsea star. "Cool
place." Mason started as he drank in the clean, modern decor of the
Mercedes motorhome. "Pretty decent innit." George replied, heading into the
living area. "Take a seat " George continued heading over to the TV and
opening a cabinet below it. Pulling out two PlayStation controllers and a
remote.
The machine started and the TV flashed into life while George made his way
over to the couch throwing himself down next to Mason. Handing the
footballer the controller, George took the opportunity to check Mason out
from close quarters. "Thanks." Mason grinned, looking deep into the
Mercedes driver's eyes. "Ahhh it's Tekken. Lemme change it." George
announced, glancing over to the screen. "Nah, that's ok!" Mason replied,
preventing George from getting up by holding the 24-year-old's leg.
"Keen!" George beamed. "Absolutely!!" Mason grinned back at him. George's
mind took no time at all to work out the equation. The Mercedes driver
tossed his controller aside and moved in for the kiss. Mason found himself
being caught semi off guard not realising how good a flirt he was. George's
full, pouting lips pressed into Mason's, pushing the footballer's head back
against the back of the chair. Mason reached around George's torso to pull
the Mercedes driver towards him. With no words, just body language, George
ended up above the footballer forcing his tongue into Mason's throat while
his slender body weighed down on Mason's slender body.
The Mercedes driver broke away and in response Mason could only blush and
hide his face. George took the opportunity to check Mason out and
smiled. "You gonna invite me to the football some time?" George
grinned. "Maybe, who do you support?" Mason chuckled. "Who do you support
in F1, cos I heard it was Lewis and Lando." George glanced at Mason with a
raised eyebrow. "I like you too. I'm backing all the Brits." Mason
giggled. "Good good, so I'll see you at The Bridge then." George grinned,
switching the game on.
The alcohol had taken hold of Mason's senses and after losing two matchups,
the silly Mason began to surface. Halfway through losing his third straight
matchup, Mason reached across flicking George's controls. "Gerroff!!!"
George bellowed, pulling his controller away from Mason's reach. The cheeky
footballer reached across again, this time succeeding in knocking the
controller out of George's hand. "Cunt!!!" George spat, trying to dive for
the controller and taking Mason down with him. The Pompey lad still giggled
uncontrollably, "Think that's funny." George barked through gritted teeth,
feigning anger. "Yeah." Mason laughed on. "Fine!" George hissed, grabbing
Mason and pulling him to the ground, pinning the 23-year-old to sit down on
the ground with his athletic body. "You got me, like in the game.' Mason
laughed adorably. "So, I win again?" George smirked. "You win again." Mason
conceded with a twinkle in his eyes that George knew only too well.
George leaned in closer to Mason's face, watching Mason's lips pucker as he
approached until they were united. The Mercedes driver stared deep into
Mason's brown eyes as the footballer granted him both control and access to
his mouth. George grinned tasting the alcohol on Mason's breath as his
tongue slithered along the inside of the Chelsea star's mouth. George took
Mason's compliance as a green light and adding a little more intensity, the
Mercedes driver pushed forward into the footballer's lips. At 6'2" (1.88m)
George had a height advantage over Mason and as the F1 driver applied more
weight to Mason's lips, the footballer allowed George to push him back onto
the couch. Mason's arms reached up around George's back and as a Mercedes
driver fed Mason his tongue, the footballer stroked his back
encouragingly. To Mason's delight, George responded to his encouragement by
adding a little more force behind his lips and grinding his crotch down
into Mason's. Unlike Mason, George had a sober night. The Mercedes driver's
breath tasted like fresh coffee which Mason suspected he may have had after
a nice healthy dinner.
The footballer wasn't shy to make his intentions known and reaching under
the hem of George's shirt, Mason began to ease the fabric up towards the
racer's head. George was in two minds, thinking to himself whether or not
this was a good idea so close to race day but how often did this
opportunity come about? The Mercedes driver allowed his lips to part from
Mason's and stretching out his arms, George allowed his shirt to slide
free.
"Wow!" Mason giggled, his eyes studying George's upper body. "Surprised?"
George grinned back, proud that his effort in the gym had not gone
unnoticed. It was George's turn to peel off Mason's shirt. The footballer
wore an outer shirt which he left unbuttoned over a nice slim-fit
t-shirt. George placed his fingers under the hem of Mason's purple t-shirt
and gave it one firm tug upwards giving Mason just enough time to lift his
back off the couch and let it slide free. "Holy moly!" George gasped at the
sight of Mason's naked torso, "Just as good as in your pics!" George
finished. "My pics?" Mason repeated with a cheeky smile, "What d'ya mean?"
He asked inquisitively. "Never mind." George waved dismissively. "You like
my topless pics?" Mason persisted. George didn't answer, raising a finger
to his lips the F1 driver closed the gap between his face and Mason's once
more planting a firm kiss on the Pompey lad.
Mason didn't need any further reassurance; George's accidental slip had
given the footballer an extra inside into George's mindset. With George's
weight back on him, Mason raised his legs to straddle the Mercedes driver's
waist. Mason squeezed George tight making his intentions clear to the East
Anglian. For an added touch, the footballer began to caress George's smooth
torso gently sliding his fingers across the F1 driver's firm pecs.
Since Mason had become increasingly handsy, George decided that he too
would explore the 23-year-old's body. The Mercedes driver stared at the
footballer's smooth chest, running his hands along Mason's pale, toned
sides giving them a gentle squeeze. George then decided to one up Mason and
guided his hands straight down to Mason's arse. The footballer groaned as
George's hands gripped his tight buttocks. In addition to his wandering
fingers George also leant into Mason's crotch with his own just to feel
them both throb through their shorts.
Mason inhaled, making himself even thinner in George's hands. The Chelsea
footballer also lifted his legs a little higher as George's wandering hands
explored his firm asked cheeks. Gradually George's hands move closer and
closer to Mason's waistband and as they moved across the seam George's
fingers slipped underneath pulling Mason's shorts and boxers up in one
dominant drag.
Mason giggled a submissive little laugh as George exposed his lower
half. George ignored the 23-year-old's laughter and held the footballer's
legs shoulder width apart; he looked down Mason's thick muscular
thighs. Next the Mercedes driver reached down to his own waistband pushing
his shorts down past his arse allowing them to fall to his knees where he
knelt on the soft couch.
"Yes boyyyyy!" Mason cheered at the sight of George's 8.5-inch cock at full
mast and ready for action. "I hope you're gonna fuck me with that big
dick." Mason giggled shamelessly. "Hmmm, I've got to work tomorrow maybe
you should fuck yourself with it." George winked. "Deal!" Mason snapped,
pushing himself up to sit upright. "Now feed it to me." Mason
demanded. "Uh-huh." George frowned, shaking his head and his index finger
simultaneously. "You're a big boy, you can feed yourself." George winked
smugly. Mason pushed George back gently, guiding the F1 driver to sit back
and relax. George followed Mason's guidance and sat back in his chair with
his legs nicely spread to give Mason all the access he needed. The Chelsea
midfielder reached down to take hold of George's cock at the base, then
sliding his palm up and down the Mercedes driver's thick log a couple of
times Mason licked his lips before descending to swallow the top half.
Mason was now in his element, with George's beautiful cock poking into his
face the young footballer ran his lips seductively along George's
shaft. The 24-year-old responded by mumbling words of encouragement, softly
under his breath as Mason quickly got into his stride bouncing up and down
6 inches deep on George's cock. Mason kept his eyes locked on George's long
hard cock as his lips travelled along the firm yet tender skin.
The sight of George's neat bush moving towards his face excited Mason every
repetition. More than anything Mason loved the flavour but George's hard
meat, the driver's thick wand tasted fresh as though George had showered
since driving earlier in the day. The Chelsea star spread his fingers wide
up making sure that a few of his fingers rested upon George's balls slowly
massaging them whilst he sucked. George grunted again as Mason began to
pick up his speed, the Chelsea star's cute lips were perfect for slathering
his saliva along George's throbbing shaft. While Mason used his hand to
stroke George's balls and keep the Mercedes driver's cock steady, George
used his left hand to rest upon Mason's short brown hair then his right
hand reached into the gap between Mason's arm and body locating the
footballer's hard 7-inch cock. It was Mason's turn to offer some sound
effects as George's fist closed around his shaft and carefully began to
slide along the top half, Mason's cock reacted by pulsing with approval.
Mason's eagerness to impress made the Pompey lad so endearingly cute. As a
Wolves fan George didn't care much for Mason's antics on the pitch,
recently scoring a free kick against his team in a Premier League
match. However, with a cock in his mouth George appreciated Mason's work
ethic with yet more moaning and groaning.
The Chelsea star had worked his way down George's shaft and now the
23-year-old was so far down the F1 driver's shaft his nose pressed against
George's firm crotch. The Mercedes driver's bush was impressively neat with
a trimmed lawn of light brown hairs no more than 3 milimetres in length
covering the racer's privates. The aroma from George's crotch was
positively delightful, the manly smell of beechwood and other masculine
aromas tickles Mason's nostril hairs as he assisted himself with George's
long cock.
George's self-confidence always made him a very vocal lad, willing to make
his thoughts known. While Mason treated him to a professional standard
blowjob, the Mercedes driver felt his personality fighting its way
through. "Fuck me lad, you know so what you're doing don't you." George
smiled watching Mason's beautiful lips hard at work. The footballer's eyes
travelled up George's body to connect with them and without leaving
George's cock, the footballer's deep brown eyes responded to George's kind
words with a glint of pride. "That's my boy, suck that big bad dick!"
George grinned proudly.
George's words were music to Mason's ears who rewarded the formula one
driver with even more velocity. The Chelsea star reached down for his own
rock hard 7-inch uncut cock treating himself to a few tugs of his raging
boner before George took back control. Mason's eyes disappeared behind
their lids while he continued to blow George determinedly. While he
concentrated solely on pleasuring the Wolverhampton Wanderers fan's
delicious cock, George treated him in turn to a series of strokes, peeling
his foreskin back just enough to reveal the footballer's raging purple head
before returning back to Mason's face.
George could feel what his balls had to offer stirring gently within his
nut sack. Mason was in no danger of missing out on the Mercedes driver's
cock, not after this sensational oral effort. The Mercedes driver had
plenty of juice in him and with every roll of Mason's cute neck, the
footballer teased George preparing him for the next level.
"Fuck me mate, you feel so damn good on that cock it's unreal. The only
thing better would be if you sat on it." George grinned, leaving the ball
firmly in Mason's court. George's words were exactly what the footballer
wanted to hear, the 23-year-old slipped off George's head and looking
straight up into the Mercedes driver's eyes he smiled. "Want me to climb
aboard then?" Mason giggled excitedly. "Go for it mate!" George nodded
without hesitation.
"You got any lube, you're pretty big dude?" Mason asked. "No need
mate. Just stand up and turn around." George laughed, waving his hand
dismissively. Mason was never one to argue with a sexy top and standing up
in front of the Mercedes driver he presented George with his glorious
arse. The F1 driver reached forward to hold the warm round orbs up and
leant forward to kiss Mason's sexy arse. "Oh yeah." George sighed between
kisses as he moved from cheek to cheek of the Pompey lad's pert
arse. Mason's pale globes were tight and firm, muscular from a season of
squats that had made the Chelsea star's lower half even more
irresistible. George rubbed his hands over the barely visible coat of light
brown hairs leading him into Mason's arse and opening the footballer's
cheeks, George exposed Mason's pink hole. Mason felt two firm palms push
the base out of his arse cheeks up and then out. The Chelsea star arched
his back in order to look down on George's handsome face as the Mercedes
driver advanced into the gap with his tongue outstretched. Both men gave an
audible groan of happiness as the 24-year-old pressed his tongue straight
into Mason's sweet hole.
George inhaled Mason's essence as his tongue wandered inside the
footballer's hole. The Pompey lad smelt like he'd had a day out in the sun,
covered in sweat and sunscreen, Mason exuded pure sex. George wriggled his
tongue within Mason's tight hole, slathering the fine brown hairs coating
his entrance, the racer could feel the excitement building as they prepared
for what was coming next. The Mercedes driver tightened his grip on Mason's
buns, pulling them down around his smooth cheeks. Curling his tongue up
into Mason's cavity, George sucked hungrily at the footballer's hole for
what felt like an eternity.
The sexy Chelsea slut backed his ring into George's face. Cooing softly,
Mason enjoyed the attention of 24-year-old's tongue slipping and sliding
across his hole, slowly loosening his insides in preparation for something
much larger and more impressive to take its place. The footballer couldn't
resist, using his glutes he backed onto George's face gently thrusting his
ring along the Mercedes driver's outstretched tongue. [Filth!] George
smiled to himself; his taste buds full of Mason's body odour. The more
tongue George gave Mason, the more the footballer responded by backing his
cunt up onto George's face. "You like my hole, Georgie?' Mason sniggered
from up front, the reply to which he was going to enjoy.
George could detect the playfulness in Mason's tone and pulling the
footballer's arse even tighter to his face, George pushed his tongue as far
as it could reach within Mason's body. George couldn't reply verbally to
Mason's question but the extra attention he was giving to the footballer's
arse was enough of a response to bring a submissive moan from Mason. The
pitch of the noise the 23-year-old made was exactly what George wanted to
hear, this little bitch was his now and the Chelsea star was very nearly
ready to ride his solid cock. The Mercedes driver withdrew from Mason's
hole and shot a mouthful of spit across the footballer's hole then dived
back in, smearing his phlegmy mucus across the fine hairs leading into
Mason's entrance. George's swollen 8.5-inch boner throbbed again with
increasing anger, and he decided the time was right to give in.
George moved himself back onto the couch, sitting with his back against the
backrest and his legs apart. Whilst Mason turned to face him, George
removed his shorts and boxers flicked them free of his ankles. "Holy
Jesus." Mason beamed inspecting George's smooth, bronze body with a very
noticeable bulge in his pecs. "Haha, stop stalling skinny boy and sit on my
dick." George barked. "Yes sir!" Mason beamed, throwing a meaty thigh
across George's lap. Taking hold of George's long, hard cock Mason lowered
himself gradually and paused briefly as George's tip rested against his
entrance. "Ooooooooh." Mason exhaled. The weight of his body versus the
point of George's cock against his ring was only ending one way. The
footballer's walls opened quickly to allow George into his tight
tunnel. The Mercedes driver took hold of Mason's chin and engaged the busy
bottom in a soothing kiss. With his lips locked against George's, Mason
could only grunt as George's large head progressed beyond his ring and the
pair became fully connected.
"Fucking hell that feels good." George exhaled as Mason's sexy body
surrounded his shaft. The usually proactive footballer had to be patient as
his body slowly became accustomed to its long, thick intruder. George's
thickness was Mason's main problem, the Mercedes driver's meaty shaft had
to open Mason's hole up nice and wide in order to advance inside a process
made easier with the addition of alcohol to dull the footballer's senses.
"Lean back." George instructed. The Pompey lad did exactly as he was told,
rocking back onto his palms without missing a stroke of George's hard
cock. The Mercedes driver's eyes lit up as the new angle showcased the full
beauty of Mason's bottom and more importantly offered George a view of the
footballer's raw hole sliding up and down along his hard cock.
"Wank yourself off too." George breathed through the pleasure of Mason's
bouncing. The footballer beamed and shifting his weight into a triangle of
his muscular legs and his left arm, Mason took hold of his flopping
boner. The Chelsea star's uncut 7-inch cock looked so good as Mason took a
firm grip of it, holding it halfway up and rolling his fist back and forth
double the speed from his bouncing body.
"Fuck me, that's hot!" George exclaimed as the pleasurable feelings around
his cock were now coupled with the pleasurable sight of Mason's sexy body
working itself and himself simultaneously. Those meaty footballer legs,
nice and thick to send him running around that pitch with speed and power,
looked irresistible with a fair, manly coat of light brown hairs running
from his ankles all the way up to the nice, cute gap between Mason's peachy
cheeks.
George wasn't the only one enjoying his view. Mason looked down on the
Mercedes driver, studying his smooth torso as he bounced along George's
cock. The way that the top's abs tensed ready for impact was
adorable. George's crotch and abs were the perfect springboard for Mason to
ram his arse down into just to bounce 8 inches up into the air and then
force himself down again, hungrily impaling himself for the racer's
throbbing meat.
The broadness of George's chest was just as impressive. The top's smooth
pecs were bulging hard from his intense work at the gym. The muscularity of
his upper body was clearly defined even from Mason's withdrawn angle. The
footballer could appreciate the smoothness of George's light bronze skin,
the extra beef his muscle had given him and those arousingly hot nipples
which lay nice and broad with a dark brown colour looking good enough to
eat.
George's handsome face served as the perfect place to focus Mason's gaze as
he stroked his hard cock. The Mercedes driver's large blue eyes shone up at
him happily, delighted by the pleasure of Mason's sexy body riding him. The
top's strong jaw clenched hard in pleasure as the Chelsea stud bounced,
sending tingles of pleasure from the bottom's bare hole through George's
big bare cock. Mason crunched his sexy arse down, swallowing all 8.5 inches
of Norfolk meat inside his hungry little belly, using the feeling of deep
penetration to thicken his own raging boner.
"Yeah, Masey boy, keep doing it like that." George groaned. Mason knew from
the F1 he'd seen on TV that the Mercedes driver wasn't afraid of vocalising
his opinions, a quality the footballer enjoyed very much indeed. "You like
my tight little butt, Georgie?" Mason panted back as he bounced a little
faster. "Oh, you slutty little cunt." George beamed, realising Mason had
decided to reciprocate his sexy chat. "You know it big boy, Masey loves a
nice meaty cock." Mason chuckled, thrusting from his hips to slide his ring
along the Mercedes driver's moreish cock. "Prove it, ride it harddd then
dirty boy!" George grinned.
The chat dissolved into concentration and suddenly the stakes began to
rise. Mason's slender waist moved with venom, crashing down hard into
George's strong body as he fucked himself. The athletic footballer proved
his excellent stamina as he bounced smoothly and consistently, using all
8.5 inches of George's cock as a live dildo to pleasure himself with. As
much as he wanted George to get up off the couch and pulverise his insides
with his perfect long wand, he knew the racer couldn't so close to the
Grand Prix. No, instead Mason just pulled his crotch up as far and high as
he could before slamming back down into George's waist to appreciate that
epic feeling of anal penetration at its very best. The footballer punished
himself willingly, smashing the top's bare head into his sphincter sending
sparks of pain through his body and into his own pulsing cock. The Chelsea
lad could do this all night if he had to, but with his cock in his hand, it
wouldn't be long until the depth and girth tipped him over the edge.
George too felt he was blessed with incredible stamina, when it came to sex
he could last for a long time when he needed to. The top loved to be in
control, to watch his lover writhe and squirm with intense pleasure as he
fed them his delicious meat. Mason was clearly no different, the cute
little footballer's cock was pulsing hard as he fucked himself with
George's wood and the Mercedes driver had to admit that he looked
incredibly sexy as he did so. Those beautiful dimples in the Chelsea stud's
cheeks were adorable as he breathed through his self-inflicted pain.
"How close are you, my friend?" George asked. "A little while to go yet, I
think." Mason smiled. "Hmmm you dirty little shit." George laughed. "You?"
"I'm ok, wanna see you shoot first." George huffed. "Ok, I'll speed up."
Mason agreed, realising he might be wearing the top out a bit. The bottom's
senses weren't quite as sharp as they could be with the amount of alcohol,
he'd consumed but Mason could still find the right spot to bring him
closer. The other reason George needed Mason to hurry up was that the top
was resisting the urge to thrust his large cock up into Mason's slutty
little belly. Although George could drain his nuts on a Grand Prix weekend,
the physical exertion of thrusting would get him into trouble with his
trainer and he wanted to avoid that.
Quietly, Mason was really enjoying the feeling of control he had over
George. Normally the soccer scally would be there taking whatever the top
was willing to give him but with the knowledge that George wasn't allowed
to get behind the steering wheel tonight, it gave Mason a sense of control
he was loving a lot more than he had realised. George wanted Mason to cum
first but secretly Mason wanted to try and make George blow first. The sexy
bottom slid along George's shaft, feeling the way the hard meat throbbed
between the lips of his pink hole and decided how he was going to achieve
their climax.
The bottom shifted his body weight forward and straightened his
back. Mason's movements were now nice and straight, moving his hole up and
down with his hot body along George's throbbing sword. "Fucking hell yes."
George chortled as Mason's sexy body moved towards him, close enough to
touch as it bounced. The talented bottom gazed deep into George's eyes as
he spread his legs a little wider and sinking down onto George's prick,
they both felt the tip of George's cock press further inside Mason than at
any point so far tonight. "Oh, shit Mase, fucking shit!!!" George growled
as the footballer's raw hole sucked in his sensitive head. The footballer's
tight cunt had squeezed George's tip enough to let the fireworks commence.
Until now George had remained passive throughout but with his nuts in
charge the Mercedes driver began to drive his crotch up into Mason's
body. "God yes!" George screamed as his cock exploded up into Mason's drunk
belly. "Fucking fill me up." Mason purred, his eyes rolling up into the
back of their sockets as he continued to bounce along George's exploding
cock. The footballer moved slowly and deliberately, holding himself down on
George's head a little longer while the top filled him with his warm seed.
Mason used the feeling of George's cum squirting inside as the final
ingredient to trigger his own orgasm. "Yeah, fucked the cum outta me."
Mason groaned as George pushed another load into him which in turn forced a
shot of his cream to squirt up into the air, landing on George's sculptured
torso. "Shit yes mate!" George replied, as his shaft squeezed another hot
load into Mason's arse, a sensation heightened by the sight of the
footballer's own orgasm.
Two hairy thighs tensed as they lowered Mason's hole down onto George's lap
against, the top's 8.5-inch mast stroking the underside of Mason's
sphincter as it coated the bottom's insides with another load of velvet
cream. Mason's hairy nuts blasted another volley of his cum out over
George's smooth chest, the thick cream landing across the racer's smooth
neck. Using his hips, Mason added a little extra body language to each
descent as his hole swallowed George's hard shaft, milking it of another
shot. "You dirty little cunt." George sneered, throwing his crotch up into
Mason's arse and holding the footballer there. Mason's reward was the rest
of George's cum, firing into his hot arse, the final three shots draining
the Mercedes driver's cock of his creamy cum.
After the pop of George's cock escaping his tight hole, Mason shimmied up
the racer's body as the weakening shots continued to squirt from his hard
cock. "Uhhhh." Mason purred as the last few drops dribbled from his head,
dripping down onto George's torso. The Chelsea star slowed the speed of his
bounces, carefully massaging his still pulsing boner. Looking down at the
mess splattered across the Mercedes driver's front, then up at his handsome
face, Mason dropped his softening cock to the side and pulled George in for
a brief kiss.
"Hmmm, lovely." George giggled, raising his hand to his face and wiping the
trail of cum Mason had left on the side of his face. "Sorry." Mason
blushed. "Don't be silly mate." George beamed back. The footballer stood up
with his softening cock hanging down in front of him. "Know what you're
doing don't you." George grinned. "Ha, you calling me a slut?" Mason
laughed. "Alright have, haven't I." George chuckled. "Nah mate, just saying
that was very good indeed, took it like a pro." he explained. "Yeah boy, I
can be a bit of a slut though, might as well while I still have my looks
innit." Mason giggled. "I hear you mate, only young once innit." George
agreed, looking up at Mason. "You don't have to go straight away though
mate, we can still chill and play that game." He continued, realising that
the footballer looked a bit lost. "You set it back up and I'll just mop
this up." George finished, gesturing towards his sticky abs and jumping off
the couch.
Mason watched George disappear and set up the games console while the
Mercedes driver mopped himself dry. Returning with a satisfied look on his
face and a clean torso, George threw himself into the chair alongside Mason
still fully naked. "How are you feeling?" George started. "Yeah, pretty
good, you? Hopefully you're not too tired." Mason replied. "I'm fighting
fit and ready for tomorrow." George beamed, throwing his fists forward like
a boxer. "Awesome, I'm really excited, I hope you do well." Mason
smiled. "Is it your first Grand Prix?" George asked. "Yes mate." Mason
nodded enthusiastically. "Awesome, you'll have a blast!" George
chortled. "I hope so, would be great if you won." Mason beamed. "Ha, yeah
it would, don't hold your breath though, need a miracle of some sort."
George replied. "I'll do some extra praying for you." Mason chuckled. "Hope
you have a great time and I'm sure I'll catch you at an after party."
George grinned.
}
Stumbling back into his hotel room an hour later, Mason fell onto his bed
beaming with happiness and his arse saturated with George's cum. Today was
the day he became a big F1 fan and this weekend he hoped there would be
much more of the same. Hanging out with Timo was always great fun and he'd
even heard that England teammate Phil Foden would be in Monaco this weekend
too. This would be a weekend to remember, and he knew it!
END
Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story.
If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on
pcwtosh@gmail.com.
Here is the rest of my collection:
Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy
18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The
Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones,
The Twins Nextdoor, 13 Goo-uld Reasons Why & Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway.
The Diving Squad 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 & 6.
Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer.
Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY, Swimnasium & Ripped Roses
Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk &
Deep Dipping in Dunkirk,
Stranger Boys:
Stranger Mendes, Oral Things & Someone Stranger in the Fuller House
Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY
No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86
North American Swedes & Fly Eagles Fly
Cricket series:
England Cricket Boys, From Rapid to Star, Scorcher from the Caribbean,
Inside the Bio Bubble, A Little Closer to Home, Ducking the First Balls &
The Captains' Club.
Rugby series:
Scrum Down, Clash of the Centres, Henry Gets Some Bone, Maro, Becoming the
Dragon & Thudding Ford.
Tennis series:
Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the Bahamas, Bulging
Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple Leafs, Made in
Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Sleeping Meadows &
Team Building in Melbourne Park.
Football series:
Chelsea Training, Winter in Portsmouth, Graduation Ceremony, Welsh
Cherries, Cherries Go Blue, King Power, Three Lions of King Power, Loving
Gunners, Bad Boys Gone Naughty, Confident Canary, Lilywhite Hoops, From
Paris with Love, Lion Cubs, Behind Blue Doors, The Fifteen-Legged Dragon,
The Hero and the Zero, When Harry Met Trent, Austria v Germany in Chelsea,
The Trials of Romeo Beckham, Anything but Swish, Swish, Phil-ed by a
Villain, The Warm Up, Return to the Wolfpack, Jadon gets his Phil, A
Norwich Tale, The Tails of Two Nike Stars, Operation: Harvey's Boxers &
Bayern Boys.
F1 Series:
F1 World & Life in Monaco, Magic Monza & Magical Monza, Marina Bay, Surrey
Holiday, The Home of British Motorsport, The Champ is Here, Samba in Sao
Paulo, You're Fired, The Apprentice's Apprentice, L'Accademia, McLaren's
Days of Future Past, The Enemy Within & Bonus Night
Ice Hockey Series:
On Ice, On Ice Mighty Ducks, Buffalo Bound, Power Surge & Canadian
Countdown to the Curtain Raiser.
Formula Football Series:
All The Way From Memphis & The Beach
You can show your appreciation for all the guys at Nifty by donating here,
https://donate.nifty.org/
</pcwtosh@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/fun-in-the-sun | Date: Sun, 18 Aug 2024 21:19:22 +0000 From: Sven Benters Subject: Fun In The Sun This is a fanfiction story with the characters RJ Forrester (Joshua Hoffman) and Noah Newman (Rory Gibson). This story says nothing about the actors' sexual references; it's just fiction. Copyrights © CBS BOLD AND THE BEAUTIFUL - YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS ********************************* RJ Forrester is at the beach coming out of the water and lays himself down on one of the towels. As the rich Forrester heir he can spend his time at one of the more private parts at the beach that his family owns. As he is laying on his towel in his swim shorts and sunglasses on, another stud passes by in only shorts. RJ sits up, wanting to tell the guy he's on a private part of what his family owns but he only stares at the guy, seeing that masculine fit body. The guy has no idea at first he's being spotted by RJ, when he looks at RJ he notices RJ looks quickly away. RJ is blushing when he notices the guy is coming his way. The guy takes a seat next to RJ. "Great weather today huh." RJ looks at the guy. "You do know this is a private beach area that my family owns." `Fuck, why did I say it like that?' RJ thinks to himself. "I'm sorry dude." The guy says and hangs more towards RJ. "I guess you need to cuff me or better yet give me a punishment." RJ widens his eyes. He can't believe what this hot masculine dude is saying to him. "I don't know you.' RJ can only say. `Why am I not thinking first before I say something?' RJ questions himself again. "Well I'm Noah Newman." Noah replies. "RJ Forrester." RJ replies. The guys laugh, knowing their grandparents have known each other for a long time. "Now that we know each other better, what about that punishment?" Noah teases with a grin on his face and pulls at RJ's arm to bring the big muscle stud on top of him. RJ lays on top of Noah's body, feeling those pecs and abs underneath him. It makes him instantly hard and Noah smiles. "I guess someone is very excited and is going to give me a hard time." "A very hard time." RJ teases back while he sits up and looks down at Noah's masculine body. Noah looks up at RJ's buff muscle body, he reaches his hands out and feels those abs and big pecs up. "My God you are all grown up and masculine." RJ looks down, rubbing his hands over Noah's abs up to those big round firm pecs. "You are well built as well." Noah sits up with RJ on his lap. "Man, you really turned into a buff man." Noah rubs his hands over that chest hair that RJ is sporting. "Quite the bear cub you are." Noah says with a grin on his face. "You turned into a hunky man yourself." RJ replies and they lean in to share a passionate kiss. While they kiss Noah gets excited the most and RJ feels underneath him Noah's dick stiffen. "Someone is getting excited." RJ teases and smiles at Noah. "Man you are fucking hot." Noah replies and gets his hand to RJ's crotch. "Aren't you feeling it?" Noah smiles when he feels RJ is being hard too in his swim shorts. RJ and Noah get into the moment and RJ is happy that this area is a private part of his family that owns it. Noah reaches inside RJ's swim shorts and brings out RJ's dick. "Nice cock man!" RJ proudly smiles while he feels Noah stroking his dick. A few moans escape RJ's mouth while he feels his dick being stroked by this hot Newman hunk. "Fuck man, you are as hot as your father." "Ow you dreamed about my dad?" Noah teases. "My God your daddy is a dream but you are fucking sexy too." RJ admits. Noah keeps stroking RJ's dick. "Who do you like more, my daddy or me?" "Even though your dad is still so sexy for a DILF, I want you, FUCING YOU!" Noah smiles. "Well you know what, I will let you fuck me then." Noah says and winks at the buff Forrester stud. RJ looks down in surprise and starts to smile. "Oh yes, fuck yes!" Noah leans in and starts to suck at RJ's nipples, teasingly biting them, licking and sucking at them. RJ feels so good with Noah admiring his body. Noah pushes RJ further back and leans in to suck RJ's dick. "Mmmm yeah fucking suck that dick." RJ moans out. Noah first gags a little to give RJ a sucking but eventually he gets into it and starts to bob that head up and down. RJ grabs hold of Noah's head and moves his hips back and forth so his dick gets deep inside. "Fuck yeah, that mouth of yours is so good." RJ says and moans, enjoying Noah's sucking. RJ's dick gets hard and ready to fuck. While Noah is completely into the sucking RJ taps on his shoulder. "You can stop sucking me, I'm ready to fuck that ass of yours." Noah stops and smiles at RJ who gets up and starts to remove his swim shorts while Noah rolls over to get on his hands and knees. RJ gets behind Noah and pulls the hunk his running shorts slowly down and gets a great view of Noah's masculine buttocks. "Wow, what a hot ass." RJ says and helps Noah out of the swim shorts and then gets his hands on that butt and feels it up. Noah loves the feeling of having RJ feel his ass up. He gets excited for it since he has waited for RJ to fuck him one day and now his dream on holiday finally comes true. Noah looks over his shoulder. "Please give me a rim job before you fuck me." RJ looks at Noah and then at that ass, he pries those buttcheeks apart and sees that pink hole of Noah as if it's winking at him to be rimmed. "I never did this." RJ says. "I think you will be great, you will turn me on so much for it." Noah assures RJ. RJ feels already incredible lucky to be the one fucking Noah. "Okay, I should give you something back as I can fuck you." He says. Noah smiles and sees RJ getting with his face between his ass cheeks and then feels RJ's tongue at his hole. "Mmmmmm fuck yeah!" Noah moans out. Testosterone runs through Noah's body while he gets his rosebutt for the first time rimmed. "Oh God, that feels good." Noah admits. RJ hears Noah's words, it motivates him to dive further with his tongue and realizes to himself that this isn't as bad as he thought it would be. Noah's moans are a great motivation for RJ to give his buddy a good rimming. The hunky studs their bodies are covered in sweat with the sun burning on their bodies while they experience this new sexual sensation between them. Noah's dick gets brick hard by the feeling of his hole being rimmed and the thought of going to be fucked by such a buff stud like RJ. "I can't wait to have your dick up inside me." Noah admits. RJ stops and strokes his dick. "I'm ready to give it to you, are you ready to take it?" "Fuck yeah man, give me that dick of yours!" Noah says excitedly. RJ holds his dick to lead it to Noah's rosebutt, pressing the mushroom head of his dick against it. "Ready to get fucked?" "Yeah stud, give it to me!" Noah replies. RJ starts to press his dick inside Noah's virgin ass, feeling how tight it still is. Noah has his fists pressed in the sand, disappearing in the sand to hold himself stable to take RJ's thick hard dick. "Man you are tight!" RJ says. "Fuck yeah, lose me up with that thick dick of yours." Noah replies. RJ grabs Noah's waist and starts to fuck the Newman hunk. "Fuck me RJ, fuck me." Noah begs. RJ continues to fuck Noah, both their bodies have drops of sweat falling from their bodies. "I'm so honored you have waited for me to be the first to fuck you. That ass is so tight and I love fucking it." RJ admits while he continues giving deep hard thrusts. "Don't stop man, show me you are a big buff man now that can fuck good." Noah replies. RJ runs his hands over Noah's front body and Noah gets further up to turn his head and share a kiss while RJ keeps fucking him. Noah and RJ moans, enjoying the fucking they have been waiting during the time they grew up, wanted each other for so long. RJ tweeks one of Noah's nipples while they don't break off the kiss. Noah is like wax in RJ's hands, wanting to give himself completely to the buff stud. RJ breaks off the kiss and stares in Noah's eyes. "I want to fuck you deeper and harder, roll over for me." Noah smiles and RJ's dick plops out of Noah's ass while Noah lays down on RJ's towel, his legs spreaded, ready to be taken by the buff Forrester stud. RJ gets between Noah's legs and brings his dick in one hard thrust back inside. "FUCK YEAH!" Noah moans feeling that dick back inside and now even deeper than before. RJ hands over Noah and smiles. "This feels much better, so deep inside you." "Yeah, I fucking love it." Noah admits. RJ starts to move his hips back and forth while he feels Noah's legs locking him. "Get over here, stud." Noah says while wrapping his arms around RJ bringing him on his chest to kiss with. Their big sweaty pecs pressed against each other. Noah's dick between their abs, feeling the friction while RJ moves back and forth. They moan and enjoy the fucking of their life. "Fuck me Ridge Junior!" Noah suddenly says. RJ looks at Noah and smiles. "You're mine Nick Junior." Even though they always wanted each other, there has been moments they also fantasized of each other's daddies and while they fuck RJ looks down to imagine Nick, while Noah looks up at RJ imagining Ridge. Noah's ass starts to stretch to the size of RJ's thick dick. RJ starts to know what to hit inside Noah and makes the Newman hunk moan loudly. Noah runs his hands over RJ's masculine body, feeling the buff stud is so masculine. "Fuck man, your ass is so amazing, I'm getting close." RJ admits. "Please hold, I'm getting close too." Noah replies. RJ gets further up so Noah can reach for his dick to stroke. "Yeah man, stroke that dick and cum for me." RJ says. "Cum inside me man while I cum!" RJ and Noah cannot get enough of each other but they feel they are getting close to shoot their loads. It's Noah who cums first, shooting his load all over his abs and fist. "FUUUCCCKKKKK!!" Noah shouts out while he shoots five spurts of cum. RJ gives four more deep hard thrusts and then tenses up to cum inside Noah. "FUUUCCCKKKK!!" Both Newman and Forrester studs are in extase of their cummings. RJ drops himself on top of Noah and they kiss passionately. "Man, that was amazing." Noah says. "Yeah man, I fucking loved it." RJ admits. "Maybe we should take a dip in the sea?" RJ suggests. Noah sits up. "I'd rather have you dipping inside me again but sure." He teasingly replies and winks at RJ. RJ smiles and gets up to run this time naked into the sea, he gets quickly followed by Noah who's naked as well. In the water they kiss again. "I hope this gets another repeat." Noah says. "When you get your daddy so far to join my daddy we might be doing it again." RJ replies. "That's a hot idea man!" Noah says. When they come out of the water Noah is allowed to use RJ's towel to dry himself up to then continue his run back to the hotel he's staying at. RJ grabs his belongings and watches how Noah runs off, he smiles to the thought of been in luck to have fucked that Newman hunk. ********************************* If you enjoyed the story or have a request please send me a message For more stories from me, visit https://www.facebook.com/groups/480903845719867 Please donate to Nifty for support to let this great site and its archive stay free. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sun, 18 Aug 2024 21:19:22 +0000
From: Sven Benters <daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com>
Subject: Fun In The Sun
This is a fanfiction story with the characters RJ Forrester (Joshua
Hoffman) and Noah Newman (Rory Gibson).
This story says nothing about the actors' sexual references; it's just
fiction.
Copyrights © CBS BOLD AND THE BEAUTIFUL - YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS
*********************************
RJ Forrester is at the beach coming out of the water and lays himself down
on one of the towels.
As the rich Forrester heir he can spend his time at one of the more private
parts at the beach that his family owns.
As he is laying on his towel in his swim shorts and sunglasses on, another
stud passes by in only shorts.
RJ sits up, wanting to tell the guy he's on a private part of what his
family owns but he only stares at the guy, seeing that masculine fit body.
The guy has no idea at first he's being spotted by RJ, when he looks at RJ
he notices RJ looks quickly away.
RJ is blushing when he notices the guy is coming his way.
The guy takes a seat next to RJ. "Great weather today huh."
RJ looks at the guy. "You do know this is a private beach area that my
family owns."
`Fuck, why did I say it like that?' RJ thinks to himself.
"I'm sorry dude." The guy says and hangs more towards RJ. "I guess you need
to cuff me or better yet give me a punishment."
RJ widens his eyes. He can't believe what this hot masculine dude is saying
to him.
"I don't know you.' RJ can only say.
`Why am I not thinking first before I say something?' RJ questions himself
again.
"Well I'm Noah Newman." Noah replies.
"RJ Forrester." RJ replies.
The guys laugh, knowing their grandparents have known each other for a long
time.
"Now that we know each other better, what about that punishment?" Noah
teases with a grin on his face and pulls at RJ's arm to bring the big
muscle stud on top of him.
RJ lays on top of Noah's body, feeling those pecs and abs underneath
him. It makes him instantly hard and Noah smiles. "I guess someone is very
excited and is going to give me a hard time."
"A very hard time." RJ teases back while he sits up and looks down at
Noah's masculine body.
Noah looks up at RJ's buff muscle body, he reaches his hands out and feels
those abs and big pecs up. "My God you are all grown up and masculine."
RJ looks down, rubbing his hands over Noah's abs up to those big round firm
pecs. "You are well built as well."
Noah sits up with RJ on his lap. "Man, you really turned into a buff man."
Noah rubs his hands over that chest hair that RJ is sporting. "Quite the
bear cub you are." Noah says with a grin on his face.
"You turned into a hunky man yourself." RJ replies and they lean in to
share a passionate kiss.
While they kiss Noah gets excited the most and RJ feels underneath him
Noah's dick stiffen.
"Someone is getting excited." RJ teases and smiles at Noah.
"Man you are fucking hot." Noah replies and gets his hand to RJ's
crotch. "Aren't you feeling it?" Noah smiles when he feels RJ is being hard
too in his swim shorts.
RJ and Noah get into the moment and RJ is happy that this area is a private
part of his family that owns it.
Noah reaches inside RJ's swim shorts and brings out RJ's dick. "Nice cock
man!"
RJ proudly smiles while he feels Noah stroking his dick.
A few moans escape RJ's mouth while he feels his dick being stroked by this
hot Newman hunk. "Fuck man, you are as hot as your father."
"Ow you dreamed about my dad?" Noah teases.
"My God your daddy is a dream but you are fucking sexy too." RJ admits.
Noah keeps stroking RJ's dick. "Who do you like more, my daddy or me?"
"Even though your dad is still so sexy for a DILF, I want you, FUCING YOU!"
Noah smiles. "Well you know what, I will let you fuck me then." Noah says
and winks at the buff Forrester stud.
RJ looks down in surprise and starts to smile. "Oh yes, fuck yes!"
Noah leans in and starts to suck at RJ's nipples, teasingly biting them,
licking and sucking at them.
RJ feels so good with Noah admiring his body.
Noah pushes RJ further back and leans in to suck RJ's dick.
"Mmmm yeah fucking suck that dick." RJ moans out.
Noah first gags a little to give RJ a sucking but eventually he gets into
it and starts to bob that head up and down.
RJ grabs hold of Noah's head and moves his hips back and forth so his dick
gets deep inside.
"Fuck yeah, that mouth of yours is so good." RJ says and moans, enjoying
Noah's sucking.
RJ's dick gets hard and ready to fuck.
While Noah is completely into the sucking RJ taps on his shoulder. "You can
stop sucking me, I'm ready to fuck that ass of yours."
Noah stops and smiles at RJ who gets up and starts to remove his swim
shorts while Noah rolls over to get on his hands and knees.
RJ gets behind Noah and pulls the hunk his running shorts slowly down and
gets a great view of Noah's masculine buttocks.
"Wow, what a hot ass." RJ says and helps Noah out of the swim shorts and
then gets his hands on that butt and feels it up.
Noah loves the feeling of having RJ feel his ass up. He gets excited for it
since he has waited for RJ to fuck him one day and now his dream on holiday
finally comes true.
Noah looks over his shoulder. "Please give me a rim job before you fuck
me."
RJ looks at Noah and then at that ass, he pries those buttcheeks apart and
sees that pink hole of Noah as if it's winking at him to be rimmed.
"I never did this." RJ says.
"I think you will be great, you will turn me on so much for it." Noah
assures RJ.
RJ feels already incredible lucky to be the one fucking Noah. "Okay, I
should give you something back as I can fuck you." He says.
Noah smiles and sees RJ getting with his face between his ass cheeks and
then feels RJ's tongue at his hole.
"Mmmmmm fuck yeah!" Noah moans out.
Testosterone runs through Noah's body while he gets his rosebutt for the
first time rimmed.
"Oh God, that feels good." Noah admits.
RJ hears Noah's words, it motivates him to dive further with his tongue and
realizes to himself that this isn't as bad as he thought it would be.
Noah's moans are a great motivation for RJ to give his buddy a good
rimming.
The hunky studs their bodies are covered in sweat with the sun burning on
their bodies while they experience this new sexual sensation between them.
Noah's dick gets brick hard by the feeling of his hole being rimmed and the
thought of going to be fucked by such a buff stud like RJ.
"I can't wait to have your dick up inside me." Noah admits.
RJ stops and strokes his dick. "I'm ready to give it to you, are you ready
to take it?"
"Fuck yeah man, give me that dick of yours!" Noah says excitedly.
RJ holds his dick to lead it to Noah's rosebutt, pressing the mushroom head
of his dick against it. "Ready to get fucked?"
"Yeah stud, give it to me!" Noah replies.
RJ starts to press his dick inside Noah's virgin ass, feeling how tight it
still is.
Noah has his fists pressed in the sand, disappearing in the sand to hold
himself stable to take RJ's thick hard dick.
"Man you are tight!" RJ says.
"Fuck yeah, lose me up with that thick dick of yours." Noah replies.
RJ grabs Noah's waist and starts to fuck the Newman hunk.
"Fuck me RJ, fuck me." Noah begs.
RJ continues to fuck Noah, both their bodies have drops of sweat falling
from their bodies.
"I'm so honored you have waited for me to be the first to fuck you. That
ass is so tight and I love fucking it." RJ admits while he continues giving
deep hard thrusts.
"Don't stop man, show me you are a big buff man now that can fuck good."
Noah replies.
RJ runs his hands over Noah's front body and Noah gets further up to turn
his head and share a kiss while RJ keeps fucking him.
Noah and RJ moans, enjoying the fucking they have been waiting during the
time they grew up, wanted each other for so long.
RJ tweeks one of Noah's nipples while they don't break off the kiss.
Noah is like wax in RJ's hands, wanting to give himself completely to the
buff stud.
RJ breaks off the kiss and stares in Noah's eyes. "I want to fuck you
deeper and harder, roll over for me."
Noah smiles and RJ's dick plops out of Noah's ass while Noah lays down on
RJ's towel, his legs spreaded, ready to be taken by the buff Forrester
stud.
RJ gets between Noah's legs and brings his dick in one hard thrust back
inside.
"FUCK YEAH!" Noah moans feeling that dick back inside and now even deeper
than before.
RJ hands over Noah and smiles. "This feels much better, so deep inside
you."
"Yeah, I fucking love it." Noah admits.
RJ starts to move his hips back and forth while he feels Noah's legs
locking him.
"Get over here, stud." Noah says while wrapping his arms around RJ bringing
him on his chest to kiss with.
Their big sweaty pecs pressed against each other. Noah's dick between their
abs, feeling the friction while RJ moves back and forth.
They moan and enjoy the fucking of their life.
"Fuck me Ridge Junior!" Noah suddenly says.
RJ looks at Noah and smiles. "You're mine Nick Junior."
Even though they always wanted each other, there has been moments they also
fantasized of each other's daddies and while they fuck RJ looks down to
imagine Nick, while Noah looks up at RJ imagining Ridge.
Noah's ass starts to stretch to the size of RJ's thick dick.
RJ starts to know what to hit inside Noah and makes the Newman hunk moan
loudly.
Noah runs his hands over RJ's masculine body, feeling the buff stud is so
masculine.
"Fuck man, your ass is so amazing, I'm getting close." RJ admits.
"Please hold, I'm getting close too." Noah replies.
RJ gets further up so Noah can reach for his dick to stroke.
"Yeah man, stroke that dick and cum for me." RJ says.
"Cum inside me man while I cum!"
RJ and Noah cannot get enough of each other but they feel they are getting
close to shoot their loads.
It's Noah who cums first, shooting his load all over his abs and fist.
"FUUUCCCKKKKK!!" Noah shouts out while he shoots five spurts of cum.
RJ gives four more deep hard thrusts and then tenses up to cum inside
Noah. "FUUUCCCKKKK!!"
Both Newman and Forrester studs are in extase of their cummings.
RJ drops himself on top of Noah and they kiss passionately.
"Man, that was amazing." Noah says.
"Yeah man, I fucking loved it." RJ admits.
"Maybe we should take a dip in the sea?" RJ suggests.
Noah sits up. "I'd rather have you dipping inside me again but sure." He
teasingly replies and winks at RJ.
RJ smiles and gets up to run this time naked into the sea, he gets quickly
followed by Noah who's naked as well.
In the water they kiss again. "I hope this gets another repeat." Noah says.
"When you get your daddy so far to join my daddy we might be doing it
again." RJ replies.
"That's a hot idea man!" Noah says.
When they come out of the water Noah is allowed to use RJ's towel to dry
himself up to then continue his run back to the hotel he's staying at.
RJ grabs his belongings and watches how Noah runs off, he smiles to the
thought of been in luck to have fucked that Newman hunk.
*********************************
If you enjoyed the story or have a request please send me a message
<daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com>
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Please donate to Nifty for support to let this great site and its archive
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</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/formula-football/gas-middle-man | Date: Mon, 22 Jul 2024 08:00:00 +0100
From: PCW Tosh <pcwtosh@gmail.com>
Subject: Formula Football 2.3: Gas-Middle-Man
Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence
that this actually happened, but we can all dream.
Stay healthy and practice safe sex!
Happy reading.
Formula Football 2.3: Gas-Middle-Man
Pierre's head had breached Arthur's sensationally tight ring and slowly the
top fed himself inside Arhtur's twinkish body. They could hear Charles
across from them increasing in volume as Kai ruthlessly entered his
body. Pierre remained calm and considerate, giving Arthur all the time he
needed to adjust to the Frenchman's thick cock. Fortunately for Arthur,
Kai's cock had an inch and a half on Pierre's which Charles was currently
straining to accommodate. The F3 driver just lay there and focused on
Pierre's bare thickness entering him and looking up into those familiar
blue eyes, it all felt right as Pierre's shaft worked its way into his
increasingly accepting body.
Across the bed the pace was already beginning to ramp up, but the top had
no intention of matching Kai. The Alpha Tauri driver kept his eyes on
Arthur's adorable face and watched the bottom's lip tremble as his bare
shaft sank deeper into his slender body. The protest of Arthur's tight,
Monegasque flesh was diminishing with every passing second and that
incredible sexiness surrounding Pierre's throbbing mast grew warmer within
every deepening inch. The smooth, olive handsomeness that was Arthur's
perfect body and face made Pierre feel like the luckiest top in the world
as his furry crotch approached the bottom's innocent looking arse cheeks.
A minute later Pierre's crotch had found the soft tenderness of Arthur's
tailbone and carefully the top began to pump. Arthur's moans were sweet and
gentle, matching Pierre's considerate pace which was no faster than a
thrust every few seconds. The Frenchman was perfect, allowing Arthur all
the time he needed for his body to adjust to its intruder. Every stroke the
balance between pain and pleasure was shifting until the bottom found more
pleasure than pain from one particular stroke. The noise across the bed
from them sounded so much more painful, how could Charles stand up to that
punishment? Pierre was perfect, just like this, each calm thrust of his
bare, thick 6.5-inch cock actually felt like heaven.
The violence across from Pierre and Arthur continued to grow louder
still. Pierre stayed true to himself, slowly feeding Arthur only what he
could manage and not an ounce more. From everything Pierre knew about
Charles he was certain the bottom was in no danger across from them. There
were plenty of times in the sexual friendship of Charles and Pierre where
the Monegasque begged for it in the same way as he was currently receiving
it and Pierre willingly accepted the challenge. The pair had shared every
position and every speed imaginable, feeling richer for the
experience. Arthur on the other hand was a novice and Pierre had no
intention of making the teenager's entry into the homosexual world a
traumatising one.
Just an inch or so at a time was Pierre's idea of a gentle welcome. The
Frenchman tensed his furry glutes and looked down at his thick cock as two
inches slowly peeked out of Arthur's hole. His cock looked amazing between
those smooth, olive cheeks and the vivid pinkness of the bottom's arse
which Pierre could spy through those short brown hairs lining the way
inside Arthur, encouraging Pierre to keep feeding the teenager. It took
another minute of careful pain management for Pierre to find another inch
of length, remaining slow but reversing 3 inches out of Arthur's smooth,
slender body. "How does it feel?" Pierre asked, just loud enough for Arthur
to hear over his whining brother. "It feels pretty good." Arthur nodded.
Arthur wasn't lying either. The bottom certainly felt the benefit of
Pierre's bare meat as it began to slide. The increasing freedom of Pierre's
cock to move back and forth started by making Arthur's stomach queasy and
quickly changed to a stimulating experience across his sensitive arse
hole. There was something about Pierre's bare skin as it sank inside him,
rumbling across his innocent arse hole that made Arhtur's arse feel like
the most precious part of his horny, young body, treating him to feelings
of extreme pleasure where many thought only pain existed. The hammering
across from them had reached a crescendo and from the sounds Kai was
making, Arthur and Pierre were set to become the only show left.
> "Shizer!" Kai spat as his smooth balls exploded, blasting hot cum down
into Charles' waiting belly. "Oh, my Godddd!" Charles exclaimed, the blood
vessels in his head ready to burst from the pressure of Kai's tightening
hands around the back of his neck while the German continued to thud but at
a slower and harder rhythm. "Fuck...fuck...fuck!" Charles grumbled after
each impact as Kai's large frame smashed into his firm arse cheeks. <
Pierre's blue eyes glinted with happiness and edging up to the next gear he
was now at 3.5 inches in length and a thrust every other second. Arthur's
sweet little arse hole sucked on his hard cock with such strength that the
top was glad he had remained steady. Feeling his cock throb deep inside
Arthur's smooth belly was even better than the Frenchman had expected and
now he was inside this boy he had seen grow into a handsome young man,
Pierre wanted this moment to last. The adorable racing twink below him felt
like the perfect glove for his thick cock as it slid back for 4 inches then
rolled into Arthur's waiting cheeks. Pierre felt so comfortable with his
place right now and the only way he could think to make this better was for
Charles to join them.
> Falling back into the bed behind him, Kai looked magnificent. His smooth,
lanky body had that radiant post sex glow, a coat of sweat added and
raising his arms up behind his head the German flaunted an array of the
muscles which had given Charles such a brutal pounding. The Ferrari looked
at the sexy footballer who beamed back at him. How Charles would've dearly
loved to tug the load Kai had helped produce out over the German's sexy
canvas but today that was the second-best option available. In Charles'
peripheral vision Pierre's furry arse swung back and forth invitingly and
given the Monegasque's nuts were currently storing a growing load of their
own, Charles decided it would be better to cum in someone rather than on
someone. <
The Ferrari driver took hold of the bottle of lube and moved it across with
him, then turning and tilting his head, Charles fired a mouthful of phlegm
across Pierre's bushy forest of a hole. Another messy mouthful of spit
splattered across the hole and then launching his face forward into the
gap, Charles ran his tongue up along Pierre's fuzzy crack.
The amazing tightness of Arthur's hole had been so delightful Pierre could
barely concentrate on anything else until Charles' tongue began to explore
his arse. The Frenchman paused thrusting, using the opportunity to give his
hard cock a break from the arousing friction of Arthur's gloriously tight
chute. Lowering himself to Arthur's adorable face, Pierre pushed the
bottom's lips apart and fed the Monegasque his tongue. Humming with
delight, Arthur enjoyed the Frenchman's bare meat filling his tight arse
hole while the top's tongue swished and swiped around inside his
mouth. Added to Pierre's amazing cock and Pierre's tasty tongue, the
Frenchman's dazzling blue eyes were so relaxing as they beamed down on him,
making the bottom feel comfortable, happy and incredibly aroused.
Holding Pierre's furry arse cheeks nice and wide apart, Charles gave
himself full access to the Frenchman's sexy hole. A fresh coat of light
sweat had glazed Pierre's ring for Charles to enjoy as he prepared his mate
for his hard cock. There wasn't too much time needed for preparation but
that didn't mean Charles couldn't enjoy every moment. The furry curls of
Pierre's entrance were as delightful as ever, dragging Charles' addicted
tongue back for another taste.
Shooting another mouthful of phlegm across Pierre's hole, Charles gave
himself a little more fluid to play with. The Frenchman's cavity tasted
ready as always, giving Charles the enjoyment he could always indulge
himself in before fucking his favourite friend in F1. Charles could spend
all day with face in between Pierre's warm cheeks, tasting the fine flavour
of Pierre's brown curls. Within his hairs Pierre always held a touch of
manly perspiration, seldom overpowering unless they were fucking straight
after sports or exercise today those hairs had the softest hint of flavour
created by the gentle miles he had already completed on Arthur's arse. And
with that it was time for Charles to join in and begin his journey on
Pierre's arse.
Edging forward as little as possible, Pierre had kept himself hard while
allowing Charles to do the necessary prep work for him. It was a relief for
Pierre to feel Charles' tongue withdraw from his hole and a moment later
the Monegasque's messy face pulled around for a kiss, while his familiar
cock pressed against the Frenchman's entrance. The taste of his own hole on
Charles' breath was one he'd experienced so many times it triggered the
Frenchman in the best way possible. Pierre's ring relaxed and the force of
Charles' advancing cock was easily enough to unite the pair. Curving up
into Pierre's chute, Charles found 4 inches of instant depth before his
cock found any resistance within Pierre's sexy body. Another inch and a
half and Pierre's tightening tunnel needed a little more convincing.
Tilting Pierre forward a little, Charles now had the perfect angle and
pulling his hips back a couple of inches the top pushed himself forward
until Pierre's body tried to stop him, and then continued to press a tiny
bit more before reversing. Pierre offered a soft groan as a compliment to
Charles' work, encouraging the top to continue like he always did. Using
his knees to propel himself forward Charles did exactly that, pulling back
a little further each time, the 2 inches of direction quickly becoming 3.5
inches as the top pulled further back and each plunge took him deeper
inside Pierre's furry body.
Once Pierre had figured out Charles' rhythm he was back in the game and
started to swing his own hips to match the top's rhythm. The Frenchman
truly had the best of both worlds, and he fully appreciated the situation
he was in. Behind him, Charles' hard cock slid up into his tight arse with
his bare, 7--inch cock expanding his sensitive chute with each firm
stroke. Pierre didn't need to look behind him, Charles' handsome features
were tattooed to the inside of his eyelids and that image took up 50% of
his mind as the Ferrari driver fucked him from tip to base. The other 50%
of Pierre's mind looked down on his adorable bottom and appreciated the
stunning view. Arthur's face held that same Leclerc beauty while his
smooth, olive body had a similar shade to his brother making him a little
lighter than Pierre. Between Arthur's skinny legs, Pierre's chunky 6.5-inch
boner looked at home, sliding back and forth within the deliciously warm
divide of the F3 racer's inexperienced hole.
Sensing Pierre was settling into his position, Charles felt harmony
surrounding the sexy trio. The Ferrari driver held Pierre's ribcage tightly
on both sides feeling the warmth created by the perspiration of the
Frenchman's bushy armpits as the heat increased. Charles loved everything
about Pierre, from his cheeky smile to his manly smell, his strong, hairy
body and right now more than enough the feel of his tight, bare arse hole.
Kai's long cock had pounded so much pleasure into Charles' body the Ferrari
driver didn't need long to enjoy Pierre's hole, but every moment felt as
magical as ever. The horny top squeezed his thighs and threw his hard cock
up into the Frenchman's furry cheeks. Charles' talents extended well beyond
the racetrack and Pierre's hole rejoiced in that fact. The Monegasque's
bare 7-inch cock rolled 5.5 inches back and then straight back up into
Pierre's beautiful body to make Charles' nuts tingle. "Fucking hell."
Charles muttered as he accelerated to a stroke a second, burying himself as
far inside Pierre's body as he could reach with every thrust.
That tight, furry ring strangled Charles' cock so well the top had to keep
drilling deep into it. The pull of Pierre's sexy flesh on his bare cock
slid Charles' foreskin back and forth within his friend's perfect arse,
edging him rapidly towards his climax and the Ferrari driver didn't care
one bit. The arousing pain surrounding his own arse hole following Kai's
drilling plus Pierre's hot furry body encasing his hard, spearing cock were
the perfect combo for Charles who muttered as moaned as he pumped.
Slamming himself deep and hard up inside his bestie, Charles had very
little resolve left in him. Holding Pierre's lovable sides Charles had all
the leverage he needed and ruthlessly pounding away on that furry bottom,
the Ferrari driver took himself to the edge of the cliff. 7 inches deep
inside Pierre's hot body Charles' slit opened, firing hot Monegasque cream
into his friend's olive body and still he continued to pump.
"Shit brooo." Pierre gasped as Charles' hot spunk flooded his horny
guts. The Ferrari driver's cock went off like a fire hose drowning Pierre's
prostate in thick, hot cum as Charles continued to pump his crotch into
those furry, olive buns. Thrusting continuously, Charles never missed a
beat as he stroked Pierre's increasingly slippery insides with his bare,
throbbing cock. "Oui CiCi!" Pierre groaned, still massaging his hard cock
into Arthur's tight hole but remaining focused on the pleasurable
pyrotechnics of the Ferrari driver's explosive cock. Charles and Pierre had
fallen out of sync, but it didn't matter for the top who was solely
focussed on maximising this experience. Slinging his ejaculating shaft
straight up into Pierre's warm chute, Charles deposited another helping of
fresh cream along the Alpha Tauri driver's hole to a chorus of approving
groans from the bottom. Charles' heavy nuts were lightening with incredible
speed as he irrigated Pierre's insides with every deep thrust. The load
Charles had managed to create after all their foreplay, his bottoming and
now his topping was an impressive one, drowning the Frenchman's prostate in
silky semen.
Sucking hungry on Charles' retreating cock, Pierre's furry arse begged the
Monegasque for more cum to drink. "Ohhh babyyyy!" Charles sighed as he
began to slow. The Ferrari driver's cock continued to spurt deep within
Pierre's sweet chute. Shaking and shuddering whilst he groaned, Charles
celebrated each throb of his cock as it drained up into Pierre's furry
belly. Weaker but still pulsing, Charles' head squeezed whatever his shaft
had left into Pierre's hole and with a final exhale of joy the Ferrari
driver was empty.
Charles threw himself back and felt his cock escape Pierre's hole with a
pop. Crashing to the mattress behind Pierre, Charles lay perpendicular to
Kai, exhausted. The footballer patted Charles on the shoulder, attracting
the racer's attention to his beautiful smile. The pair shared a moment
looking into each other's eyes where they silently agreed this was a good
decision and of course now they were done they could relax and watch the
rest of the show.
Free from Charles as a backstop, Pierre could give Arthur the deep fucking
the adorable young Monegasque deserved. Slinging his entire body in one
smooth motion, Pierre slammed the full length of his 6.5-inch mast inside
the tight teenager to the audible appreciation of the beautiful
bottom. Long gone was the fear that Arthur might get hurt or suffer from
Pierre's actions, the prep work from the quartet, added to Charles' seed
swishing inside his hungry arse hole made Pierre remorseless. Hell bent on
enjoying his first time inside Arthur, Pierre was going to fuck his sexy
little bottom to the absolute max. The final confirmation Pierre needed and
duly received was from Arthur's body itself and while an audible groan of
pleasure was half the story the top needed, the fact Arthur followed up by
gripping his hard, uncut 7.5-inch cock and stroking it rapidly as Pierre
rocked into motion was the full green signal he needed to go into Pierre
mode.
Leaning forward for better purchase, Pierre could move into a position he
enjoyed more, allowing the top to pull back and more importantly drive down
into Arthur's tight hole. "You ok?" Pierre huffed as he began to bounce,
using 5 inches of length in both directions to finally fuck the most
adorable boy he thought he would never get to have. "Oui Pepi." Arthur
replied in a similarly forced huff, concentrating on the effect Pierre's
increased intensity was having on his horny, young body.
Holding into his hard cock, Arthur could feel the effect Pierre's own
travelling rod had on his seriously sensitive arse hole. Each time the top
reversed to his ring, Arthur was starting to feel a void of emptiness that
needed refilling, emptiness that lasted no more than as second as Pierre's
weight forced that 6.5-inch meaty mast in until the point the top's crotch
pinged his tailbone causing a pulse of excitement from the young bottom's
excited head. Arthur's eyes met Pierre's, begging the furry top to keep
fucking him just like that.
"Cutey boy." Pierre huffed in response to the adoring look Arthur gave
him. The top noticed a little extra rose in Arthur's cheeks after his
compliment. "Your tight ass feels amazing." He continued. There was no need
to lie in both cases, Arthur was of course incredibly handsome but the
tightness of his twinkish arse hole around Pierre's thick shaft was a vice
like grip the top hadn't experienced in a while.
For the first time in his life, Arthur's arse hole had a hard cock inside
it and every pump of Pierre's olive shaft felt even better than the one
that preceded it. All the sexual pleasure of his past had been solely
focused on his cock meaning that the increasing sensation centred within
him brought a happy feeling he knew he would need to revisit as often as
his horny, young body could take it.
"How are you doing baby boy?" Pierre checked in sweetly as his horny crotch
exploded repeatedly off Arthur's tailbone. "So good Pepi, your cock feels
so good Pepi." Arthur breathed, his jerking fist speeding up as he
groaned. "Think you're gonna cum?" Pierre asked diligently. "Maybe soon,
yes." Arthur replied. "Ok, can I speed up?" Pierre asked. "Oui Pepi."
Arthur nodded, the rose in his cheeks melting Pierre's heart as he spoke.
Green light received, Pierre started to pick up the pace while keeping his
hand on Arthur's for a moment to prevent the bottom jerking and prolonging
the experience for them both. Without the distraction of his stroking palm,
Arthur became more sensitive to Pierre's driving cock and the pain of the
ordeal was written all over the bottom's adorable face. The calm, managed
expression on Arthur's face wrinkled into a grimace. The Frenchman's own
life experience told Pierre to continue regardless and to their combined
audible delight, the Alpha Tauri racer began to drive for home.
Each thrust of Pierre's bare cock took his boner the length of Arthur's
hole, crashing the furry top into Arthur's tailbone. The bottom looked
better than ever, taking each pound with increasing expertise. The Alpha
Tauri driver imagined what Arthur looked like inside right now with his
thick, bare, olive cock dragging itself along the slim pink membrane that
was the tender insides of this loveable, young bottom. The image of his
skin rubbing along the sexy sweetness of Arthur's insides only drove Pierre
to pound the bottom harder, desperate to maximise this very feeling before
it ended in the volcanic eruption, he knew he was about to unleash.
The announcement of Pierre's orgasm and the increased velocity of the
Frenchman's chunky cock made Arthur feel so much better. Pierre, his
adorable childhood friend with that handsome, rugged face, dazzling blue
eyes and broad sexy chest was just about to blow inside him and it was
official, Arthur couldn't fucking wait! The horny bottom directed 99% of
his attention to his tender arse hole, marvelling in every stroke of the
top's fat cock while waiting excitedly for the glory that was about to fill
him from the inside. Arthur didn't know exactly how close Pierre was to
cumming but the instant his fist closed around his boner and started to
stroke; Arthur felt his own sodomy induced orgasm approach faster than ever
before.
Pinging his crotch off Arthur's sweet tailbone, Pierre buried his bare
sword into the best part of Arthur's sexy body and with a yelp of happiness
the Alpha Tauri racer began to unload. "Fuckkk!" Pierre gasped, his blue
eyes wide with wonder as his thick shaft expanded inside Arthur's tight
tunnel, exploding within the Monegasque's sweet hole.
The look on Arthur's face at realising he was receiving his first creampie
was the sexiest thing Pierre had ever seen. "Ouiiii Pepiiiiiii!" Arthur
whined, his eyes so wide his eyeballs were in danger of popping out of
their sockets and his beautiful mouth wide open to verbalise his
appreciation for Pierre's cock delivering a creamy load deep within his
young belly. The beautiful bottom was frantic, rapping his boner hard and
fast as Pierre's cock thickened and throbbed with every deep thrust. Then,
as Pierre's orgasm had begun to fall from his high, Arthur unleashed a
spectacular display of spunk shooting across his vibrating body.
Every moment of Pierre's orgasm had felt magical and kept the top's shaft
moving to make the most of his bottom's tightness. The youngster's tender
insides sucked hard on his exploding cock as it drained thick, creamy seed
deep into Arthur's hungry belly. "Oui Pepi." Arthur moaned again, his eyes
looking cloudy, engulfed in wonder and happiness as the top's cock drained
shot another long rope of sweet cream up his tight rectum. Pierre's furry
nuts were nearly empty after what felt like the orgasm of a lifetime. There
had to be at least a dozen shots of his seed filling Arthur's devirginised
arse, each of them warmly received by the horny, young bottom. Finally,
before his sack had emptied Arthur began to shoot, clamping the bottom's
tight arse hole around his spitting snake.
"Holy fuckkk, Pepiii!" Arthur cried, firing the most aggressive load of his
life across his smooth, olive abs. Pierre's furry nuts were empty but the
top soldiered on. Each stab of his hard cock was now for the benefit of his
bottom who clearly appreciated every last thrust. Arthur couldn't help but
roll his head around in ecstasy, muttering Pierre's name continuously as
the furry top fucked him through his first anally induced orgasm.
The smooth, olive, griddle of the bottom's perfect abs glistened with
streaks of his marbly white cum as he jerked his uncut 7.5-boner
furiously. Arthur moaned gently but continuously, breathing his way through
his first orgasm as a sexy bottom and right now he felt better than he'd
ever imagined. Never before had an orgasm originated at the base of his
balls and touched every sensory nerve in his slender body before.
"Merde...Pepiiii." Arthur squealed as cum splattered across his smooth,
skinny pecs. The bottom's smooth torso had increasingly become a work of
art as rope after rope of his bright, white jizz streaked across his
beautiful abs. The smile across Pierre's face was exactly what Arthur
needed to see to make this the most powerful orgasm he'd ever experienced.
The shooting Monegasque stroked his exploding shaft as the ropes continued
to soak his smooth stomach. Each strand shining as bright and white as the
one that preceded it. The pressure in his nuts was reducing rapidly but
Arthur's cock still felt incredible. Rolling his fist along his uncut
shaft, Arthur made sure to pull every last drop he had to offer out over
his messy torso. "Oui Pepi." He whispered one last time as the final few
drops of his cum dropped down onto his crotch, entangling themselves into
the trimmed brown hairs of Arthur's pubes.
Once Arthur had dropped aside his empty shaft, Pierre felt free to remove
himself from the adorable bottom. The Frenchman watched Arthur's face
closely as his thick cock reversed gradually and once Pierre's head made it
to the Monegasque's entrance, the youngster's tight chute did the
rest. That feeling of his arse hole closing to seal in Pierre's milk was
absolutely magical. And finishing off the most incredible afternoon, Pierre
dropped to the bed next to him, face down but stretched over to give Arthur
one last, tender kiss.
END
Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story.
If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on
pcwtosh@gmail.com and/or for updates: Instagram - pcwtoshx Twitter -
@pcwtosh
Here is the rest of my collection:
Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy
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Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones,
13 Goo-uld Reasons Why, Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway, Now You See Cole, Big
Apple Aussies, Cole el Elite & The Power of My Name.
Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer.
Ripped Roses, Jack's Web, Naughty Neigbours & Devils and Dragons.
Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY, Swimnasium & Laugher of the Ice King.
Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk &
Deep Dipping in Dunkirk.
Reese Wilkerson the Heartstopper.
Stranger Boys: Stranger Mendes, Oral Things, Someone Stranger in the Fuller
House, A Stranger Series of Events & Anal Things.
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<pre>Date: Mon, 22 Jul 2024 08:00:00 +0100
From: PCW Tosh <pcwtosh@gmail.com>
Subject: Formula Football 2.3: Gas-Middle-Man
Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence
that this actually happened, but we can all dream.
Stay healthy and practice safe sex!
Happy reading.
Formula Football 2.3: Gas-Middle-Man
Pierre's head had breached Arthur's sensationally tight ring and slowly the
top fed himself inside Arhtur's twinkish body. They could hear Charles
across from them increasing in volume as Kai ruthlessly entered his
body. Pierre remained calm and considerate, giving Arthur all the time he
needed to adjust to the Frenchman's thick cock. Fortunately for Arthur,
Kai's cock had an inch and a half on Pierre's which Charles was currently
straining to accommodate. The F3 driver just lay there and focused on
Pierre's bare thickness entering him and looking up into those familiar
blue eyes, it all felt right as Pierre's shaft worked its way into his
increasingly accepting body.
Across the bed the pace was already beginning to ramp up, but the top had
no intention of matching Kai. The Alpha Tauri driver kept his eyes on
Arthur's adorable face and watched the bottom's lip tremble as his bare
shaft sank deeper into his slender body. The protest of Arthur's tight,
Monegasque flesh was diminishing with every passing second and that
incredible sexiness surrounding Pierre's throbbing mast grew warmer within
every deepening inch. The smooth, olive handsomeness that was Arthur's
perfect body and face made Pierre feel like the luckiest top in the world
as his furry crotch approached the bottom's innocent looking arse cheeks.
A minute later Pierre's crotch had found the soft tenderness of Arthur's
tailbone and carefully the top began to pump. Arthur's moans were sweet and
gentle, matching Pierre's considerate pace which was no faster than a
thrust every few seconds. The Frenchman was perfect, allowing Arthur all
the time he needed for his body to adjust to its intruder. Every stroke the
balance between pain and pleasure was shifting until the bottom found more
pleasure than pain from one particular stroke. The noise across the bed
from them sounded so much more painful, how could Charles stand up to that
punishment? Pierre was perfect, just like this, each calm thrust of his
bare, thick 6.5-inch cock actually felt like heaven.
The violence across from Pierre and Arthur continued to grow louder
still. Pierre stayed true to himself, slowly feeding Arthur only what he
could manage and not an ounce more. From everything Pierre knew about
Charles he was certain the bottom was in no danger across from them. There
were plenty of times in the sexual friendship of Charles and Pierre where
the Monegasque begged for it in the same way as he was currently receiving
it and Pierre willingly accepted the challenge. The pair had shared every
position and every speed imaginable, feeling richer for the
experience. Arthur on the other hand was a novice and Pierre had no
intention of making the teenager's entry into the homosexual world a
traumatising one.
Just an inch or so at a time was Pierre's idea of a gentle welcome. The
Frenchman tensed his furry glutes and looked down at his thick cock as two
inches slowly peeked out of Arthur's hole. His cock looked amazing between
those smooth, olive cheeks and the vivid pinkness of the bottom's arse
which Pierre could spy through those short brown hairs lining the way
inside Arthur, encouraging Pierre to keep feeding the teenager. It took
another minute of careful pain management for Pierre to find another inch
of length, remaining slow but reversing 3 inches out of Arthur's smooth,
slender body. "How does it feel?" Pierre asked, just loud enough for Arthur
to hear over his whining brother. "It feels pretty good." Arthur nodded.
Arthur wasn't lying either. The bottom certainly felt the benefit of
Pierre's bare meat as it began to slide. The increasing freedom of Pierre's
cock to move back and forth started by making Arthur's stomach queasy and
quickly changed to a stimulating experience across his sensitive arse
hole. There was something about Pierre's bare skin as it sank inside him,
rumbling across his innocent arse hole that made Arhtur's arse feel like
the most precious part of his horny, young body, treating him to feelings
of extreme pleasure where many thought only pain existed. The hammering
across from them had reached a crescendo and from the sounds Kai was
making, Arthur and Pierre were set to become the only show left.
> "Shizer!" Kai spat as his smooth balls exploded, blasting hot cum down
into Charles' waiting belly. "Oh, my Godddd!" Charles exclaimed, the blood
vessels in his head ready to burst from the pressure of Kai's tightening
hands around the back of his neck while the German continued to thud but at
a slower and harder rhythm. "Fuck...fuck...fuck!" Charles grumbled after
each impact as Kai's large frame smashed into his firm arse cheeks. <
Pierre's blue eyes glinted with happiness and edging up to the next gear he
was now at 3.5 inches in length and a thrust every other second. Arthur's
sweet little arse hole sucked on his hard cock with such strength that the
top was glad he had remained steady. Feeling his cock throb deep inside
Arthur's smooth belly was even better than the Frenchman had expected and
now he was inside this boy he had seen grow into a handsome young man,
Pierre wanted this moment to last. The adorable racing twink below him felt
like the perfect glove for his thick cock as it slid back for 4 inches then
rolled into Arthur's waiting cheeks. Pierre felt so comfortable with his
place right now and the only way he could think to make this better was for
Charles to join them.
> Falling back into the bed behind him, Kai looked magnificent. His smooth,
lanky body had that radiant post sex glow, a coat of sweat added and
raising his arms up behind his head the German flaunted an array of the
muscles which had given Charles such a brutal pounding. The Ferrari looked
at the sexy footballer who beamed back at him. How Charles would've dearly
loved to tug the load Kai had helped produce out over the German's sexy
canvas but today that was the second-best option available. In Charles'
peripheral vision Pierre's furry arse swung back and forth invitingly and
given the Monegasque's nuts were currently storing a growing load of their
own, Charles decided it would be better to cum in someone rather than on
someone. <
The Ferrari driver took hold of the bottle of lube and moved it across with
him, then turning and tilting his head, Charles fired a mouthful of phlegm
across Pierre's bushy forest of a hole. Another messy mouthful of spit
splattered across the hole and then launching his face forward into the
gap, Charles ran his tongue up along Pierre's fuzzy crack.
The amazing tightness of Arthur's hole had been so delightful Pierre could
barely concentrate on anything else until Charles' tongue began to explore
his arse. The Frenchman paused thrusting, using the opportunity to give his
hard cock a break from the arousing friction of Arthur's gloriously tight
chute. Lowering himself to Arthur's adorable face, Pierre pushed the
bottom's lips apart and fed the Monegasque his tongue. Humming with
delight, Arthur enjoyed the Frenchman's bare meat filling his tight arse
hole while the top's tongue swished and swiped around inside his
mouth. Added to Pierre's amazing cock and Pierre's tasty tongue, the
Frenchman's dazzling blue eyes were so relaxing as they beamed down on him,
making the bottom feel comfortable, happy and incredibly aroused.
Holding Pierre's furry arse cheeks nice and wide apart, Charles gave
himself full access to the Frenchman's sexy hole. A fresh coat of light
sweat had glazed Pierre's ring for Charles to enjoy as he prepared his mate
for his hard cock. There wasn't too much time needed for preparation but
that didn't mean Charles couldn't enjoy every moment. The furry curls of
Pierre's entrance were as delightful as ever, dragging Charles' addicted
tongue back for another taste.
Shooting another mouthful of phlegm across Pierre's hole, Charles gave
himself a little more fluid to play with. The Frenchman's cavity tasted
ready as always, giving Charles the enjoyment he could always indulge
himself in before fucking his favourite friend in F1. Charles could spend
all day with face in between Pierre's warm cheeks, tasting the fine flavour
of Pierre's brown curls. Within his hairs Pierre always held a touch of
manly perspiration, seldom overpowering unless they were fucking straight
after sports or exercise today those hairs had the softest hint of flavour
created by the gentle miles he had already completed on Arthur's arse. And
with that it was time for Charles to join in and begin his journey on
Pierre's arse.
Edging forward as little as possible, Pierre had kept himself hard while
allowing Charles to do the necessary prep work for him. It was a relief for
Pierre to feel Charles' tongue withdraw from his hole and a moment later
the Monegasque's messy face pulled around for a kiss, while his familiar
cock pressed against the Frenchman's entrance. The taste of his own hole on
Charles' breath was one he'd experienced so many times it triggered the
Frenchman in the best way possible. Pierre's ring relaxed and the force of
Charles' advancing cock was easily enough to unite the pair. Curving up
into Pierre's chute, Charles found 4 inches of instant depth before his
cock found any resistance within Pierre's sexy body. Another inch and a
half and Pierre's tightening tunnel needed a little more convincing.
Tilting Pierre forward a little, Charles now had the perfect angle and
pulling his hips back a couple of inches the top pushed himself forward
until Pierre's body tried to stop him, and then continued to press a tiny
bit more before reversing. Pierre offered a soft groan as a compliment to
Charles' work, encouraging the top to continue like he always did. Using
his knees to propel himself forward Charles did exactly that, pulling back
a little further each time, the 2 inches of direction quickly becoming 3.5
inches as the top pulled further back and each plunge took him deeper
inside Pierre's furry body.
Once Pierre had figured out Charles' rhythm he was back in the game and
started to swing his own hips to match the top's rhythm. The Frenchman
truly had the best of both worlds, and he fully appreciated the situation
he was in. Behind him, Charles' hard cock slid up into his tight arse with
his bare, 7--inch cock expanding his sensitive chute with each firm
stroke. Pierre didn't need to look behind him, Charles' handsome features
were tattooed to the inside of his eyelids and that image took up 50% of
his mind as the Ferrari driver fucked him from tip to base. The other 50%
of Pierre's mind looked down on his adorable bottom and appreciated the
stunning view. Arthur's face held that same Leclerc beauty while his
smooth, olive body had a similar shade to his brother making him a little
lighter than Pierre. Between Arthur's skinny legs, Pierre's chunky 6.5-inch
boner looked at home, sliding back and forth within the deliciously warm
divide of the F3 racer's inexperienced hole.
Sensing Pierre was settling into his position, Charles felt harmony
surrounding the sexy trio. The Ferrari driver held Pierre's ribcage tightly
on both sides feeling the warmth created by the perspiration of the
Frenchman's bushy armpits as the heat increased. Charles loved everything
about Pierre, from his cheeky smile to his manly smell, his strong, hairy
body and right now more than enough the feel of his tight, bare arse hole.
Kai's long cock had pounded so much pleasure into Charles' body the Ferrari
driver didn't need long to enjoy Pierre's hole, but every moment felt as
magical as ever. The horny top squeezed his thighs and threw his hard cock
up into the Frenchman's furry cheeks. Charles' talents extended well beyond
the racetrack and Pierre's hole rejoiced in that fact. The Monegasque's
bare 7-inch cock rolled 5.5 inches back and then straight back up into
Pierre's beautiful body to make Charles' nuts tingle. "Fucking hell."
Charles muttered as he accelerated to a stroke a second, burying himself as
far inside Pierre's body as he could reach with every thrust.
That tight, furry ring strangled Charles' cock so well the top had to keep
drilling deep into it. The pull of Pierre's sexy flesh on his bare cock
slid Charles' foreskin back and forth within his friend's perfect arse,
edging him rapidly towards his climax and the Ferrari driver didn't care
one bit. The arousing pain surrounding his own arse hole following Kai's
drilling plus Pierre's hot furry body encasing his hard, spearing cock were
the perfect combo for Charles who muttered as moaned as he pumped.
Slamming himself deep and hard up inside his bestie, Charles had very
little resolve left in him. Holding Pierre's lovable sides Charles had all
the leverage he needed and ruthlessly pounding away on that furry bottom,
the Ferrari driver took himself to the edge of the cliff. 7 inches deep
inside Pierre's hot body Charles' slit opened, firing hot Monegasque cream
into his friend's olive body and still he continued to pump.
"Shit brooo." Pierre gasped as Charles' hot spunk flooded his horny
guts. The Ferrari driver's cock went off like a fire hose drowning Pierre's
prostate in thick, hot cum as Charles continued to pump his crotch into
those furry, olive buns. Thrusting continuously, Charles never missed a
beat as he stroked Pierre's increasingly slippery insides with his bare,
throbbing cock. "Oui CiCi!" Pierre groaned, still massaging his hard cock
into Arthur's tight hole but remaining focused on the pleasurable
pyrotechnics of the Ferrari driver's explosive cock. Charles and Pierre had
fallen out of sync, but it didn't matter for the top who was solely
focussed on maximising this experience. Slinging his ejaculating shaft
straight up into Pierre's warm chute, Charles deposited another helping of
fresh cream along the Alpha Tauri driver's hole to a chorus of approving
groans from the bottom. Charles' heavy nuts were lightening with incredible
speed as he irrigated Pierre's insides with every deep thrust. The load
Charles had managed to create after all their foreplay, his bottoming and
now his topping was an impressive one, drowning the Frenchman's prostate in
silky semen.
Sucking hungry on Charles' retreating cock, Pierre's furry arse begged the
Monegasque for more cum to drink. "Ohhh babyyyy!" Charles sighed as he
began to slow. The Ferrari driver's cock continued to spurt deep within
Pierre's sweet chute. Shaking and shuddering whilst he groaned, Charles
celebrated each throb of his cock as it drained up into Pierre's furry
belly. Weaker but still pulsing, Charles' head squeezed whatever his shaft
had left into Pierre's hole and with a final exhale of joy the Ferrari
driver was empty.
Charles threw himself back and felt his cock escape Pierre's hole with a
pop. Crashing to the mattress behind Pierre, Charles lay perpendicular to
Kai, exhausted. The footballer patted Charles on the shoulder, attracting
the racer's attention to his beautiful smile. The pair shared a moment
looking into each other's eyes where they silently agreed this was a good
decision and of course now they were done they could relax and watch the
rest of the show.
Free from Charles as a backstop, Pierre could give Arthur the deep fucking
the adorable young Monegasque deserved. Slinging his entire body in one
smooth motion, Pierre slammed the full length of his 6.5-inch mast inside
the tight teenager to the audible appreciation of the beautiful
bottom. Long gone was the fear that Arthur might get hurt or suffer from
Pierre's actions, the prep work from the quartet, added to Charles' seed
swishing inside his hungry arse hole made Pierre remorseless. Hell bent on
enjoying his first time inside Arthur, Pierre was going to fuck his sexy
little bottom to the absolute max. The final confirmation Pierre needed and
duly received was from Arthur's body itself and while an audible groan of
pleasure was half the story the top needed, the fact Arthur followed up by
gripping his hard, uncut 7.5-inch cock and stroking it rapidly as Pierre
rocked into motion was the full green signal he needed to go into Pierre
mode.
Leaning forward for better purchase, Pierre could move into a position he
enjoyed more, allowing the top to pull back and more importantly drive down
into Arthur's tight hole. "You ok?" Pierre huffed as he began to bounce,
using 5 inches of length in both directions to finally fuck the most
adorable boy he thought he would never get to have. "Oui Pepi." Arthur
replied in a similarly forced huff, concentrating on the effect Pierre's
increased intensity was having on his horny, young body.
Holding into his hard cock, Arthur could feel the effect Pierre's own
travelling rod had on his seriously sensitive arse hole. Each time the top
reversed to his ring, Arthur was starting to feel a void of emptiness that
needed refilling, emptiness that lasted no more than as second as Pierre's
weight forced that 6.5-inch meaty mast in until the point the top's crotch
pinged his tailbone causing a pulse of excitement from the young bottom's
excited head. Arthur's eyes met Pierre's, begging the furry top to keep
fucking him just like that.
"Cutey boy." Pierre huffed in response to the adoring look Arthur gave
him. The top noticed a little extra rose in Arthur's cheeks after his
compliment. "Your tight ass feels amazing." He continued. There was no need
to lie in both cases, Arthur was of course incredibly handsome but the
tightness of his twinkish arse hole around Pierre's thick shaft was a vice
like grip the top hadn't experienced in a while.
For the first time in his life, Arthur's arse hole had a hard cock inside
it and every pump of Pierre's olive shaft felt even better than the one
that preceded it. All the sexual pleasure of his past had been solely
focused on his cock meaning that the increasing sensation centred within
him brought a happy feeling he knew he would need to revisit as often as
his horny, young body could take it.
"How are you doing baby boy?" Pierre checked in sweetly as his horny crotch
exploded repeatedly off Arthur's tailbone. "So good Pepi, your cock feels
so good Pepi." Arthur breathed, his jerking fist speeding up as he
groaned. "Think you're gonna cum?" Pierre asked diligently. "Maybe soon,
yes." Arthur replied. "Ok, can I speed up?" Pierre asked. "Oui Pepi."
Arthur nodded, the rose in his cheeks melting Pierre's heart as he spoke.
Green light received, Pierre started to pick up the pace while keeping his
hand on Arthur's for a moment to prevent the bottom jerking and prolonging
the experience for them both. Without the distraction of his stroking palm,
Arthur became more sensitive to Pierre's driving cock and the pain of the
ordeal was written all over the bottom's adorable face. The calm, managed
expression on Arthur's face wrinkled into a grimace. The Frenchman's own
life experience told Pierre to continue regardless and to their combined
audible delight, the Alpha Tauri racer began to drive for home.
Each thrust of Pierre's bare cock took his boner the length of Arthur's
hole, crashing the furry top into Arthur's tailbone. The bottom looked
better than ever, taking each pound with increasing expertise. The Alpha
Tauri driver imagined what Arthur looked like inside right now with his
thick, bare, olive cock dragging itself along the slim pink membrane that
was the tender insides of this loveable, young bottom. The image of his
skin rubbing along the sexy sweetness of Arthur's insides only drove Pierre
to pound the bottom harder, desperate to maximise this very feeling before
it ended in the volcanic eruption, he knew he was about to unleash.
The announcement of Pierre's orgasm and the increased velocity of the
Frenchman's chunky cock made Arthur feel so much better. Pierre, his
adorable childhood friend with that handsome, rugged face, dazzling blue
eyes and broad sexy chest was just about to blow inside him and it was
official, Arthur couldn't fucking wait! The horny bottom directed 99% of
his attention to his tender arse hole, marvelling in every stroke of the
top's fat cock while waiting excitedly for the glory that was about to fill
him from the inside. Arthur didn't know exactly how close Pierre was to
cumming but the instant his fist closed around his boner and started to
stroke; Arthur felt his own sodomy induced orgasm approach faster than ever
before.
Pinging his crotch off Arthur's sweet tailbone, Pierre buried his bare
sword into the best part of Arthur's sexy body and with a yelp of happiness
the Alpha Tauri racer began to unload. "Fuckkk!" Pierre gasped, his blue
eyes wide with wonder as his thick shaft expanded inside Arthur's tight
tunnel, exploding within the Monegasque's sweet hole.
The look on Arthur's face at realising he was receiving his first creampie
was the sexiest thing Pierre had ever seen. "Ouiiii Pepiiiiiii!" Arthur
whined, his eyes so wide his eyeballs were in danger of popping out of
their sockets and his beautiful mouth wide open to verbalise his
appreciation for Pierre's cock delivering a creamy load deep within his
young belly. The beautiful bottom was frantic, rapping his boner hard and
fast as Pierre's cock thickened and throbbed with every deep thrust. Then,
as Pierre's orgasm had begun to fall from his high, Arthur unleashed a
spectacular display of spunk shooting across his vibrating body.
Every moment of Pierre's orgasm had felt magical and kept the top's shaft
moving to make the most of his bottom's tightness. The youngster's tender
insides sucked hard on his exploding cock as it drained thick, creamy seed
deep into Arthur's hungry belly. "Oui Pepi." Arthur moaned again, his eyes
looking cloudy, engulfed in wonder and happiness as the top's cock drained
shot another long rope of sweet cream up his tight rectum. Pierre's furry
nuts were nearly empty after what felt like the orgasm of a lifetime. There
had to be at least a dozen shots of his seed filling Arthur's devirginised
arse, each of them warmly received by the horny, young bottom. Finally,
before his sack had emptied Arthur began to shoot, clamping the bottom's
tight arse hole around his spitting snake.
"Holy fuckkk, Pepiii!" Arthur cried, firing the most aggressive load of his
life across his smooth, olive abs. Pierre's furry nuts were empty but the
top soldiered on. Each stab of his hard cock was now for the benefit of his
bottom who clearly appreciated every last thrust. Arthur couldn't help but
roll his head around in ecstasy, muttering Pierre's name continuously as
the furry top fucked him through his first anally induced orgasm.
The smooth, olive, griddle of the bottom's perfect abs glistened with
streaks of his marbly white cum as he jerked his uncut 7.5-boner
furiously. Arthur moaned gently but continuously, breathing his way through
his first orgasm as a sexy bottom and right now he felt better than he'd
ever imagined. Never before had an orgasm originated at the base of his
balls and touched every sensory nerve in his slender body before.
"Merde...Pepiiii." Arthur squealed as cum splattered across his smooth,
skinny pecs. The bottom's smooth torso had increasingly become a work of
art as rope after rope of his bright, white jizz streaked across his
beautiful abs. The smile across Pierre's face was exactly what Arthur
needed to see to make this the most powerful orgasm he'd ever experienced.
The shooting Monegasque stroked his exploding shaft as the ropes continued
to soak his smooth stomach. Each strand shining as bright and white as the
one that preceded it. The pressure in his nuts was reducing rapidly but
Arthur's cock still felt incredible. Rolling his fist along his uncut
shaft, Arthur made sure to pull every last drop he had to offer out over
his messy torso. "Oui Pepi." He whispered one last time as the final few
drops of his cum dropped down onto his crotch, entangling themselves into
the trimmed brown hairs of Arthur's pubes.
Once Arthur had dropped aside his empty shaft, Pierre felt free to remove
himself from the adorable bottom. The Frenchman watched Arthur's face
closely as his thick cock reversed gradually and once Pierre's head made it
to the Monegasque's entrance, the youngster's tight chute did the
rest. That feeling of his arse hole closing to seal in Pierre's milk was
absolutely magical. And finishing off the most incredible afternoon, Pierre
dropped to the bed next to him, face down but stretched over to give Arthur
one last, tender kiss.
END
Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story.
If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on
pcwtosh@gmail.com and/or for updates: Instagram - pcwtoshx Twitter -
@pcwtosh
Here is the rest of my collection:
Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy
18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The
Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones,
13 Goo-uld Reasons Why, Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway, Now You See Cole, Big
Apple Aussies, Cole el Elite & The Power of My Name.
Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer.
Ripped Roses, Jack's Web, Naughty Neigbours & Devils and Dragons.
Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY, Swimnasium & Laugher of the Ice King.
Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk &
Deep Dipping in Dunkirk.
Reese Wilkerson the Heartstopper.
Stranger Boys: Stranger Mendes, Oral Things, Someone Stranger in the Fuller
House, A Stranger Series of Events & Anal Things.
Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY.
No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86 & Riviera Rendezvouz.
North American Swedes, Fly Eagles Fly, Maple Mashup & Seeding the Swede.
Tennis series: Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the
Bahamas, Bulging Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple
Leafs, Made in Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea,
Sleeping Meadows, Team Building in Melbourne Park, Dominic and the Minaur &
Rey of the Acropolis.
Football series: Lilywhite Hoops, From Paris with Love, The Hero and the
Zero, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Return to the Wolfpack, The Tails of
Two Nike Stars, Bayern Boys, Barca Buddies & Not so Mellow in Yellow.
Premier League Football Series
F1 World Series
Scrum Down - Rugby Series
On Ice - Hockey Series
England Cricket Boys Series
Diving Squad Series
Formula Football Series
BoysPlay Mansion Series
Twins Next Door Series
You can show your appreciation for all the guys at Nifty by donating here,
https://donate.nifty.org/
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/the-queens-blood-gambit | Date: Tue, 12 Mar 2024 16:47:25 +0000 (UTC) From: Drayk Subject: The Queen's Blood Gambit I hope you enjoy this, readers. This was a purely fan story that struck me after finding a pair of twins in Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth who challenge you to a match of the card game in it. I imagined a strip game of QB against them, and it evolved into this. Usual disclaimers of legal consumption and copyright (Drayk 2024) apply. In addition I want to make it very clear that while this fan story is mine, the characters, setting, world, concepts, game, and all such things are firmly the copywritten and trademarked property of Square Enix. The early dialogue is also pulled directly from the game and is also Square Enix's, taking here under fair use. I make zero claims to any of these things aside from being a lifelong fan of their games. Please, after you read, consider supporting Nifty if you at all can. It's cause of all of us that this great archive of stories is here for us. Thanks for reading my tale. Enjoy! The Queen's Blood Gambit Cloud Strife, mercenary, ex-SOLDIER, and recent convert to the collectible card game world, climbed a flight of stairs toward a home tucked up high and well back from the rest of Under Junon. While wandering the undercity, he'd heard there was one last competitive Queen's Blood player somewhere around here. Though he'd first scoffed at the game, it quickly proved more fun than he'd first thought. Now Cloud found himself scouring every town for players, the challenge and ranking of the card game nearly addicting to him. Cloud's companions kind of eye-rolled the whole thing. They were more Fort Condor fans, the tactical board game having been popular in Midgar well before he'd arrived in the city. So Cloud was by himself, searching the back alleys of the town, that was as much a slum and shantytown as it was the lower class district of a major port city, for one more card gamer. "Hopefully this one won't be totally nuts," Cloud muttered to himself. He'd quickly learned that Queen's Blood players of this level tended to be...passionate about the hobby. One of the first players he'd met cried during the entire match. Then there was the one who insisted on playing guitar during the game and negotiations. He was truly terrible with the instrument. The ventriloquism dummy he'd beaten was almost normal by comparison to some of his opponents, at least once the girl broke the act and thanked him for the game directly. After three different sets of stairs, Cloud reached a landing. A small house greeted him with its door open wide to reveal a single room home, shelves loosely dividing it into separate spaces. In the middle, a table was set up with a Queen's Blood board. Standing behind it was, presumably, Cloud's next opponent. Or rather opponents, in this case. Waiting expectantly, having apparently noticed his approach, were two young boys. They were clearly twins, identical in appearance and clothing alike. The twins looked to be somewhere around ten, maybe a year or two younger. They had wavy golden brown hair, pushed up into a styled look. Hazel eyes gleamed with excitement as Cloud came into view. Both boys wore matching purple lined black patterned hoodies over a purple V-neck shirt. Gray jeans cuffed to mid-shin and black shoes finished the look. Cloud paused at the threshold, tilting his head in a slight greeting. He also pulled out his pack of cards. "Hey," Cloud greeted the brothers. "Oh, hey there, mister!" the one on the left spoke first. "Are you looking for someone to play Queen's Blood with? We'd be more than happy to go a round or two with you!" The other piped up. "I'm Devin, the younger brother." "And I'm Darren, the older one." Cloud let them go through their spiel. This was pretty normal for one of these things. "And together, we're the Double D Duo!" Devin went next. "A team of twins who love Queen's Blood!" "You'll face my little brother here first. If you win, then I'll take you on. Two for the price of one! Sweet deal, right?" "Speaking of prices, if you lose against either of us, you gotta fork over three gil!" Devin finished. Cloud sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Sure, whatever." He took a seat and began to ready a deck for the game. Devin was first and was better than Cloud would have guessed from a kid who hadn't even hit double digits. He didn't have to pull out all the stops or anything, but Cloud did find himself having to think well ahead and had one close call. In the end, he pulled ahead and took the win from a dismayed but smiling Devin. His brother immediately took his place. "Not bad! But next, you gotta beat me." Cloud nodded. "Don't worry, Devin!" Darren said. "I promise I'll avenge you!" Cloud got a better initial draw in the second match. Darren was perhaps slightly better a player than Devin, but Cloud actually had an easier game with him. The merc still had to work for it, but in relatively short order swept all three lanes. As the two players confirmed the win, Cloud let a small smile cross his lips. "Aw, I can't believe we lost," Darren bemoaned. "You're better at this than I thought." "Hold up...," Devin looked between Cloud and his brother. "Does this mean we don't get our three gil?" "No, he totally still owes us. I'm pretty sure the deal was if we lost, we got three gil. Isn't that right?" Darren slyly looked at Cloud, who glared back. "Uh, heheh...I'm just kidding. You may have beaten us this time, but we'll get that three gil from you yet! So if you're ever in the mood, come back and play!" The twins stood side by side with identical happy grins. Despite himself, Cloud couldn't help but return the smile. "This was fun." And totally normal, he thought to himself. Cloud paused a moment, then spoke again. "I actually have some time still. How about that rematch now?" Darren and Devin looked at each other. Cloud got an eerie sense that the brothers were almost literally talking through that look. They seemed to reach an agreement and turned back a second later. Darren yielded the chair to his brother. "For sure! Same deal," Darren said. "But this time, we think you need a handicap. "Fine," Cloud answered, dismissively waving a hand. "What's the handicap?" "Don't worry about it," Devin said, drawing his cards with a mischievous grin. "Worry about beating me." Cloud scoffed and drew his hand. He mulliganed a couple, then began to consider strategy. The match started. Two turns passed, opening gambits, nothing more. Cloud was considering his third play when he heard a small scuffling sound nearby. He played his card and started to look for the source of the noise. He was stopped by a triumphant grin from Devin, who immediately played a brilliant counter move. Cloud clenched his jaw and focused on his hand. As he tried to find a move to regain his footing, Cloud felt some movement under the table. At the same time two small hands dug into his crotch, quickly finding and grabbing his penis. Cloud threw himself back and to his feet, shock and startlement triggering his training and reflexes. Darren was crouched under the table, an eager grin on his face. The boy had removed his shirt and hoodie, revealing a smooth torso, flat stomach, and budding muscles showing that he likely helped with labor around the town. The expression was utterly shameless, mirrored by his twin. Cloud's mind stalled in confusion and surprise. "What the hell?" he tried to glare sternly, but it didn't seem to faze the boys at all. "I said there'd be a handicap," Darren said smugly. "And you agreed to it," Devin added. "Unless you want to forfeit the match." The twins turned predatory grins on the man. Cloud opened his mouth to do exactly that. He had no desire to continue a game while a child groped him. He froze at a glowing indicator on the Queen's Blood board, the glow catching his attention. He grunted, frustration clear, as the import of it struck him. That indicator showed that this was an official match. The board was set to record the outcome of the game and share it with other competitive players, updating Cloud and the twins' rankings. Cloud sighed. If he gave up, not only would his rank go back down, but it would break his perfect record thus far. Stubbornness and pride warred with aggravation. Meanwhile both boys looked at him levelly, confident smiles on their faces. They looked as though they already knew they'd won. Cloud couldn't say he even knew what game they were considering as in the bag. He glanced over his shoulder, noting the door had been closed to hide them from the outside world. "Fine! Whatever,' Cloud attempted a bravado he didn't actually feel. The attempt sounded hollow even to him and the twins' widening grins showed they didn't buy it either. Cloud returned to the table and gather his dropped cards. He sat back down, stiffly uncomfortable, entirely too conscious of the half naked, underage child waiting for him. He resolved to just focus on the game and try to ignore whatever was happening lower down. It soon became clear that would much more challenging than Cloud hoped. As they resumed their card game, Cloud felt Darren position himself between his spread knees and once more start to fondle his dick through his pants. Darren spent a few moments exploring the dormant organ, but soon went further. Cloud felt those small hands quickly, and with obvious familiarity, unbuckle his belts. Next, his pants were unbuckled and unzipped. Cloud fought to ignore as his uniform pants were pulled open and Darren reached into his underwear. He ground his teeth, forced to admit that this 'handicap' would be pretty effective. Devin played with calm confidence, a knowing grin on his lips the entire time. He was well aware of what the man across from him was going through. Cloud played his next card and then couldn't help glancing down. Darren had his soft dick out and in one hand. The other small hand held his blue military compression trunks out of the way by the waistband. The sight of a young boy holding his manhood, still flaccid and unresponsive, nevertheless seized his attention. He stopped and just stared down at the sight. Darren's eyes were locked on Cloud's penis, glazed in what could only be desire. The boy slowly played with the soft organ, pulling Cloud's underwear and hooking them under what proved to be big and heavy balls. Devin cleared his throat, drawing Cloud's attention back to the game. So it was that Cloud didn't actually see as Darren leaned in and took the head of Cloud's cock into his mouth. For almost a minute, the boy just held it, enjoying the taste and feel of the grown up dick. Then he began to actually suck. Darren loved sucking cock, whether his brother's and dad's, his friends', or random unsuspecting men like this one. But he had a goal to distract the foe and help his twin, not just enjoy himself. So he cranked up to ten right off, turning all his considerable ability on the mercenary. Darren swallowed half the pliable organ into his mouth and went to town on it with lips and tongue. One hand skillfully stroked the rest of the shaft while the other fondled and teased Cloud's balls. The man in question choked back a groan and played a card. He had to look again and was fully stunned by the shirtless boy stuffing Cloud's own dick into his mouth. Despite himself, Cloud started to enjoy the experience. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten off. Or even just jacked it, for that matter. And his dick was extremely happy with the attention, no matter who was providing it. Cloud felt himself getting hard, fast, and he couldn't stop it. Soon he'd reached his full length of exactly seven very thick inches. Darren moaned around the fat cock stretching his young jaw wide open. "Last card," Devin grinned evilly at Cloud. Cloud wrenched his attention back to the board. He groaned again, this time in dismay. He was losing pretty badly. He had one spot left to play a card. He looked at his hand, hoping against hope for something, but struggled to focus on anything but what was happening between his legs. The incredible pleasure coming from his rock hard dick was unbelievable. Cloud had few blowjobs to compare it to, but this little boy was easily better by a mile. A moan escaped his throat. Cloud couldn't help it. His dick was entirely too happy to resist. Through a fog, he looked at the cards. It took too long, and he almost missed it, but Cloud caught his breath as he saw one card. He gasped aloud, in pleasure both sexual and competitive. "Ah!" Cloud laid the card with a triumphant grin. Devin stared at the board in shocked disbelief. Cloud's card had claimed two lanes, flipping the score to his favor. Devin looked over the final board, then up at Cloud. Darren didn't stop nursing on his now throbbing cock at all, causing the SOLDIER's eyes to blur slightly. "You won," Devin said with a grin. "Now you need to face my brother again." Devin stood and pulled off his shirt and hoodie, proving to still be identical to Darren. He didn't stop there, however. The boy continued and undid his skinny jeans, pushing them to the ground. Underneath he was wearing a tight pair of briefs that were clearly too small for him. Probably bought a couple years ago, before a growth spurt. The briefs were a bright navy blue, the same shade as Cloud's own standard issue trunks, with the SOLDIER emblem on the crotch and butt. A stiff little boy erection obviously poked out the front of the undies. "Which means, me and Darren are trading places." Darren let Cloud go, though with obvious reluctance. Cloud panted to catch his breath during the reprieve, but it was entirely too short. Devin quickly took his brother's place, swallowing half of the thick rod in a single go. Cloud cried out. He couldn't resist at all, since Devin was somehow even better at sucking dick than Darren. "Ah! Fuck!" Cloud clenched his fists in utter bliss, once more scattering his cards across the board. Devin moaned constantly around the leaking cock, adoring every moment, the vibrations only adding to Cloud's pleasure. Darren grinned and gathered up Cloud's cards, handing them back. "You still have to play me, mister," he said. "Ung," Cloud moaned. He looked at Darren, confused and delirious with ecstasy. "Of course, mister, you could forfeit," Darren gave Cloud a suggestive leer. "Hand over the three gil, accept the loss, and we can do...," he glanced at his twin blowing the SOLDIER. "Something else," he finished. Cloud's addled gaze passed from Darren, down to Devin, to his cards, and back to the boy between his legs. "Ah, to hell with it," Cloud dropped his cards and fumbled three coins from a pocket, tossing them to the table. Cloud then took hold of Devin's head, thrusting into the small boy's eager mouth. Cloud wasn't surprised, though he felt he should have been, when Devin easily took the entire girthy length down his underage throat. "Oh fuck, I can't believe this," Cloud sighed. "Swallow that dick, kid." Devin moaned, voice muffled and straining around Cloud's thickness despite his experience. The boy happily gulped on the cock, oblivious to anything but the fat shaft stretching his throat wide. The attractive warrior's hands held his head firmly, keeping that manhood lodged in him, an experience which Devin fully loved. He took hold of his own throbbing boy dick, beating himself desperately. Darren pushed the card table aside and quickly stripped himself fully naked, Cloud's eyes burned into his young, smooth body. Darren's firm boy muscles hinted at the hot young man he'd become, every inch of his flesh soft, hairless, and glorious with vitality. His cocklet was a solid steel spike, sticking out proudly from between his legs. The small nude boy knelt next to his brother, who shifted to make space. While Cloud's cock was completely taken, his huge balls weren't. Darren planted his face in them, licking and tasting the musky scent, lapping the sweat from them. Soon the boy had a testicle that barely fit in his mouth, rolling the orb around on his tongue. Cloud's head fell back, eyes rolled into his head as erotic pleasure beyond anything he'd imagined suffused him. Now that all pretense was dropped, Cloud was treated to the full and determined skill of the twins. Darren and Devin had long loved sex and lusted after Cloud the moment the lithe, twinky mercenary showed up. The were well aware of what awaited in those churning balls and would not be denied it. Cries and moans of incredulous ecstasy filled the room, Cloud unable to control himself. The normally reserved man was totally unmade and voiced his joy openly. Any self control he had was gone and he could feel an orgasm building in record time. The twins by now each had a hand on their dicks, stroking to their boygasms. Each of their other hands was holding his twins' smooth and perky ass, a finger teasing and prodding their tight holes and pushing into their brother. Cloud eventually noticed the anal play and his mind filled with forbidden desires. His cock pulsed with lust, causing Devin to almost gag before taking it again. Two identical voices joined Cloud's in sexual calls, groans filling the cabin. The twins could sense how close Cloud was getting and redoubled their efforts. Cloud clenched his jaw and groaned through his teeth as he felt his balls boiling and his mako enhanced body tensing. "Oh fuck, hell yeah, I'm gonna cum, boys." Hearing this, Devin pulled himself free. Darren lifted his head and both boys seized the massively thick rod. Each hand barely fit half the way around, but four hands enthusiastically stroking his length felt glorious. Cloud grabbed a handful of each twins' gold hair and threw his head back. With a loud bellow of ecstasy, he shot off. Thick, heavy loads of cum flew from Cloud's dick. The splatters painted Devin and Darren's faces, the boys smiling in utter bliss. Cum splashed and dripped down onto their smooth chests. In moments, the twins were soaked in Cloud's spend. Panting and moaning, the brothers also reached their orgasms. "I'm cumming, Darren," Devin gasped. "I love you, Devin," Darren answered. The boys locked lips, making out in passion, lust, and love. The taste of SOLDIER cum filled their mouths alongside the familiar flavor of their twin tongues. Dicklets were flogged and assrings finger fucked as the preteens crested and spasms of orgasm coursed through their little frames. In time, the dry cums released them and the boys collapsed. Cloud was sprawled in the chair, semi-delirious from the experience. Devin and Darren rested, nuzzling their cum covered faces against Cloud's half hard and spent penis. Cloud drew in deep breaths, slowly recovering his faculties. "That was amazing." "Yeah, it was, mister," Darren grinned up at him. "Thanks, mister," Devin beamed, face coated with Cloud's load. "I think you can call me Cloud now," Cloud smiled at the boys. "And I think I should be thanking you. Best game of Queen's Blood ever." The twins laughed, high boyish voices like chiming bells. Devin looked over at the board. "Yeah, I think you definitely won, Mister Cloud." Darren pushed the button to indicate Cloud won the match and looked back at the SOLDIER with the most outrageously innocent expression ever. It was somewhat marred by drying cum and in moments, all three were laughing uproariously. "We hope you'll come play with us again, Mister Cloud," Darren grinned. Devin nodded eagerly. Cloud smiled at the children. It was a true, genuine smile, maybe the first he'd made in years. He considered for all of a minute before answering. "You know. I have probably a few more hours now, if you wanna hang. Play another round, maybe?" Cloud was met with hungry and eager grins from the twin boys. His mako augmented mancock started to stiffen, rising proud and ready between the three guys. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Tue, 12 Mar 2024 16:47:25 +0000 (UTC)
From: Drayk <writerdrayk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Queen's Blood Gambit
I hope you enjoy this, readers. This was a purely fan story that struck me
after finding a pair of twins in Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth who challenge
you to a match of the card game in it. I imagined a strip game of QB
against them, and it evolved into this. Usual disclaimers of legal
consumption and copyright (Drayk 2024) apply.
In addition I want to make it very clear that while this fan story is mine,
the characters, setting, world, concepts, game, and all such things are
firmly the copywritten and trademarked property of Square Enix. The early
dialogue is also pulled directly from the game and is also Square Enix's,
taking here under fair use. I make zero claims to any of these things aside
from being a lifelong fan of their games.
Please, after you read, consider supporting Nifty if you at all can. It's
cause of all of us that this great archive of stories is here for
us. Thanks for reading my tale. Enjoy!
The Queen's Blood Gambit
Cloud Strife, mercenary, ex-SOLDIER, and recent convert to the
collectible card game world, climbed a flight of stairs toward a home
tucked up high and well back from the rest of Under Junon. While wandering
the undercity, he'd heard there was one last competitive Queen's Blood
player somewhere around here. Though he'd first scoffed at the game, it
quickly proved more fun than he'd first thought. Now Cloud found himself
scouring every town for players, the challenge and ranking of the card game
nearly addicting to him.
Cloud's companions kind of eye-rolled the whole thing. They were
more Fort Condor fans, the tactical board game having been popular in
Midgar well before he'd arrived in the city. So Cloud was by himself,
searching the back alleys of the town, that was as much a slum and
shantytown as it was the lower class district of a major port city, for one
more card gamer.
"Hopefully this one won't be totally nuts," Cloud muttered to
himself. He'd quickly learned that Queen's Blood players of this level
tended to be...passionate about the hobby. One of the first players he'd
met cried during the entire match. Then there was the one who insisted on
playing guitar during the game and negotiations. He was truly terrible with
the instrument. The ventriloquism dummy he'd beaten was almost normal by
comparison to some of his opponents, at least once the girl broke the act
and thanked him for the game directly.
After three different sets of stairs, Cloud reached a landing. A
small house greeted him with its door open wide to reveal a single room
home, shelves loosely dividing it into separate spaces. In the middle, a
table was set up with a Queen's Blood board. Standing behind it was,
presumably, Cloud's next opponent. Or rather opponents, in this case.
Waiting expectantly, having apparently noticed his approach, were
two young boys. They were clearly twins, identical in appearance and
clothing alike. The twins looked to be somewhere around ten, maybe a year
or two younger. They had wavy golden brown hair, pushed up into a styled
look. Hazel eyes gleamed with excitement as Cloud came into view. Both boys
wore matching purple lined black patterned hoodies over a purple V-neck
shirt. Gray jeans cuffed to mid-shin and black shoes finished the look.
Cloud paused at the threshold, tilting his head in a slight
greeting. He also pulled out his pack of cards. "Hey," Cloud greeted the
brothers.
"Oh, hey there, mister!" the one on the left spoke first. "Are you
looking for someone to play Queen's Blood with? We'd be more than happy to
go a round or two with you!"
The other piped up. "I'm Devin, the younger brother."
"And I'm Darren, the older one."
Cloud let them go through their spiel. This was pretty normal for
one of these things.
"And together, we're the Double D Duo!" Devin went next. "A team of
twins who love Queen's Blood!"
"You'll face my little brother here first. If you win, then I'll
take you on. Two for the price of one! Sweet deal, right?"
"Speaking of prices, if you lose against either of us, you gotta
fork over three gil!" Devin finished.
Cloud sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Sure,
whatever." He took a seat and began to ready a deck for the game.
Devin was first and was better than Cloud would have guessed from a
kid who hadn't even hit double digits. He didn't have to pull out all the
stops or anything, but Cloud did find himself having to think well ahead
and had one close call. In the end, he pulled ahead and took the win from a
dismayed but smiling Devin. His brother immediately took his place.
"Not bad! But next, you gotta beat me." Cloud nodded. "Don't worry,
Devin!" Darren said. "I promise I'll avenge you!"
Cloud got a better initial draw in the second match. Darren was
perhaps slightly better a player than Devin, but Cloud actually had an
easier game with him. The merc still had to work for it, but in relatively
short order swept all three lanes. As the two players confirmed the win,
Cloud let a small smile cross his lips.
"Aw, I can't believe we lost," Darren bemoaned. "You're better at
this than I thought."
"Hold up...," Devin looked between Cloud and his brother. "Does
this mean we don't get our three gil?"
"No, he totally still owes us. I'm pretty sure the deal was if we
lost, we got three gil. Isn't that right?" Darren slyly looked at Cloud,
who glared back. "Uh, heheh...I'm just kidding. You may have beaten us this
time, but we'll get that three gil from you yet! So if you're ever in the
mood, come back and play!"
The twins stood side by side with identical happy grins. Despite
himself, Cloud couldn't help but return the smile. "This was fun." And
totally normal, he thought to himself. Cloud paused a moment, then spoke
again. "I actually have some time still. How about that rematch now?"
Darren and Devin looked at each other. Cloud got an eerie sense
that the brothers were almost literally talking through that look. They
seemed to reach an agreement and turned back a second later. Darren yielded
the chair to his brother.
"For sure! Same deal," Darren said. "But this time, we think you
need a handicap.
"Fine," Cloud answered, dismissively waving a hand. "What's the
handicap?"
"Don't worry about it," Devin said, drawing his cards with a
mischievous grin. "Worry about beating me."
Cloud scoffed and drew his hand. He mulliganed a couple, then began
to consider strategy. The match started. Two turns passed, opening gambits,
nothing more. Cloud was considering his third play when he heard a small
scuffling sound nearby. He played his card and started to look for the
source of the noise. He was stopped by a triumphant grin from Devin, who
immediately played a brilliant counter move. Cloud clenched his jaw and
focused on his hand.
As he tried to find a move to regain his footing, Cloud felt some
movement under the table. At the same time two small hands dug into his
crotch, quickly finding and grabbing his penis. Cloud threw himself back
and to his feet, shock and startlement triggering his training and
reflexes.
Darren was crouched under the table, an eager grin on his face. The
boy had removed his shirt and hoodie, revealing a smooth torso, flat
stomach, and budding muscles showing that he likely helped with labor
around the town. The expression was utterly shameless, mirrored by his
twin. Cloud's mind stalled in confusion and surprise.
"What the hell?" he tried to glare sternly, but it didn't seem to
faze the boys at all.
"I said there'd be a handicap," Darren said smugly.
"And you agreed to it," Devin added. "Unless you want to forfeit
the match." The twins turned predatory grins on the man.
Cloud opened his mouth to do exactly that. He had no desire to
continue a game while a child groped him. He froze at a glowing indicator
on the Queen's Blood board, the glow catching his attention. He grunted,
frustration clear, as the import of it struck him. That indicator showed
that this was an official match. The board was set to record the outcome of
the game and share it with other competitive players, updating Cloud and
the twins' rankings.
Cloud sighed. If he gave up, not only would his rank go back down,
but it would break his perfect record thus far. Stubbornness and pride
warred with aggravation. Meanwhile both boys looked at him levelly,
confident smiles on their faces. They looked as though they already knew
they'd won. Cloud couldn't say he even knew what game they were considering
as in the bag. He glanced over his shoulder, noting the door had been
closed to hide them from the outside world.
"Fine! Whatever,' Cloud attempted a bravado he didn't actually
feel. The attempt sounded hollow even to him and the twins' widening grins
showed they didn't buy it either.
Cloud returned to the table and gather his dropped cards. He sat
back down, stiffly uncomfortable, entirely too conscious of the half naked,
underage child waiting for him. He resolved to just focus on the game and
try to ignore whatever was happening lower down. It soon became clear that
would much more challenging than Cloud hoped.
As they resumed their card game, Cloud felt Darren position himself
between his spread knees and once more start to fondle his dick through his
pants. Darren spent a few moments exploring the dormant organ, but soon
went further. Cloud felt those small hands quickly, and with obvious
familiarity, unbuckle his belts. Next, his pants were unbuckled and
unzipped. Cloud fought to ignore as his uniform pants were pulled open and
Darren reached into his underwear. He ground his teeth, forced to admit
that this 'handicap' would be pretty effective.
Devin played with calm confidence, a knowing grin on his lips the
entire time. He was well aware of what the man across from him was going
through. Cloud played his next card and then couldn't help glancing
down. Darren had his soft dick out and in one hand. The other small hand
held his blue military compression trunks out of the way by the
waistband. The sight of a young boy holding his manhood, still flaccid and
unresponsive, nevertheless seized his attention. He stopped and just stared
down at the sight.
Darren's eyes were locked on Cloud's penis, glazed in what could
only be desire. The boy slowly played with the soft organ, pulling Cloud's
underwear and hooking them under what proved to be big and heavy
balls. Devin cleared his throat, drawing Cloud's attention back to the
game. So it was that Cloud didn't actually see as Darren leaned in and took
the head of Cloud's cock into his mouth. For almost a minute, the boy just
held it, enjoying the taste and feel of the grown up dick. Then he began to
actually suck.
Darren loved sucking cock, whether his brother's and dad's, his
friends', or random unsuspecting men like this one. But he had a goal to
distract the foe and help his twin, not just enjoy himself. So he cranked
up to ten right off, turning all his considerable ability on the
mercenary. Darren swallowed half the pliable organ into his mouth and went
to town on it with lips and tongue. One hand skillfully stroked the rest of
the shaft while the other fondled and teased Cloud's balls.
The man in question choked back a groan and played a card. He had
to look again and was fully stunned by the shirtless boy stuffing Cloud's
own dick into his mouth. Despite himself, Cloud started to enjoy the
experience. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten off. Or even
just jacked it, for that matter. And his dick was extremely happy with the
attention, no matter who was providing it. Cloud felt himself getting hard,
fast, and he couldn't stop it. Soon he'd reached his full length of exactly
seven very thick inches. Darren moaned around the fat cock stretching his
young jaw wide open.
"Last card," Devin grinned evilly at Cloud. Cloud wrenched his
attention back to the board. He groaned again, this time in dismay. He was
losing pretty badly. He had one spot left to play a card. He looked at his
hand, hoping against hope for something, but struggled to focus on anything
but what was happening between his legs. The incredible pleasure coming
from his rock hard dick was unbelievable. Cloud had few blowjobs to compare
it to, but this little boy was easily better by a mile.
A moan escaped his throat. Cloud couldn't help it. His dick was
entirely too happy to resist. Through a fog, he looked at the cards. It
took too long, and he almost missed it, but Cloud caught his breath as he
saw one card. He gasped aloud, in pleasure both sexual and competitive.
"Ah!" Cloud laid the card with a triumphant grin. Devin stared at
the board in shocked disbelief. Cloud's card had claimed two lanes,
flipping the score to his favor. Devin looked over the final board, then up
at Cloud. Darren didn't stop nursing on his now throbbing cock at all,
causing the SOLDIER's eyes to blur slightly.
"You won," Devin said with a grin. "Now you need to face my brother
again." Devin stood and pulled off his shirt and hoodie, proving to still
be identical to Darren. He didn't stop there, however. The boy continued
and undid his skinny jeans, pushing them to the ground. Underneath he was
wearing a tight pair of briefs that were clearly too small for
him. Probably bought a couple years ago, before a growth spurt. The briefs
were a bright navy blue, the same shade as Cloud's own standard issue
trunks, with the SOLDIER emblem on the crotch and butt. A stiff little boy
erection obviously poked out the front of the undies. "Which means, me and
Darren are trading places."
Darren let Cloud go, though with obvious reluctance. Cloud panted
to catch his breath during the reprieve, but it was entirely too
short. Devin quickly took his brother's place, swallowing half of the thick
rod in a single go. Cloud cried out. He couldn't resist at all, since Devin
was somehow even better at sucking dick than Darren.
"Ah! Fuck!" Cloud clenched his fists in utter bliss, once more
scattering his cards across the board.
Devin moaned constantly around the leaking cock, adoring every
moment, the vibrations only adding to Cloud's pleasure. Darren grinned and
gathered up Cloud's cards, handing them back. "You still have to play me,
mister," he said.
"Ung," Cloud moaned. He looked at Darren, confused and delirious
with ecstasy.
"Of course, mister, you could forfeit," Darren gave Cloud a
suggestive leer. "Hand over the three gil, accept the loss, and we can
do...," he glanced at his twin blowing the SOLDIER. "Something else," he
finished.
Cloud's addled gaze passed from Darren, down to Devin, to his
cards, and back to the boy between his legs. "Ah, to hell with it," Cloud
dropped his cards and fumbled three coins from a pocket, tossing them to
the table. Cloud then took hold of Devin's head, thrusting into the small
boy's eager mouth. Cloud wasn't surprised, though he felt he should have
been, when Devin easily took the entire girthy length down his underage
throat.
"Oh fuck, I can't believe this," Cloud sighed. "Swallow that dick,
kid."
Devin moaned, voice muffled and straining around Cloud's thickness
despite his experience. The boy happily gulped on the cock, oblivious to
anything but the fat shaft stretching his throat wide. The attractive
warrior's hands held his head firmly, keeping that manhood lodged in him,
an experience which Devin fully loved. He took hold of his own throbbing
boy dick, beating himself desperately.
Darren pushed the card table aside and quickly stripped himself
fully naked, Cloud's eyes burned into his young, smooth body. Darren's firm
boy muscles hinted at the hot young man he'd become, every inch of his
flesh soft, hairless, and glorious with vitality. His cocklet was a solid
steel spike, sticking out proudly from between his legs.
The small nude boy knelt next to his brother, who shifted to make
space. While Cloud's cock was completely taken, his huge balls
weren't. Darren planted his face in them, licking and tasting the musky
scent, lapping the sweat from them. Soon the boy had a testicle that barely
fit in his mouth, rolling the orb around on his tongue.
Cloud's head fell back, eyes rolled into his head as erotic
pleasure beyond anything he'd imagined suffused him. Now that all pretense
was dropped, Cloud was treated to the full and determined skill of the
twins. Darren and Devin had long loved sex and lusted after Cloud the
moment the lithe, twinky mercenary showed up. The were well aware of what
awaited in those churning balls and would not be denied it. Cries and moans
of incredulous ecstasy filled the room, Cloud unable to control
himself. The normally reserved man was totally unmade and voiced his joy
openly. Any self control he had was gone and he could feel an orgasm
building in record time.
The twins by now each had a hand on their dicks, stroking to their
boygasms. Each of their other hands was holding his twins' smooth and perky
ass, a finger teasing and prodding their tight holes and pushing into their
brother. Cloud eventually noticed the anal play and his mind filled with
forbidden desires. His cock pulsed with lust, causing Devin to almost gag
before taking it again.
Two identical voices joined Cloud's in sexual calls, groans filling
the cabin. The twins could sense how close Cloud was getting and redoubled
their efforts. Cloud clenched his jaw and groaned through his teeth as he
felt his balls boiling and his mako enhanced body tensing. "Oh fuck, hell
yeah, I'm gonna cum, boys."
Hearing this, Devin pulled himself free. Darren lifted his head and
both boys seized the massively thick rod. Each hand barely fit half the way
around, but four hands enthusiastically stroking his length felt
glorious. Cloud grabbed a handful of each twins' gold hair and threw his
head back. With a loud bellow of ecstasy, he shot off.
Thick, heavy loads of cum flew from Cloud's dick. The splatters
painted Devin and Darren's faces, the boys smiling in utter bliss. Cum
splashed and dripped down onto their smooth chests. In moments, the twins
were soaked in Cloud's spend. Panting and moaning, the brothers also
reached their orgasms.
"I'm cumming, Darren," Devin gasped.
"I love you, Devin," Darren answered.
The boys locked lips, making out in passion, lust, and love. The
taste of SOLDIER cum filled their mouths alongside the familiar flavor of
their twin tongues. Dicklets were flogged and assrings finger fucked as the
preteens crested and spasms of orgasm coursed through their little
frames. In time, the dry cums released them and the boys collapsed. Cloud
was sprawled in the chair, semi-delirious from the experience. Devin and
Darren rested, nuzzling their cum covered faces against Cloud's half hard
and spent penis.
Cloud drew in deep breaths, slowly recovering his faculties. "That
was amazing."
"Yeah, it was, mister," Darren grinned up at him.
"Thanks, mister," Devin beamed, face coated with Cloud's load.
"I think you can call me Cloud now," Cloud smiled at the boys. "And
I think I should be thanking you. Best game of Queen's Blood ever."
The twins laughed, high boyish voices like chiming bells. Devin
looked over at the board. "Yeah, I think you definitely won, Mister Cloud."
Darren pushed the button to indicate Cloud won the match and looked
back at the SOLDIER with the most outrageously innocent expression ever. It
was somewhat marred by drying cum and in moments, all three were laughing
uproariously.
"We hope you'll come play with us again, Mister Cloud," Darren
grinned. Devin nodded eagerly.
Cloud smiled at the children. It was a true, genuine smile, maybe
the first he'd made in years. He considered for all of a minute before
answering. "You know. I have probably a few more hours now, if you wanna
hang. Play another round, maybe?"
Cloud was met with hungry and eager grins from the twin boys. His
mako augmented mancock started to stiffen, rising proud and ready between
the three guys.
</writerdrayk@yahoo.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/thor-gets-lokid-up | Date: Fri, 16 Aug 2024 20:23:53 +0200 From: Adrian Jacobsen Subject: Thor get's Loki'd up chapter 1 Thor get's Loki'd up chapter 1 author: adrjaco Suggested category: Gay male stories. Authoritarian. Incest. Bondage. Abstract: Marvels Thor and Loki, chastity, bondage, gloryhole. Thor and Loki always had an adverserial relationship, Thor loved playing the hero and Loki had a passion for mischief. Partly because Thor was always the one being admired, not just for his strength, but his beauty and massive cock fit for a god, probably a result of Odin having his wife work her witchcraft to make his son a worthy heir. Loki remember how he as young used to conceal himself with magic to spy on Thor, and how his whole world was changed one day he was watching Thor being alone at a camp deep in the woods. It was this night Loki learned what a cock is used for. Thor started to rub himself in the groin, and Loki was stunned as Thor pulled out a massive erection. Thor was rubbing his cock furiously, like horny teen boys that want to cum does. Loki being concealed felt his own cock get hard, and was a bit confused to why. Thor was quick to cum, and his load shot all over the place like a fountain, a drop landing on Loki's chin. After that, Loki scurried away to contemplate his own sexual awakening. Millennia later, during "Thor: Ragnarok", Hela has just shattered Mjølnir, Thor's magical hammer, and both Loki and Thor was transported to a strange world. Because of the magic of dimensional travel, Loki arrived first by several months and had obtained the shards of the shattered hammer. He was in the good graces of the elite class when Thor arrived to the world, was captured, and held unconscious in the prison for evaluation and examination. Loki claiming to be an expert on Asgardian physique managed to get access to Thor as he laid there being kept unconscious by an high-tech headband and restrained on a slab. Loki had him stripped of all his clothing, revealing that even when flaccid, he had still had a mighty hammer. Loki felt envious, but also attracted. It was then Loki got his most mischievous idea yet. What if I was the one to control his cock? Having been to many a perverted orgy with the elites, Loki was no stranger to various high-tech toys and gadgets for sexual pleasure... or denial. He remember seeing several boys with their cocks locked in chastity caged, and how eager they were to serve. "But a regular cage would just break from a single flex of his muscles" he thought. It was then he remembered the shards of Mjølnir, and how even at his strongest, Thor never even made a dent in it. Loki rushed to the engineering laboratory, equipped with Thors measurements and the broken hammer shards. The engineers found a way to remold the magic metal into the perfect chastity cage. Giddy with mischief Loki made his way back to Thor's still restrained body and fitted the cage on Thor. His big balls stuffed through the ring one at a time. Loki lifted Thor's heavy cock and dribbled some spit on it as lube for the cage. "Foreskin retracted or not?" Loki thought. Better retract it and leave his cock head exposed in the cage so he can feel it better. He slid Thor's cock through the ring and into the sheath. Because the magic of the hammer was still intact, and it always wanting to return to Thor, the cage would now always be sitting perfectly on his cock with no risk of sliding out. Loki enjoyed seeing Thor in this predicament. Thor was placed in a cell, headband removed, and left to recover. Thor awoke alone in a cell, with a weird feeling around his junk. As he inspected it with his hand, he was shocked to feel a metal cage there, having locked his cock. Thor mustered his strength, but the cage did not budge. His cock was held in place by magic. He summoned his might, eyes white with thunder, to brute force the cage off, but the cage started lighting up with runes. Thor recognized the runes from his beloved Mjølnir and came to a startling realization: this cage channels my power, there's no way for me to remove it. There was a knock at the cell, and Loki entered. "Loki!" exclaimed Thor. "Are you up to this?" he said, standing there naked pointing at his cage. Loki smirked and told him it's time for the god of thunder to learn some humility. Thor became enraged and came at Loki about to punch him. Loki just stood there smirking. Thor went to punch him, but just before the punch connected, all his strength was sapped. "What's this?". The cage was glowing, but so was Loki's ring. Loki explained "Remember father's spell? Whoever wields the hammer has the power of Thor? Well, I also made this ring, which makes me also get your powers whenever you activate it." Thor was shocked and fell to his knees. Loki said "you've also been given drugs to increase your semen production and make you horny as an effort to make you more compliant. You see, what I want is to see you beg for release as you pleasure another man." "Loki WTF!" Thor exclaimed. "Well, I see you're not ready, so I'll let you marinade for a while" said Loki. Loki left Thor to throw his weak tantrum in the cell. Thor was so sapped of strength, he could barely stand and walk. He was put through daily regime of cleansing, and every day he was restrained to a slab while some rich elite who'd payed a ridiculous amount of money had their way with his body. Strictly locked in chastity of course. For an extra fee, Loki would bring out a vibrator and let the elite milk his locked cock of precum. Thor was equipped with a high-tech headband making him docile and compliant through mind control. The weeks went by, and one of Loki's new obscenely rich friends suggested a new business venture. The gloryhole of the gods. Loki's jaw dropped from excitement. "That's the perfect idea. Our clients would be able to enjoy while also being segregated from being to close to Thor, making it easy for me to control the situation." At this point Thor had not cum in over 2 months, and was basically constantly leaking precum. As his mind was slowly being broken down by both technology and predicament, Thor was starting to feel like his body was no longer his. "Loki... brother. When will you release me?" Loki responded: "When you've given yourself to me completely. Now be a good boy and prepare yourself for today's business". Thor with a trembling voice said: "Y...yes..." Thor was led to a dark lit room, his hands behind his back. Loki changed some settings on the mind-controlling headband, and Thor was instantly in a daze, drooling, yet conscious. He was led to kneel by a wall with a hole in it. Thor was confused, but Loki explained: "So, it's time you started laboring. I've examined all the clients myself, so rest assured you're safe, but it's your job to make them satisfied with your... service." Thor looked up to the hole, and a hard cock appeared, just an inch from his mouth. Thor's eyes became wide. Thor had never minded his lovers gender, but he had never been the one pleasuring another cock. The cock was uncut, 7 inches, slightly curved upwards and girthy, and completely smooth. Loki whispered in his ear "This is the only way. The cock must be pleasured. It's the only way out. Suck it. Suck the cock" Thor had never felt this feeling before. The feeling of needing to pleasure another man's cock. What was causing this? Drugs? Magic? Fuck, he felt so high and drunk at the same time, and the cage strained on his cock. "IS THIS TURNING ME ON!?" he thought to himself. Thor stared at the cock in front of him. He slowly opened his mouth. "What am I doing" he thought. The cock touched his lips. Thor froze in place for a few moments. He felt the cock twitch, and that made his heart beat faster. "Am... am I really going to suck cock?" He felt a hand gently, but firmly holding the back of his neck. It was Loki. "That's a good boy. I've worked my magic on you, just relax." Loki said. Thor felt his jaw open. The hand pushed his head towards the cock. It just slid into his mouth, rubbing against his tongue. It tasted sweet. Loki said: "How's it taste? It should be fresh and sweet, I made sure of it." Thor's lips tightened around the cock, and he started rubbing his tongue under the cock head. Thor was on auto-pilot now. All the drugs, mind control, magic and conditioning had taken over. Thor was sucking a cock. His head went back and forth, sucking the whole shaft. Thor felt a strange unfamiliar pleasure. He went deeper. The cock went all the way to the base. The cock twitched, and his eyes became wet. Saliva ran down his beard and dripped on his cage. "This feels good." Thor thought. Loki whispered in his ear: "That's a good boy. Work his cock. If you make him cum, you will be rewarded." That sent Thor into overdrive, as he's always been very reward driven. His eyes glowed white as he summoned his strength to finish the job. The cage also started glowing. And from the other side of the hole he also saw a glow. Thor tasted more sweet precum. He was really focused on making the cock cum, going faster and faster, sucking hard. Loki's hand pushed him hard, causing Thor to take the cock all the way to the base. The dick started pulsating. Thor swallowed on instinct. "That's a good boy" Loki said. He worked the cock up and down a few more times, swallowing every drop. The cock retracted from the gloryhole. The cubicle door opened, and out came Loki. "Good job, brother. The one out here with you was just my perverted business friend with a magical illusion on it. It was me you sucked. And swallowed. Haha, you're suck a cum pig." Thor was in a trance, only thinking of one thing: release. Thor said: "you promised. please, brother." Loki answered: "Yeah, I did. But first you have to pay our debt to our friend. You will also satisfy him, then we'll see about your reward." The illusion on the fake Loki faded, and revealed a guy dressed in a tight red and black suit, his face covered. Loki said: "Mr. Deadpool, your turn to collect your debt. Go in the cubicle and have your turn" An 8 inch cock appeared. Thor was still in a trance, and just got to sucking straight away. Thor sucked and sucked, until he felt the cock pulsate and shoot seed into his throat. The cock shrank a little, and he heard the suited man yell from the cubicle "healing factor, bitch. get to it", and the cock was rock hard again. Loki had a great time controlling Thor's sucking, making Deapool cum again and again and again. Thor's beard was soaked in saliva and cum. Thor's face was blasted with cum, his jaw sore, mind broken, tears occasionally dripping down because of the deep throat action. The cock retracted and Thor saw Deadpool's mask. "I knew I'd make him cry" said Deadpool. "Thanks for the fun, Loki" Deadpool told Loki as he left the room. Loki stood in front of Thor, still on his knees. He used his foot to rub Thor's balls and asked "you ready for your reward?". "Yes" said Thor. Loki's ring started glowing, and suddenly the chastity cage started glowing too, and vibrate. Shots of lightning shot around the cage, and Loki said "feel the thunder?" Thor's cock was straining hard against the cage. Precum was leaking. Loki took out a vial, and collected precum. "This is premium product, will make me a fortune" Loki said. It didn't take long for Thor to start feeling that familiar tingle. The whole cage was vibrating and electro stimulating his cock. Loki had fastened an empty vial to the tip of the cage for collection. "Go ahead, I'll allow you to cum" Loki said. 5 4 3 "you better hurry and cum while I'll let you" said Loki. 2 1... Thor's cock starting spurting cum. All the vibration and electro stopped instantly. As the cum pulsated, Thor felt like he needed more stimulus to properly cum. His hips thrusted forward into the air. Loki said: "awwww, did I ruin your orgasm? Excellent, you'll be ready for another milking sooner then. People will pay obscene amounts for this cum of yours." | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Fri, 16 Aug 2024 20:23:53 +0200
From: Adrian Jacobsen <adrjaco@gmail.com>
Subject: Thor get's Loki'd up chapter 1
Thor get's Loki'd up chapter 1
author: adrjaco
Suggested category: Gay male stories. Authoritarian. Incest. Bondage.
Abstract: Marvels Thor and Loki, chastity, bondage, gloryhole.
Thor and Loki always had an adverserial relationship, Thor loved playing
the hero and Loki had a passion for mischief. Partly because Thor was
always the one being admired, not just for his strength, but his beauty
and massive cock fit for a god, probably a result of Odin having his wife
work her witchcraft to make his son a worthy heir.
Loki remember how he as young used to conceal himself with magic to spy
on Thor, and how his whole world was changed one day he was watching Thor
being alone at a camp deep in the woods. It was this night Loki learned
what a cock is used for. Thor started to rub himself in the groin, and
Loki was stunned as Thor pulled out a massive erection.
Thor was rubbing his cock furiously, like horny teen boys that want to
cum does. Loki being concealed felt his own cock get hard, and was a bit
confused to why. Thor was quick to cum, and his load shot all over the
place like a fountain, a drop landing on Loki's chin. After that, Loki
scurried away to contemplate his own sexual awakening.
Millennia later, during "Thor: Ragnarok", Hela has just shattered
Mjølnir, Thor's magical hammer, and both Loki and Thor was transported to
a strange world. Because of the magic of dimensional travel, Loki arrived
first by several months and had obtained the shards of the shattered
hammer. He was in the good graces of the elite class when Thor arrived to
the world, was captured, and held unconscious in the prison for
evaluation and examination.
Loki claiming to be an expert on Asgardian physique managed to get access
to Thor as he laid there being kept unconscious by an high-tech headband
and restrained on a slab. Loki had him stripped of all his clothing,
revealing that even when flaccid, he had still had a mighty hammer. Loki
felt envious, but also attracted. It was then Loki got his most
mischievous idea yet. What if I was the one to control his cock? Having
been to many a perverted orgy with the elites, Loki was no stranger to
various high-tech toys and gadgets for sexual pleasure... or denial.
He remember seeing several boys with their cocks locked in chastity
caged, and how eager they were to serve. "But a regular cage would just
break from a single flex of his muscles" he thought. It was then he
remembered the shards of Mjølnir, and how even at his strongest, Thor
never even made a dent in it. Loki rushed to the engineering laboratory,
equipped with Thors measurements and the broken hammer shards. The
engineers found a way to remold the magic metal into the perfect chastity
cage.
Giddy with mischief Loki made his way back to Thor's still restrained
body and fitted the cage on Thor. His big balls stuffed through the ring
one at a time. Loki lifted Thor's heavy cock and dribbled some spit on it
as lube for the cage. "Foreskin retracted or not?" Loki thought. Better
retract it and leave his cock head exposed in the cage so he can feel it
better.
He slid Thor's cock through the ring and into the sheath. Because the
magic of the hammer was still intact, and it always wanting to return to
Thor, the cage would now always be sitting perfectly on his cock with no
risk of sliding out. Loki enjoyed seeing Thor in this predicament. Thor
was placed in a cell, headband removed, and left to recover.
Thor awoke alone in a cell, with a weird feeling around his junk. As he
inspected it with his hand, he was shocked to feel a metal cage there,
having locked his cock. Thor mustered his strength, but the cage did not
budge. His cock was held in place by magic. He summoned his might, eyes
white with thunder, to brute force the cage off, but the cage started
lighting up with runes. Thor recognized the runes from his beloved
Mjølnir and came to a startling realization: this cage channels my power,
there's no way for me to remove it.
There was a knock at the cell, and Loki entered. "Loki!" exclaimed Thor.
"Are you up to this?" he said, standing there naked pointing at his cage.
Loki smirked and told him it's time for the god of thunder to learn some
humility. Thor became enraged and came at Loki about to punch him. Loki
just stood there smirking. Thor went to punch him, but just before the
punch connected, all his strength was sapped. "What's this?". The cage
was glowing, but so was Loki's ring. Loki explained "Remember father's
spell? Whoever wields the hammer has the power of Thor? Well, I also made
this ring, which makes me also get your powers whenever you activate it."
Thor was shocked and fell to his knees. Loki said "you've also been given
drugs to increase your semen production and make you horny as an effort
to make you more compliant. You see, what I want is to see you beg for
release as you pleasure another man."
"Loki WTF!" Thor exclaimed. "Well, I see you're not ready, so I'll let
you marinade for a while" said Loki. Loki left Thor to throw his weak
tantrum in the cell. Thor was so sapped of strength, he could barely
stand and walk. He was put through daily regime of cleansing, and every
day he was restrained to a slab while some rich elite who'd payed a
ridiculous amount of money had their way with his body. Strictly locked
in chastity of course. For an extra fee, Loki would bring out a vibrator
and let the elite milk his locked cock of precum. Thor was equipped with
a high-tech headband making him docile and compliant through mind
control.
The weeks went by, and one of Loki's new obscenely rich friends suggested
a new business venture. The gloryhole of the gods. Loki's jaw dropped
from excitement. "That's the perfect idea. Our clients would be able to
enjoy while also being segregated from being to close to Thor, making it
easy for me to control the situation."
At this point Thor had not cum in over 2 months, and was basically
constantly leaking precum. As his mind was slowly being broken down by
both technology and predicament, Thor was starting to feel like his body
was no longer his. "Loki... brother. When will you release me?" Loki
responded: "When you've given yourself to me completely. Now be a good
boy and prepare yourself for today's business". Thor with a trembling
voice said: "Y...yes..."
Thor was led to a dark lit room, his hands behind his back. Loki changed
some settings on the mind-controlling headband, and Thor was instantly in
a daze, drooling, yet conscious. He was led to kneel by a wall with a
hole in it. Thor was confused, but Loki explained: "So, it's time you
started laboring. I've examined all the clients myself, so rest assured
you're safe, but it's your job to make them satisfied with your...
service."
Thor looked up to the hole, and a hard cock appeared, just an inch from
his mouth. Thor's eyes became wide. Thor had never minded his lovers
gender, but he had never been the one pleasuring another cock. The cock
was uncut, 7 inches, slightly curved upwards and girthy, and completely
smooth. Loki whispered in his ear "This is the only way. The cock must be
pleasured. It's the only way out. Suck it. Suck the cock"
Thor had never felt this feeling before. The feeling of needing to
pleasure another man's cock. What was causing this? Drugs? Magic? Fuck,
he felt so high and drunk at the same time, and the cage strained on his
cock. "IS THIS TURNING ME ON!?" he thought to himself. Thor stared at the
cock in front of him. He slowly opened his mouth. "What am I doing" he
thought. The cock touched his lips. Thor froze in place for a few
moments. He felt the cock twitch, and that made his heart beat faster.
"Am... am I really going to suck cock?"
He felt a hand gently, but firmly holding the back of his neck. It was
Loki. "That's a good boy. I've worked my magic on you, just relax." Loki
said. Thor felt his jaw open. The hand pushed his head towards the cock.
It just slid into his mouth, rubbing against his tongue. It tasted sweet.
Loki said: "How's it taste? It should be fresh and sweet, I made sure of
it."
Thor's lips tightened around the cock, and he started rubbing his tongue
under the cock head. Thor was on auto-pilot now. All the drugs, mind
control, magic and conditioning had taken over. Thor was sucking a cock.
His head went back and forth, sucking the whole shaft. Thor felt a
strange unfamiliar pleasure. He went deeper. The cock went all the way to
the base. The cock twitched, and his eyes became wet. Saliva ran down his
beard and dripped on his cage. "This feels good." Thor thought.
Loki whispered in his ear: "That's a good boy. Work his cock. If you make
him cum, you will be rewarded." That sent Thor into overdrive, as he's
always been very reward driven. His eyes glowed white as he summoned his
strength to finish the job. The cage also started glowing. And from the
other side of the hole he also saw a glow.
Thor tasted more sweet precum. He was really focused on making the cock
cum, going faster and faster, sucking hard. Loki's hand pushed him hard,
causing Thor to take the cock all the way to the base. The dick started
pulsating. Thor swallowed on instinct. "That's a good boy" Loki said. He
worked the cock up and down a few more times, swallowing every drop.
The cock retracted from the gloryhole. The cubicle door opened, and out
came Loki. "Good job, brother. The one out here with you was just my
perverted business friend with a magical illusion on it. It was me you
sucked. And swallowed. Haha, you're suck a cum pig."
Thor was in a trance, only thinking of one thing: release. Thor said:
"you promised. please, brother." Loki answered: "Yeah, I did. But first
you have to pay our debt to our friend. You will also satisfy him, then
we'll see about your reward."
The illusion on the fake Loki faded, and revealed a guy dressed in a
tight red and black suit, his face covered. Loki said: "Mr. Deadpool,
your turn to collect your debt. Go in the cubicle and have your turn"
An 8 inch cock appeared. Thor was still in a trance, and just got to
sucking straight away. Thor sucked and sucked, until he felt the cock
pulsate and shoot seed into his throat. The cock shrank a little, and he
heard the suited man yell from the cubicle "healing factor, bitch. get to
it", and the cock was rock hard again. Loki had a great time controlling
Thor's sucking, making Deapool cum again and again and again. Thor's
beard was soaked in saliva and cum.
Thor's face was blasted with cum, his jaw sore, mind broken, tears
occasionally dripping down because of the deep throat action. The cock
retracted and Thor saw Deadpool's mask. "I knew I'd make him cry" said
Deadpool. "Thanks for the fun, Loki" Deadpool told Loki as he left the
room.
Loki stood in front of Thor, still on his knees. He used his foot to rub
Thor's balls and asked "you ready for your reward?". "Yes" said Thor.
Loki's ring started glowing, and suddenly the chastity cage started
glowing too, and vibrate. Shots of lightning shot around the cage, and
Loki said "feel the thunder?"
Thor's cock was straining hard against the cage. Precum was leaking. Loki
took out a vial, and collected precum. "This is premium product, will
make me a fortune" Loki said.
It didn't take long for Thor to start feeling that familiar tingle. The
whole cage was vibrating and electro stimulating his cock. Loki had
fastened an empty vial to the tip of the cage for collection.
"Go ahead, I'll allow you to cum" Loki said.
5
4
3
"you better hurry and cum while I'll let you" said Loki.
2
1...
Thor's cock starting spurting cum. All the vibration and electro stopped
instantly. As the cum pulsated, Thor felt like he needed more stimulus to
properly cum. His hips thrusted forward into the air.
Loki said: "awwww, did I ruin your orgasm? Excellent, you'll be ready for
another milking sooner then. People will pay obscene amounts for this cum
of yours."
</adrjaco@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
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21K Jan 14 2024 tales-of-sol-72b
20K Jan 10 2024 tales-of-sol-72a
47K Dec 22 2023 tales-of-sol-71
43K Nov 20 2023 tales-of-sol-70
28K Nov 18 2023 tales-of-sol-69
11K Oct 14 2023 tales-of-sol-68
29K Oct 12 2023 tales-of-sol-67
48K Feb 26 2022 tales-of-sol-66
38K Feb 21 2022 tales-of-sol-65
30K Feb 21 2022 tales-of-sol-64
48K Feb 20 2022 tales-of-sol-63
27K Feb 15 2022 tales-of-sol-62
27K Feb 14 2022 tales-of-sol-61
24K Feb 7 2022 tales-of-sol-60
21K Feb 6 2022 tales-of-sol-59
29K Feb 3 2022 tales-of-sol-58
34K Feb 1 2022 tales-of-sol-57
18K Jan 30 2022 tales-of-sol-56
49K Jan 29 2022 tales-of-sol-55
38K Jan 28 2022 tales-of-sol-54
40K Jan 26 2022 tales-of-sol-53
54K Jan 25 2022 tales-of-sol-52
42K Jan 23 2022 tales-of-sol-51
39K Jan 22 2022 tales-of-sol-50
39K Jan 21 2022 tales-of-sol-49
21K Jan 20 2022 tales-of-sol-48
22K Jan 17 2022 tales-of-sol-47
20K Jan 17 2022 tales-of-sol-46
37K Jan 16 2022 tales-of-sol-45
31K Jan 15 2022 tales-of-sol-44
26K Jan 13 2022 tales-of-sol-43
27K Jan 11 2022 tales-of-sol-42
35K Jan 10 2022 tales-of-sol-41
26K Jan 8 2022 tales-of-sol-40
31K Jan 7 2022 tales-of-sol-39
19K Jan 6 2022 tales-of-sol-38
28K Jan 5 2022 tales-of-sol-37
43K Jan 4 2022 tales-of-sol-36
31K Jan 3 2022 tales-of-sol-35
21K Jan 2 2022 tales-of-sol-34
22K Jan 1 2022 tales-of-sol-33
41K Dec 30 2021 tales-of-sol-32
25K Dec 25 2021 tales-of-sol-31
24K Dec 22 2021 tales-of-sol-30
35K Dec 19 2021 tales-of-sol-29
45K Dec 18 2021 tales-of-sol-28
34K Dec 15 2021 tales-of-sol-27
38K Dec 14 2021 tales-of-sol-26
36K Dec 13 2021 tales-of-sol-25
36K Dec 12 2021 tales-of-sol-24
45K Dec 11 2021 tales-of-sol-23
34K Dec 10 2021 tales-of-sol-22
29K Dec 10 2021 tales-of-sol-21
35K Dec 8 2021 tales-of-sol-20
41K Dec 7 2021 tales-of-sol-19
26K Jun 25 2017 tales-of-sol-18
27K Jun 25 2015 tales-of-sol-17
19K Jun 1 2014 tales-of-sol-16
25K Dec 28 2012 tales-of-sol-15
16K Dec 12 2012 tales-of-sol-14
29K Dec 12 2012 tales-of-sol-13
19K Oct 29 2012 tales-of-sol-12
22K Oct 29 2012 tales-of-sol-11
16K Oct 27 2012 tales-of-sol-10
24K Oct 27 2012 tales-of-sol-9
23K Oct 24 2012 tales-of-sol-8
20K Oct 24 2012 tales-of-sol-7
15K May 4 2012 tales-of-sol-6
23K May 4 2012 tales-of-sol-5
18K Feb 23 2012 tales-of-sol-4
15K Feb 14 2012 tales-of-sol-3
16K Jan 28 2012 tales-of-sol-2
10K Jan 27 2012 tales-of-sol-1
Dir Nov 25 2006 tales-of-sol-original/ | <div id="readability-content"><h1>Nifty Archive: tales-of-sol</h1><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
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<div>
<table>
<tbody><tr><th>Size</th><th>Date</th><th>Filename</th></tr>
<tr><td>18K</td><td>Oct 30 00:12</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-88d">tales-of-sol-88d</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>19K</td><td>Oct 28 23:59</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-88c">tales-of-sol-88c</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>42K</td><td>Oct 22 23:45</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-88b">tales-of-sol-88b</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>17K</td><td>Oct 22 17:48</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-88a">tales-of-sol-88a</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>23K</td><td>Oct 19 14:03</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-87d">tales-of-sol-87d</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>49K</td><td>Oct 13 13:32</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-87c">tales-of-sol-87c</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>27K</td><td>Aug 7 14:16</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-87b">tales-of-sol-87b</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>21K</td><td>Aug 6 19:13</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-87a">tales-of-sol-87a</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>50K</td><td>Aug 5 19:12</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-86b">tales-of-sol-86b</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>76K</td><td>Aug 4 20:10</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-86a">tales-of-sol-86a</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>26K</td><td>Jul 31 16:53</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-85b">tales-of-sol-85b</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>24K</td><td>Jul 29 21:44</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-85a">tales-of-sol-85a</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>31K</td><td>May 12 21:03</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-84b">tales-of-sol-84b</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>43K</td><td>Apr 11 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-84a">tales-of-sol-84a</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>24K</td><td>Apr 5 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-83b">tales-of-sol-83b</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>45K</td><td>Mar 24 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-83a">tales-of-sol-83a</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>49K</td><td>Mar 22 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-82">tales-of-sol-82</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>40K</td><td>Mar 18 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-81">tales-of-sol-81</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>23K</td><td>Mar 16 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-80b">tales-of-sol-80b</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>35K</td><td>Mar 12 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-80a">tales-of-sol-80a</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>28K</td><td>Mar 10 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-79b">tales-of-sol-79b</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>24K</td><td>Mar 8 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-79a">tales-of-sol-79a</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>47K</td><td>Mar 5 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-78">tales-of-sol-78</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>32K</td><td>Feb 26 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-77c">tales-of-sol-77c</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>21K</td><td>Feb 20 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-77b">tales-of-sol-77b</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>25K</td><td>Feb 18 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-77a">tales-of-sol-77a</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>42K</td><td>Feb 16 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-76">tales-of-sol-76</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>38K</td><td>Feb 12 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-75">tales-of-sol-75</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>38K</td><td>Jan 28 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-74">tales-of-sol-74</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>33K</td><td>Jan 27 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-73">tales-of-sol-73</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>30K</td><td>Jan 20 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-72c">tales-of-sol-72c</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>21K</td><td>Jan 14 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-72b">tales-of-sol-72b</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>20K</td><td>Jan 10 2024</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-72a">tales-of-sol-72a</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>47K</td><td>Dec 22 2023</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-71">tales-of-sol-71</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>43K</td><td>Nov 20 2023</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-70">tales-of-sol-70</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>28K</td><td>Nov 18 2023</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-69">tales-of-sol-69</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>11K</td><td>Oct 14 2023</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-68">tales-of-sol-68</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>29K</td><td>Oct 12 2023</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-67">tales-of-sol-67</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>48K</td><td>Feb 26 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-66">tales-of-sol-66</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>38K</td><td>Feb 21 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-65">tales-of-sol-65</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>30K</td><td>Feb 21 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-64">tales-of-sol-64</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>48K</td><td>Feb 20 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-63">tales-of-sol-63</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>27K</td><td>Feb 15 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-62">tales-of-sol-62</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>27K</td><td>Feb 14 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-61">tales-of-sol-61</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>24K</td><td>Feb 7 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-60">tales-of-sol-60</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>21K</td><td>Feb 6 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-59">tales-of-sol-59</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>29K</td><td>Feb 3 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-58">tales-of-sol-58</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>34K</td><td>Feb 1 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-57">tales-of-sol-57</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>18K</td><td>Jan 30 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-56">tales-of-sol-56</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>49K</td><td>Jan 29 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-55">tales-of-sol-55</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>38K</td><td>Jan 28 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-54">tales-of-sol-54</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>40K</td><td>Jan 26 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-53">tales-of-sol-53</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>54K</td><td>Jan 25 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-52">tales-of-sol-52</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>42K</td><td>Jan 23 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-51">tales-of-sol-51</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>39K</td><td>Jan 22 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-50">tales-of-sol-50</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>39K</td><td>Jan 21 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-49">tales-of-sol-49</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>21K</td><td>Jan 20 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-48">tales-of-sol-48</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>22K</td><td>Jan 17 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-47">tales-of-sol-47</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>20K</td><td>Jan 17 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-46">tales-of-sol-46</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>37K</td><td>Jan 16 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-45">tales-of-sol-45</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>31K</td><td>Jan 15 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-44">tales-of-sol-44</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>26K</td><td>Jan 13 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-43">tales-of-sol-43</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>27K</td><td>Jan 11 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-42">tales-of-sol-42</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>35K</td><td>Jan 10 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-41">tales-of-sol-41</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>26K</td><td>Jan 8 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-40">tales-of-sol-40</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>31K</td><td>Jan 7 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-39">tales-of-sol-39</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>19K</td><td>Jan 6 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-38">tales-of-sol-38</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>28K</td><td>Jan 5 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-37">tales-of-sol-37</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>43K</td><td>Jan 4 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-36">tales-of-sol-36</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>31K</td><td>Jan 3 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-35">tales-of-sol-35</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>21K</td><td>Jan 2 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-34">tales-of-sol-34</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>22K</td><td>Jan 1 2022</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-33">tales-of-sol-33</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>41K</td><td>Dec 30 2021</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-32">tales-of-sol-32</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>25K</td><td>Dec 25 2021</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-31">tales-of-sol-31</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>24K</td><td>Dec 22 2021</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-30">tales-of-sol-30</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>35K</td><td>Dec 19 2021</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-29">tales-of-sol-29</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>45K</td><td>Dec 18 2021</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-28">tales-of-sol-28</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>34K</td><td>Dec 15 2021</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-27">tales-of-sol-27</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>38K</td><td>Dec 14 2021</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-26">tales-of-sol-26</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>36K</td><td>Dec 13 2021</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-25">tales-of-sol-25</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>36K</td><td>Dec 12 2021</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-24">tales-of-sol-24</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>45K</td><td>Dec 11 2021</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-23">tales-of-sol-23</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>34K</td><td>Dec 10 2021</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-22">tales-of-sol-22</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>29K</td><td>Dec 10 2021</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-21">tales-of-sol-21</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>35K</td><td>Dec 8 2021</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-20">tales-of-sol-20</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>41K</td><td>Dec 7 2021</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-19">tales-of-sol-19</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td>Dir</td><td>Nov 25 2006</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tales-of-sol/tales-of-sol-original/">tales-of-sol-original/</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/the-heart-of-tarzan/the-heart-of-tarzan-2 | Date: Sun, 7 Jan 2024 15:06:20 -0600 From: Cullen Coleman Subject: The Heart of Tarzan, Chapter 2 This work is entirely fictional and all characters, including Tarzan, are not based on any real people or events. While the character of Tarzan, originally created by Edgar Rice Burroughs, is in the public domain, it should be noted that the Tarzan name and related trademarks are owned by the Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc. corporation. This narrative is a creative, independent interpretation and not affiliated with the corporation. I appreciate feedback or constructive criticism of my writing directly at colemanfarms88@gmail.com. Also if you can, please support Nifty and all their endeavours. Please use this link to donate: https://donate.nifty.org/. ------- In the early morning hours of daylight, James arose, naked and filled with ecstasy from the night before with his father. "I can't wait to see what happens next. Yesterday was such a tumultuous day but it ended with such passion and love. I am in heaven!" he thought to himself as he got up from the spot in the cave against his father to go pee. His cock hard pressing against his leg as it needed to be released. The fire that his father, Alex, made for them prior to them making love was slowly still crackling and his father was asleep by the fire. By now, the sun was beginning to peak out amidst pink and orange clouds. The jungle not a mere few feet away from the entrance of the cave was beginning to burst alive with sounds of various monkeys chattering in the trees, small colorful birds flitting around and making noise; their numerous caws and chirps made James curious. As for now, he had to relieve himself. He proceeded to walk down to the beach and find a seemingly quiet spot and piss. The thick warm yellow liquid poured out of his 7-inch cut cock. Even as a bottom, he had a beautiful cock. Growing up, from the young age of 9, he noticed he had a pretty cock and loved to rub it along with other boys his age; his little boyhood in his hands fascinated him and brought him great pleasure. As he was pissing, he heard a thunderous yell and snapped back to reality- a yell he had never heard from any animal before. This yell was mighty. It was louder than any roar from a lion or bear. Unknown to him, this yell belonged to Tarzan, the King of the jungle. As the first rays of dawn filtered through the dense jungle canopy, Tarzan awoke in his lofty treehouse. The new day's light caressed his well-defined, muscular frame, highlighting each curve and contour of his powerfully built body. His skin, bronzed and gleaming from the sun's kiss, stretched taut over rippling muscles, a testament to his life amidst nature's challenges. Clad only in a simple loincloth, which fluttered slightly in the gentle morning breeze, Tarzan stood up with a fluid grace that belied his imposing stature. His broad shoulders and well-sculpted arms, symbols of his strength and agility, moved with a predator's ease. His chest, a wide expanse of solid muscle, rose and fell rhythmically as he took in the fresh, earthy air of the jungle. In a ritual as old as time, Tarzan let out a thunderous yell. The sound, raw and powerful, rolled across the vast jungle, awakening its many inhabitants. It was a call that resonated with authority and dominion, a reminder to all who heard it of who ruled this green kingdom. With a series of ceremonial beats on his chest, each thump resonating like a drumbeat of the wild, Tarzan's presence was affirmed. His arms, sinewy and strong, created a rhythm that vibrated through the lush greenery around him. As he stretched, each muscle in his body flexed and relaxed in a harmonious display of physical prowess. His legs, sturdy and capable, were rooted firmly on the branch, showcasing his readiness to leap into action at a moment's notice. The jungle responded to its king, the cacophony of wildlife sounds rising to meet the challenge of a new day. Tarzan, standing tall and resolute, his physique a masterpiece of natural strength, was ready to reign over his kingdom once again, the undisputed lord of the jungle. He then took one last big breath before clasping onto the nearest vine and started to swing through the trees to find some luscious fruit for breakfast and take toll over his domain. Meanwhile, on the serene yet unfamiliar shores of the Congo, James Parker returned from the beach, his heart heavy with the burden of their shipwrecked plight. The sight that greeted him upon his return struck him like a physical blow. There lay his father, sprawled on his back, a frightening stillness about him. Blood trickled ominously from his ears, painting a stark contrast against his pale skin. Panic surged through James's veins as he rushed to his father's side, his mind racing through the medical training he had acquired. But nothing had prepared him for this--a potential stroke, far from civilization, with no medical supplies or hope for rescue. He desperately started CPR, each compression a silent plea for a miracle, each breath he gave a whisper of hope against the overwhelming odds. His hands, though steady in an operating room, trembled in this life-and-death struggle. Sweat beaded on his forehead, mixing with the tears that blurred his vision. He knew the chances were slim, but he couldn't--wouldn't--give up. Not on his father, the man who had been his mentor, his newfound lover- his guiding star. But as minutes stretched into an eternity, the cruel truth dawned on James. His father was beyond his help. His teacher, protector, and anchor in life, gone. Despair enveloped him, a crushing wave of grief and helplessness. Unseen by James, Tarzan watched silently from his hidden vantage point, his keen eyes observing the tragic scene. He remained motionless, a silent sentinel amidst the foliage, his presence unknown to the grieving son. Tarzan, though a master of his domain, felt a stir of empathy for the young man. In the raw pain and desperation etched on James's face, Tarzan recognized the universal sorrow of loss. The jungle around them seemed to hold its breath, a moment of mourning for the fallen man. An hour had passed, the sun climbing higher in the sky, as James's sobs gradually subsided into quiet, grief-stricken acceptance. He sat there, beside his father Alex, feeling the weight of his loss and the harsh reality of their situation. The vulnerability of their position struck him with sudden clarity--the jungle was not just a backdrop to their tragedy, but a living, breathing world filled with dangers, including predators like leopards. With a heavy heart, James understood what he had to do next. He couldn't leave his father exposed to the unforgiving elements of the wild, or worse, to become prey to a roaming predator. It was a grim thought, the kind that gnaws at the edges of one's sanity, but James knew he had no choice. He had to bury his father. Gathering his strength, both physical and emotional, James set about the solemn task. He looked around for a suitable spot, one that felt right for a final resting place. It needed to be close enough to manage alone, yet far enough to keep any potential threats at bay. Selecting a spot under the shade of a large tree, he began to dig with whatever makeshift tools he could find--pieces of driftwood, his bare hands, stones. The work was grueling, and the tropical heat showed no mercy. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with the lingering tears, each shovel of earth a testament to his love and respect for his father. As he worked, the sounds of the jungle continued around him, a reminder that life persisted in all its relentless forms. Meanwhile, Tarzan watched from his concealed position, his expression one of solemn respect for the young man's resolve. In the face of such adversity, James's determination to honor his father spoke to something deep within Tarzan, a recognition of the sacred bonds of family and the duty one owes to their kin, no matter the cost. As James finished his solemn task, he stood back, breathless, and exhausted, looking at the mound of earth that now marked his father's final resting place. It was a simple grave for a man who had lived a life of adventure and discovery, a silent tribute in the vastness of the Congo. In this moment, James was no longer just a scientist; he had become a survivor, tempered by the unforgiving realities of the wild. The moment of solace, a brief interlude in the heart of the Congo wilderness, was shattered in an instant. Without warning, the notorious predator of the jungle, the leopard Sabor, emerged with a startling agility from the dense canopy above. Its menacing growl, a sound that spelled danger to every creature in the jungle, echoed through the air, freezing James in a moment of sheer terror. Instinct took over. James didn't pause to think; every fiber of his being screamed at him to run, to escape the deadly threat that loomed so close. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline surged through his veins as he bolted away from his father's grave, away from the snarling leopard. He ran with reckless abandon, dodging trees and leaping over underbrush, the sounds of the jungle a blur around him. His only thought was survival, to put as much distance as possible between himself and Sabor. The leopard, a master predator, was not just a threat but a symbol of the raw, unforgiving nature of the wild. As James sprinted through the dense foliage, the reality of his situation hit him with brutal force. He was alone, unprepared, and now hunted in an environment that was as beautiful as it was dangerous. His breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles ached, but fear propelled him forward. Unseen by either James or the leopard, Tarzan observed the chase with a mixture of concern and understanding. The jungle was his home, and he knew its laws well--the merciless dance of predator and prey. Yet, something in him stirred at the sight of James, a stranger in his world, now running for his life. At that moment, Tarzan had to make a choice. Would he intervene and alter the natural course of life in the jungle, or would he remain a silent witness to the unforgiving law of nature? The decision was not just about the fate of James but about the delicate balance of the wild itself. As James lay at the bottom of the trap, his heart pounding with fear, he suddenly witnessed a sight that left him in utter amazement. From the dense foliage above, a figure emerged, unlike anyone he had ever seen--a wild man, his body a tapestry of muscle and sinew, moving with a confidence and power that seemed to defy the laws of nature. This was Tarzan, though James had no knowledge of him or his legendary status in the jungle. Tarzan stood at the edge of the trap, his eyes fixed intently on the menacing leopard, Sabor. With a knife gripped firmly in his hand, he was the picture of primal ferocity and readiness. But what happened next was truly astonishing. Tarzan began to beat his chest, creating a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the jungle, a clear challenge to the beast before them. Then, he did something even more remarkable. He started to mimic the sounds of Sabor, producing growls and snarls so accurate they seemed to belong to the leopard itself. It was a display of deep, instinctual understanding of the wild, a communication of sorts that was both threatening and mesmerizing. James, from his precarious position in the trap, watched in stunned silence. He had never seen anything like this--a man, wild and untamed, seemingly speaking the language of a beast. Tarzan's presence, his command over the situation, was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. The way he confronted Sabor, not with fear but with an almost brotherly understanding of the animal's nature, was something beyond James's comprehension. The standoff between Tarzan and the leopard was a spectacle of primal power, a testament to the raw and untamed spirit of the jungle. For James, this was more than a rescue; it was a window into a world he had never imagined, where the lines between man and beast blurred into something extraordinary. In a moment of cunning, Sabor, the leopard, shifted his predatory focus. With a powerful lunge, he deceived Tarzan, leaping not at the wild man but over him, diving straight into the pit where James lay. The beast, agile and silent, slinked forward, its eyes locked on James, growling menacingly, its teeth bared and drool dripping from its jaws. James, frozen in terror, could only watch as the embodiment of his nightmares approached. But Tarzan, ever vigilant and swift, was not one to be easily outmaneuvered. In a flash, he leaped into the pit after Sabor, landing with a thud that echoed in the confined space. He positioned himself between James and the ferocious leopard, ready to defend the young scientist with his life. What followed was a battle of primal fury. Tarzan, despite his strength and agility, was pitted against a creature designed for the kill. The two clashed, a whirlwind of snarls, growls, and the clash of flesh and fur. Tarzan fought with a ferocity born of the jungle, each move a testament to his years of survival among its deadliest predators. In a desperate attempt to overpower Tarzan, Sabor lunged for his neck, a move that could have been fatal. But Tarzan's reflexes were lightning-fast. He dodged the deadly jaws, though not completely unscathed. Sabor's claws found their mark, slicing through Tarzan's right shoulder and bicep, drawing blood and leaving a raw wound. Ignoring the pain, Tarzan seized the moment. With a swift, decisive motion, he plunged his knife into Sabor, ending the struggle. The big cat fell dead, its body collapsing in a heap, the threat extinguished. James, witnessing the ferocious fight, was paralyzed with fear. Even with the leopard dead, he couldn't shake the terror that gripped him. He had just seen the rawest form of nature's struggle, life and death played out in front of his eyes. Tarzan, bleeding and breathing heavily, turned his gaze to James. In that moment, James saw not just a wild man of the jungle, but a protector, a being who had just saved his life at great personal risk. The reality of the jungle, its brutality and beauty, had never been clearer to James than in that breathtaking moment. Swiftly and deftly, Tarzan untied and freed James from the trap, immediately hoisting him over his shoulder. Before James could fully process his rescue, they were soaring through the air, Tarzan expertly swinging from vine to vine above the jungle canopy. The sensation was dizzying, a wild flight through the treetops that blurred the line between fear and awe. As they made their escape, the angered Waziri tribesmen gave chase, hurling spears in their direction. Tarzan, with remarkable agility, navigated through the jungle, evading each attack with a masterful precision. The perilous journey was a whirlwind of adrenaline and instinct, a testament to Tarzan's unparalleled skills in his natural domain. Finally, they reached the safety of Tarzan's treehouse. In one fluid motion, Tarzan flung James onto a bed in the corner of the massive room, the suddenness of the action leaving James momentarily disoriented. He lay there, his heart still racing from the morning's harrowing events -- the loss of his father, the attack by the leopard, and now this miraculous escape with the enigmatic Tarzan. Surrounded by the unfamiliar confines of the treehouse, high above the jungle floor, James was consumed by a mix of terror and disbelief. The reality of his situation was overwhelming; in just one morning, his world had been turned upside down. He was far from the scientific expeditions he was accustomed to, thrust into a raw and untamed world where survival was the only priority. As James lay on the bed, still trying to catch his breath and process the morning's terrifying events, he was unaware of Tarzan's approach. Tarzan moved towards him, not with the predatory gait of Sabor, but with a sense of curiosity that was sensual, erotic. He moved on all fours to the bed and leapt on top of James, sitting at the edge of the bed. James reached out to the wild man and was amazed at his muscular stature; Tarzan encouraged him to touch him. James' frail and small hands caressed over the impressive chest of the jungle lord and stopped at Tarzan's right shoulder and bicep-Tarzan winced with pain, the first time James saw any human emotion come from Tarzan. As James reached out tentatively, his fingers came across the raw wounds inflicted by Sabor during their earlier battle. The sight of the injuries snapped James back to his professional reality, overcoming his initial shock. He stammered, "I have to help you since you helped me. I'm a doctor. I can heal your wound." This offer to help was more than a professional reflex; it was an acknowledgment of the debt he owed Tarzan for saving his life. Despite his unfamiliarity with the jungle and its dangers, James found himself relying on his medical training, the one aspect of his former life that remained relevant in this wild new world. Tarzan, understanding the intent if not the words, allowed James to inspect his injuries. For James, this was a moment to regain a sense of purpose and control, to give back to the mysterious figure who had dramatically altered the course of his fate. James got off the bed and searched the treehouse for anything; he astonishingly found a bottle of rubbing alcohol that looked as old as Tarzan. He dusted it off and tore off a piece of his shirt, dousing it in the liquid and pressing against the dried bloody flesh. Tarzan gritted his teeth in pain. His chocolate hair flung over his shoulders as he moved his head forward and he let out a small "Ouch!" -"Can you understand me?" asked James. Tarzan slightly nodded. James pressed his palm on Tarzan's chest, its small shape nothing in comparison to the muscle man's massive figure. With a puff of courage in his chest, James introduced himself, "I'm James. James Parker." "I am Tarzan", stated Tarzan. He beat one hand on his chest when he introduced himself to James. "It's nice to meet you Tarzan, th..thank you for saving me today. I can't begin to say that enou- ", before James could finish his sentence, Tarzan walked forward to James, them both now standing closer and closer and to James' surprise, Tarzan grabbed James by his scrawny shoulders and took his right hand to the back of his head and brought him in for a kiss. A deep sensual kiss. James could feel the wild man moaning in pleasure and his tongue exploring James' mouth. James leaned into the kiss and grabbed onto the muscular back of Tarzan. By now, Tarzan's loincloth was tented by his massive 11-inch cock. James began to rub it. Tarzan knew what he was doing; he had seen this before growing up among his ape family, but he had never been able to act upon it. He knew at first glance in the treetop canopy that he wanted to feel the scrawny feminine body of James against his masculine figure. James was in euphoria. It was now that he guided Tarzan back to the bed in the treehouse and Tarzan then growled at him, tearing away at what clothes remained on his little twink body. Without thinking, Tarzan grabbed James' legs and pulled them to him; James reached close and untied the leather loincloth from his new lover- Tarzan's massive 11-inch cut cock plopped out of the loincloth. Thick burly chocolate brown fuzz enamored around his cock and an even sweeter treasure trail led up sun kissed tanned skin to Tarzan's enormous pecs. James immediately took the cock in his mouth and began to swallow it, being sure to lick the enormous shaft and head. Tarzan grunted in pleasure; if it was one thing James knew how to do better than anything was to suck a cock. Tarzan had the finest looking cock that James had ever seen. James pulled away from his jungle man and laid on his back. Tarzan began to spit on his cock and thrust into James. James let out a small wail of pain. "It's ok baby. Go on." James nudged Tarzan on. Even though his English was broken and limited, Tarzan managed a small yet lovingly "Ok." He did not want to hurt James. James arched his back farther and his legs now by his ears, moving Tarzan's cock deeper into him. Tarzan began to thrust in and out, spastically grunting, rutting into his new love. This was not a first-time fuck for either man, this was a vow. A consummation of unsaid forever. As Tarzan began to get closer and closer to climax, his 11-inch dick now getting harder and harder in James' tight pink hole. After what seemed like an eternity, Tarzan thrust one last time and began to beat on his chest, yelling into the treehouse and letting the jungle know he had found his mate. James yelled in ecstasy, "Yes. Yes! YES! Fuck me baby. I am yours. Fuck me." His little cock drizzling precum. Tarzan then took his hands of his chest and put them around James' throat and pushed one last time, his load immediately flooding James and pouring onto the floor of the treehouse. He pulled out of James and staggered to the top of the bed, James following him. James kissed Tarzan fiercely. He settled into the ape-man's arms and for once in his life he felt one thing was certain: this was where he belonged. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sun, 7 Jan 2024 15:06:20 -0600
From: Cullen Coleman <colemanfarms88@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heart of Tarzan, Chapter 2
This work is entirely fictional and all characters, including Tarzan, are
not based on any real people or events. While the character of Tarzan,
originally created by Edgar Rice Burroughs, is in the public domain, it
should be noted that the Tarzan name and related trademarks are owned by
the Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc. corporation. This narrative is a creative,
independent interpretation and not affiliated with the corporation. I
appreciate feedback or constructive criticism of my writing directly at
colemanfarms88@gmail.com. Also if you can, please support Nifty and all
their endeavours. Please use this link to donate:
https://donate.nifty.org/.
-------
In the early morning hours of daylight, James arose, naked and filled
with ecstasy from the night before with his father. "I can't wait to
see what happens next. Yesterday was such a tumultuous day but it ended
with such passion and love. I am in heaven!" he thought to himself as he
got up from the spot in the cave against his father to go pee. His cock
hard pressing against his leg as it needed to be released. The fire that
his father, Alex, made for them prior to them making love was slowly
still crackling and his father was asleep by the fire. By now, the sun
was beginning to peak out amidst pink and orange clouds. The jungle not a
mere few feet away from the entrance of the cave was beginning to burst
alive with sounds of various monkeys chattering in the trees, small
colorful birds flitting around and making noise; their numerous caws and
chirps made James curious. As for now, he had to relieve himself. He
proceeded to walk down to the beach and find a seemingly quiet spot and
piss. The thick warm yellow liquid poured out of his 7-inch cut cock.
Even as a bottom, he had a beautiful cock. Growing up, from the young age
of 9, he noticed he had a pretty cock and loved to rub it along with
other boys his age; his little boyhood in his hands fascinated him and
brought him great pleasure. As he was pissing, he heard a thunderous yell
and snapped back to reality- a yell he had never heard from any animal
before. This yell was mighty. It was louder than any roar from a lion or
bear. Unknown to him, this yell belonged to Tarzan, the King of the
jungle.
As the first rays of dawn filtered through the dense jungle canopy,
Tarzan awoke in his lofty treehouse. The new day's light caressed his
well-defined, muscular frame, highlighting each curve and contour of his
powerfully built body. His skin, bronzed and gleaming from the sun's
kiss, stretched taut over rippling muscles, a testament to his life
amidst nature's challenges. Clad only in a simple loincloth, which
fluttered slightly in the gentle morning breeze, Tarzan stood up with a
fluid grace that belied his imposing stature. His broad shoulders and
well-sculpted arms, symbols of his strength and agility, moved with a
predator's ease. His chest, a wide expanse of solid muscle, rose and
fell rhythmically as he took in the fresh, earthy air of the jungle. In a
ritual as old as time, Tarzan let out a thunderous yell. The sound, raw
and powerful, rolled across the vast jungle, awakening its many
inhabitants. It was a call that resonated with authority and dominion, a
reminder to all who heard it of who ruled this green kingdom. With a
series of ceremonial beats on his chest, each thump resonating like a
drumbeat of the wild, Tarzan's presence was affirmed. His arms, sinewy
and strong, created a rhythm that vibrated through the lush greenery
around him. As he stretched, each muscle in his body flexed and relaxed
in a harmonious display of physical prowess. His legs, sturdy and
capable, were rooted firmly on the branch, showcasing his readiness to
leap into action at a moment's notice. The jungle responded to its king,
the cacophony of wildlife sounds rising to meet the challenge of a new
day. Tarzan, standing tall and resolute, his physique a masterpiece of
natural strength, was ready to reign over his kingdom once again, the
undisputed lord of the jungle. He then took one last big breath before
clasping onto the nearest vine and started to swing through the trees to
find some luscious fruit for breakfast and take toll over his domain.
Meanwhile, on the serene yet unfamiliar shores of the Congo, James Parker
returned from the beach, his heart heavy with the burden of their
shipwrecked plight. The sight that greeted him upon his return struck him
like a physical blow. There lay his father, sprawled on his back, a
frightening stillness about him. Blood trickled ominously from his ears,
painting a stark contrast against his pale skin. Panic surged through
James's veins as he rushed to his father's side, his mind racing through
the medical training he had acquired. But nothing had prepared him for
this--a potential stroke, far from civilization, with no medical supplies
or hope for rescue. He desperately started CPR, each compression a silent
plea for a miracle, each breath he gave a whisper of hope against the
overwhelming odds. His hands, though steady in an operating room,
trembled in this life-and-death struggle. Sweat beaded on his forehead,
mixing with the tears that blurred his vision. He knew the chances were
slim, but he couldn't--wouldn't--give up. Not on his father, the man who
had been his mentor, his newfound lover- his guiding star.
But as minutes stretched into an eternity, the cruel truth dawned on
James. His father was beyond his help. His teacher, protector, and anchor
in life, gone. Despair enveloped him, a crushing wave of grief and
helplessness. Unseen by James, Tarzan watched silently from his hidden
vantage point, his keen eyes observing the tragic scene. He remained
motionless, a silent sentinel amidst the foliage, his presence unknown to
the grieving son. Tarzan, though a master of his domain, felt a stir of
empathy for the young man. In the raw pain and desperation etched on
James's face, Tarzan recognized the universal sorrow of loss.
The jungle around them seemed to hold its breath, a moment of mourning
for the fallen man.
An hour had passed, the sun climbing higher in the sky, as James's sobs
gradually subsided into quiet, grief-stricken acceptance. He sat there,
beside his father Alex, feeling the weight of his loss and the harsh
reality of their situation. The vulnerability of their position struck
him with sudden clarity--the jungle was not just a backdrop to their
tragedy, but a living, breathing world filled with dangers, including
predators like leopards.
With a heavy heart, James understood what he had to do next. He couldn't
leave his father exposed to the unforgiving elements of the wild, or
worse, to become prey to a roaming predator. It was a grim thought, the
kind that gnaws at the edges of one's sanity, but James knew he had no
choice. He had to bury his father. Gathering his strength, both physical
and emotional, James set about the solemn task. He looked around for a
suitable spot, one that felt right for a final resting place. It needed
to be close enough to manage alone, yet far enough to keep any potential
threats at bay. Selecting a spot under the shade of a large tree, he
began to dig with whatever makeshift tools he could find--pieces of
driftwood, his bare hands, stones. The work was grueling, and the
tropical heat showed no mercy. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with
the lingering tears, each shovel of earth a testament to his love and
respect for his father. As he worked, the sounds of the jungle continued
around him, a reminder that life persisted in all its relentless forms.
Meanwhile, Tarzan watched from his concealed position, his expression one
of solemn respect for the young man's resolve. In the face of such
adversity, James's determination to honor his father spoke to something
deep within Tarzan, a recognition of the sacred bonds of family and the
duty one owes to their kin, no matter the cost. As James finished his
solemn task, he stood back, breathless, and exhausted, looking at the
mound of earth that now marked his father's final resting place. It was a
simple grave for a man who had lived a life of adventure and discovery, a
silent tribute in the vastness of the Congo. In this moment, James was no
longer just a scientist; he had become a survivor, tempered by the
unforgiving realities of the wild.
The moment of solace, a brief interlude in the heart of the Congo
wilderness, was shattered in an instant. Without warning, the notorious
predator of the jungle, the leopard Sabor, emerged with a startling
agility from the dense canopy above. Its menacing growl, a sound that
spelled danger to every creature in the jungle, echoed through the air,
freezing James in a moment of sheer terror. Instinct took over. James
didn't pause to think; every fiber of his being screamed at him to run,
to escape the deadly threat that loomed so close. His heart pounded in
his chest, adrenaline surged through his veins as he bolted away from his
father's grave, away from the snarling leopard. He ran with reckless
abandon, dodging trees and leaping over underbrush, the sounds of the
jungle a blur around him. His only thought was survival, to put as much
distance as possible between himself and Sabor. The leopard, a master
predator, was not just a threat but a symbol of the raw, unforgiving
nature of the wild. As James sprinted through the dense foliage, the
reality of his situation hit him with brutal force. He was alone,
unprepared, and now hunted in an environment that was as beautiful as it
was dangerous. His breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles ached, but
fear propelled him forward. Unseen by either James or the leopard, Tarzan
observed the chase with a mixture of concern and understanding. The
jungle was his home, and he knew its laws well--the merciless dance of
predator and prey. Yet, something in him stirred at the sight of James, a
stranger in his world, now running for his life. At that moment, Tarzan
had to make a choice. Would he intervene and alter the natural course of
life in the jungle, or would he remain a silent witness to the
unforgiving law of nature? The decision was not just about the fate of
James but about the delicate balance of the wild itself.
As James lay at the bottom of the trap, his heart pounding with fear, he
suddenly witnessed a sight that left him in utter amazement. From the
dense foliage above, a figure emerged, unlike anyone he had ever seen--a
wild man, his body a tapestry of muscle and sinew, moving with a
confidence and power that seemed to defy the laws of nature. This was
Tarzan, though James had no knowledge of him or his legendary status in
the jungle. Tarzan stood at the edge of the trap, his eyes fixed intently
on the menacing leopard, Sabor. With a knife gripped firmly in his hand,
he was the picture of primal ferocity and readiness. But what happened
next was truly astonishing. Tarzan began to beat his chest, creating a
deep, resonant sound that echoed through the jungle, a clear challenge to
the beast before them. Then, he did something even more remarkable. He
started to mimic the sounds of Sabor, producing growls and snarls so
accurate they seemed to belong to the leopard itself. It was a display of
deep, instinctual understanding of the wild, a communication of sorts
that was both threatening and mesmerizing. James, from his precarious
position in the trap, watched in stunned silence. He had never seen
anything like this--a man, wild and untamed, seemingly speaking the
language of a beast. Tarzan's presence, his command over the situation,
was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. The way he confronted Sabor, not
with fear but with an almost brotherly understanding of the animal's
nature, was something beyond James's comprehension. The standoff between
Tarzan and the leopard was a spectacle of primal power, a testament to
the raw and untamed spirit of the jungle. For James, this was more than a
rescue; it was a window into a world he had never imagined, where the
lines between man and beast blurred into something extraordinary. In a
moment of cunning, Sabor, the leopard, shifted his predatory focus. With
a powerful lunge, he deceived Tarzan, leaping not at the wild man but
over him, diving straight into the pit where James lay. The beast, agile
and silent, slinked forward, its eyes locked on James, growling
menacingly, its teeth bared and drool dripping from its jaws. James,
frozen in terror, could only watch as the embodiment of his nightmares
approached. But Tarzan, ever vigilant and swift, was not one to be easily
outmaneuvered. In a flash, he leaped into the pit after Sabor, landing
with a thud that echoed in the confined space. He positioned himself
between James and the ferocious leopard, ready to defend the young
scientist with his life. What followed was a battle of primal fury.
Tarzan, despite his strength and agility, was pitted against a creature
designed for the kill. The two clashed, a whirlwind of snarls, growls,
and the clash of flesh and fur. Tarzan fought with a ferocity born of the
jungle, each move a testament to his years of survival among its
deadliest predators. In a desperate attempt to overpower Tarzan, Sabor
lunged for his neck, a move that could have been fatal. But Tarzan's
reflexes were lightning-fast. He dodged the deadly jaws, though not
completely unscathed. Sabor's claws found their mark, slicing through
Tarzan's right shoulder and bicep, drawing blood and leaving a raw wound.
Ignoring the pain, Tarzan seized the moment. With a swift, decisive
motion, he plunged his knife into Sabor, ending the struggle. The big cat
fell dead, its body collapsing in a heap, the threat extinguished. James,
witnessing the ferocious fight, was paralyzed with fear. Even with the
leopard dead, he couldn't shake the terror that gripped him. He had just
seen the rawest form of nature's struggle, life and death played out in
front of his eyes. Tarzan, bleeding and breathing heavily, turned his
gaze to James. In that moment, James saw not just a wild man of the
jungle, but a protector, a being who had just saved his life at great
personal risk. The reality of the jungle, its brutality and beauty, had
never been clearer to James than in that breathtaking moment. Swiftly and
deftly, Tarzan untied and freed James from the trap, immediately hoisting
him over his shoulder. Before James could fully process his rescue, they
were soaring through the air, Tarzan expertly swinging from vine to vine
above the jungle canopy. The sensation was dizzying, a wild flight
through the treetops that blurred the line between fear and awe.
As they made their escape, the angered Waziri tribesmen gave chase,
hurling spears in their direction. Tarzan, with remarkable agility,
navigated through the jungle, evading each attack with a masterful
precision. The perilous journey was a whirlwind of adrenaline and
instinct, a testament to Tarzan's unparalleled skills in his natural
domain.
Finally, they reached the safety of Tarzan's treehouse. In one fluid
motion, Tarzan flung James onto a bed in the corner of the massive room,
the suddenness of the action leaving James momentarily disoriented. He
lay there, his heart still racing from the morning's harrowing events --
the loss of his father, the attack by the leopard, and now this
miraculous escape with the enigmatic Tarzan.
Surrounded by the unfamiliar confines of the treehouse, high above the
jungle floor, James was consumed by a mix of terror and disbelief. The
reality of his situation was overwhelming; in just one morning, his world
had been turned upside down. He was far from the scientific expeditions
he was accustomed to, thrust into a raw and untamed world where survival
was the only priority. As James lay on the bed, still trying to catch his
breath and process the morning's terrifying events, he was unaware of
Tarzan's approach. Tarzan moved towards him, not with the predatory gait
of Sabor, but with a sense of curiosity that was sensual, erotic. He
moved on all fours to the bed and leapt on top of James, sitting at the
edge of the bed. James reached out to the wild man and was amazed at his
muscular stature; Tarzan encouraged him to touch him. James' frail and
small hands caressed over the impressive chest of the jungle lord and
stopped at Tarzan's right shoulder and bicep-Tarzan winced with pain,
the first time James saw any human emotion come from Tarzan. As James
reached out tentatively, his fingers came across the raw wounds inflicted
by Sabor during their earlier battle. The sight of the injuries snapped
James back to his professional reality, overcoming his initial shock. He
stammered, "I have to help you since you helped me. I'm a doctor. I can
heal your wound."
This offer to help was more than a professional reflex; it was an
acknowledgment of the debt he owed Tarzan for saving his life. Despite
his unfamiliarity with the jungle and its dangers, James found himself
relying on his medical training, the one aspect of his former life that
remained relevant in this wild new world. Tarzan, understanding the
intent if not the words, allowed James to inspect his injuries. For
James, this was a moment to regain a sense of purpose and control, to
give back to the mysterious figure who had dramatically altered the
course of his fate. James got off the bed and searched the treehouse for
anything; he astonishingly found a bottle of rubbing alcohol that looked
as old as Tarzan. He dusted it off and tore off a piece of his shirt,
dousing it in the liquid and pressing against the dried bloody flesh.
Tarzan gritted his teeth in pain. His chocolate hair flung over his
shoulders as he moved his head forward and he let out a small "Ouch!"
-"Can you understand me?" asked James. Tarzan slightly nodded. James
pressed his palm on Tarzan's chest, its small shape nothing in
comparison to the muscle man's massive figure. With a puff of courage in
his chest, James introduced himself, "I'm James. James Parker."
"I am Tarzan", stated Tarzan. He beat one hand on his chest when he
introduced himself to James. "It's nice to meet you Tarzan, th..thank
you for saving me today. I can't begin to say that enou- ", before
James could finish his sentence, Tarzan walked forward to James, them
both now standing closer and closer and to James' surprise, Tarzan
grabbed James by his scrawny shoulders and took his right hand to the
back of his head and brought him in for a kiss. A deep sensual kiss.
James could feel the wild man moaning in pleasure and his tongue
exploring James' mouth. James leaned into the kiss and grabbed onto the
muscular back of Tarzan. By now, Tarzan's loincloth was tented by his
massive 11-inch cock. James began to rub it. Tarzan knew what he was
doing; he had seen this before growing up among his ape family, but he
had never been able to act upon it. He knew at first glance in the
treetop canopy that he wanted to feel the scrawny feminine body of James
against his masculine figure. James was in euphoria. It was now that he
guided Tarzan back to the bed in the treehouse and Tarzan then growled at
him, tearing away at what clothes remained on his little twink body.
Without thinking, Tarzan grabbed James' legs and pulled them to him;
James reached close and untied the leather loincloth from his new lover-
Tarzan's massive 11-inch cut cock plopped out of the loincloth. Thick
burly chocolate brown fuzz enamored around his cock and an even sweeter
treasure trail led up sun kissed tanned skin to Tarzan's enormous pecs.
James immediately took the cock in his mouth and began to swallow it,
being sure to lick the enormous shaft and head. Tarzan grunted in
pleasure; if it was one thing James knew how to do better than anything
was to suck a cock. Tarzan had the finest looking cock that James had
ever seen. James pulled away from his jungle man and laid on his back.
Tarzan began to spit on his cock and thrust into James. James let out a
small wail of pain. "It's ok baby. Go on." James nudged Tarzan on.
Even though his English was broken and limited, Tarzan managed a small
yet lovingly "Ok." He did not want to hurt James. James arched his back
farther and his legs now by his ears, moving Tarzan's cock deeper into
him. Tarzan began to thrust in and out, spastically grunting, rutting
into his new love. This was not a first-time fuck for either man, this
was a vow. A consummation of unsaid forever.
As Tarzan began to get closer and closer to climax, his 11-inch dick now
getting harder and harder in James' tight pink hole. After what seemed
like an eternity, Tarzan thrust one last time and began to beat on his
chest, yelling into the treehouse and letting the jungle know he had
found his mate. James yelled in ecstasy, "Yes. Yes! YES! Fuck me baby. I
am yours. Fuck me." His little cock drizzling precum. Tarzan then took
his hands of his chest and put them around James' throat and pushed one
last time, his load immediately flooding James and pouring onto the floor
of the treehouse. He pulled out of James and staggered to the top of the
bed, James following him.
James kissed Tarzan fiercely. He settled into the ape-man's arms and for
once in his life he felt one thing was certain: this was where he
belonged.
</colemanfarms88@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/the-heart-of-tarzan/the-heart-of-tarzan-1 | Date: Mon, 1 Jan 2024 23:42:03 -0600 From: Cullen Coleman Subject: The Heart of Tarzan, Chapter 1 This work is entirely fictional and all characters, including Tarzan, are not based on any real people or events. While the character of Tarzan, originally created by Edgar Rice Burroughs, is in the public domain, it should be noted that the Tarzan name and related trademarks are owned by the Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc. corporation. This narrative is a creative, independent interpretation and not affiliated with the corporation. I appreciate feedback or constructive criticism of my writing directly at colemanfarms88@gmail.com. Also if you can, please support Nifty and all their endeavours. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. The following will intercept the first POV and third POV of the characters, the first chapter will be long to build the story but hang in with me, as I am a first time writer, I hope you enjoy it. -------------------------------------------- The Congo had never seen or witnessed an intruder quite like James Parker, a young skinny and frail nerdy type of scientist and explorer from Boston Massachusetts. HIs lean and stark figure stood in contrast to the lush scenery above the horizon. He scanned all he could see with his piercing blue eyes and coiled red locks caressing down his neck as he sat onboard the U.S.S. Voyager, his iPhone in his pocket, he decided to sit on deck and write in his diary about their travels to the motherland that was Africa and listen to some tunes. He wrote: .."June 2nd, 2015. Dear Diary, Dad and I have been at sea for at least a week now and we are gearing to dock any day now to the seaside port of Luanda in Angola, as we will then trek to deep into the borders of the Congo and the Democratic Republic of the Congo to find some archeological wonders for my father as he aims to find the lost city of Opar. However, with my keen interests in science and medicine, I am here to look for the rare Azune Moonbloom, Lunaflos azurea; it is a rare and beautiful flower that only blooms in the twilight hours. Its luminescent petals beam with a moon-like glow and silvery lines, creating a stark contrast against its deep green heart-shaped leaves... As he was writing down his last sentence in his diary, his father Alex, an older muscled mustachioed man in his late 50s with salt and pepper hair and tan skin and fair lips was yelling to his only child, "Run. Run-James. Run! Mutiny! The crew has decided to kill us and feed us to the sharks!" Oddly, this time the frail James did not cower. He raised up with all the strength he had and saw out of the corner of his eye a fishing spear. He grabbed it as one of the crew men grabbed his father, another aiming for him. He pierced the flesh of the man who let out a wail of pain. James then secured a safe spot for his father all while pleading for his son to hide for cover. James would not be a coward no more, all his life he had been the frail somewhat effeminate lean skinny nerd. Now was his chance to be a hero for his father. For himself. He raced off the main deck up to the steering wheel, more and more members of the mutinous crew racing after him. He grabbed the wheel and with all his might he steered into what he thought was shallow water in hopes that the ship would halt; he was wrong- it was a conglomerate of scattered rocks. James heard a swift "CLANKKKKKK". The ship's mast then came screeching down, taking the majority of the crew with it. James then saw water rising from the below decks; he knew he needed to get his father, Alex, and to shore. To safety. Unbeknownst to them from the camouflaged canopy of the flora and fauna of the dense jungle, a god was watching the scene unfold from his jungle haven of a treehouse; he had a chiseled body of a bodybuilder; his pecs massive, his stomach flat and taught with washboard abs; his white skinned was tanned and rugged from the years of exploration of his domain, fighting with apes and leopards and jaguars and various other animals. He had medium length deep chocolate hair and the deepest hazel eyes ever given to a man. His hands were three times the size of a regular man along with his legs and calves that could kill a snake with one squeeze between them. He stood at an impressive 6'7, and the only thing weighing his muscular framed 250 pound body was a loincloth made out of brown leather. This god of the jungle, this beast of a man was Tarzan. Tarzan of the apes. Tarzan then used his keen eyesight to see that this ship had cascaded onto the shallow waters of the nearby beach. He stood from his stance on all fours, animalistic and primal to the stance of a god. He reached for a vine and went to investigate, quickly shifting in between the trees unnoticed by James and his father. "Dad, Dad! Are you ok? Can you hear me?" James pleaded with his father who was unconscious. As their ship began to sink, he was able to grab a lifeboat, a small first aid kit and him and his fathers backpacks. When the mast came down wiping out the crew, James knew then he had to act fast. Sadly it knocked out his father but he used all of his might to get his father, his only protector in this world to shore. As he pushed the boat containing his father down off the main deck, the boat began to break in two. James then leapt into the floating vessel below, scraping his knee in the process. He didn't even flinch in the process. He had to get to shore. To safety. He ignored the pain from his right knee and began to row against the strong current that began to brew as the U.S.S. Voyager began to sink into the Atlantic. After what seemed like hours, a giant wave finally drew James and his father ashore. Disregarding the sharp sting in his grazed right knee, James dragged the lifeboat further and further up the shore until a small clearing in an uninhabited cave came into view. Somewhat relieved at the sight of shelter, tears began to cascade down the young man's face. He accessed his thoughts as he perked up his unconscious father. He said aloud to himself, "Why did this happen to ME?! I know nothing at all about surviving in the jungle. I am only 19. I am a student in my last year at Harvard. I write medical papers and do research in hopes I can cure cancer. Not get involved in a disaster of a failed mutiny. Dad always wants me to go on his adventures. Now look at us. Stranded. Hurt. Alone. Fuck!" In his fit of anger and aggression at the whole ordeal he had been into, James looked at his father. Instantly, his years of medical training and quick thinking as a child prodigy kicked in. He raced to the boat to get the first aid kit in hopes of finding something for him and his Dad. As he quickly grabbed the kit, he raced back to the cave to tend to his wounds and his father's. Unknown to them, two separate figures watched: the supreme lord of the jungle, Tarzan, and Sabor, the spotted leopard. Tarzan let out a monsterous yell that frightened the big cat away from the cave containing the two marooned men. He was satisfied that order was once again in his domain. He grabbed a vine and swung back to his treetop palace. James heard the yell and immediately dug through his bag and found a lighter and tore off his shirt and wrapped it around a stick nearby. He had amazingly made a makeshift torch. He looked around his surroundings, his glasses still dirty and foggy from the afternoon's plague and shielded himself in front of his father, bold enough to watch for any predator to come near them. After an hour his nerves settled some and he stuck the torch in the sand and began to arrange rocks into a circle and make a proper fire. James was amazed that his lighter still worked so it made it a little easier to make a fire after he gathered some scattered leaves and coconut husks. By now, his father began to wake and make noises. "...Jay what happened?" "Dad!?! Oh. The crew members of the ship attempted to mutinize the ship and kill us. The mast of the ship collapsed and literally overthrew the crew but knocked you unconscious. I immediately grabbed our two backpacks and a first aid kit after throwing you into a lifeboat and falling into the boat of freedom myself. The ship sank and I rowed for hours to this beach." Alex nodded slowly to process everything his son was telling him. "My damn head hurts so bad", Alex exclaimed in pain. "Here. Here is an emergency ice pack that I found in the first aid kit." said James. Alex began to attempt to stand up but could only muster the strength to sit halfway up. James began to help his father up, inching him closer to the fire. Alex began to softly speak to his only child, "After your mother died I knew that I couldn't be gone from you for a long period of time like normal. I knew that I could always jump back into finding the jewels of the ancient city of Opar like I wanted to; but I could only truly be a father to you once in this lifetime. You needed me. You were only 10 when she passed. And now look at you. You are a man now, the youngest ever to graduate Harvard with a double doctorate in Medical Herbology and chose to forgo your planned excursion in Asia this summer to be marooned on god knows where in the heart of Africa sitting in a cave with me. I am so proud of you son. I love you." Without thinking, Alex embraced his son and kissed him on the lips and held him; using all the strength he could muster. This stirred feelings into James he never thought of before; of course he was an out and proud gay man, but he never thought of his father in a sexual way. As Alex began to regain further consciousness, his cock began to harden. He began to slip his tongue down his son's throat and tear away the little remains of clothes on the both of them. James didn't know how to respond but to keep deeply kissing his father and he began to break from the kiss and breath heavily. "Dad we can't-it's wrong." "Son, make love to your old man, I genuinely love you and want to physically show you that. No one else will know. It will be just us." Still somewhat apprehensive, James gave into his father's demands and began to feel the mighty pecs and abs of the older man. His tongue licked and sucked at every form and fold, and when it came time, Alex instructed James to check the first aid kit for any lube. Astonishingly, there was a small bottle inside the kit and James gave it to Alex. "Oh baby. I am gonna enjoy this." grinned Alex as he lubed up his fat thick 7-inch cock. James presented his bubble but, his lanky twink like arms folding in front of him as a makeshift pillow. Alex thrust into his son as the echoes of the jungle were as loud as the moonlight flickered into the cave amidst the small fire nearby. "FUCKKKKKK DADDDYYYYY. FUCK ME. FUCK MY LITTLE TIGHT HOLE." Alex thrust his whole weight onto the frail boy and cupped his shoulders as he thrust his piece of meat into the fruit of his loins. He first fucked him fast to get going and then flipped James on his back, facing him, then going slow. The two passionately kissed, "You are such a good boy, y'know that? I have been wanting your sweet hole ever since you came out to me three years ago, but didn't know how to approach you." James replied in-between each thrust, "Oh Daddy. I wanted you too! I love you!" The two men kissed, but it was very obvious who was the real man here and who was the effeminate little sub. James rocked back and forth on his old man's cock, moaning in ecstasy. After making love for over an hour, Alex began to grunt and picked up his boy and then fucked him while standing up, James moaning, "Daddy, I'm gonna cummmmm", whimpering like a small child almost. "Here it goes baby!" Alex exclaimed, his salt and pepper chest wet with sweat against James' frail little hairless body. Alex cummed the biggest load of his life into his son. James had never been fucked before and this was an amazing start. Alex pulled out of James and laid down by the fire using his backpack as a pillow. He motioned for his baby boy to come over to him and lay down. James laid his naked body next to his new lover, his dad. He gazed into the fire as he began to fall asleep wrapped up safe in his father's arms. --------- Across from the opening of the small cave, Tarzan crouched onto a branch of the tall Sapele tree, watching the newcomers into his territory sleep, making sure that no animal or foe made any harm to them. Tarzan then decided that tomorrow morning he would make contact with these new creatures. What happened the next morning would change his and James' life forever. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Mon, 1 Jan 2024 23:42:03 -0600
From: Cullen Coleman <colemanfarms88@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heart of Tarzan, Chapter 1
This work is entirely fictional and all characters, including Tarzan, are
not based on any real people or events. While the character of Tarzan,
originally created by Edgar Rice Burroughs, is in the public domain, it
should be noted that the Tarzan name and related trademarks are owned by
the Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc. corporation. This narrative is a creative,
independent interpretation and not affiliated with the corporation. I
appreciate feedback or constructive criticism of my writing directly at
colemanfarms88@gmail.com. Also if you can, please support Nifty and all
their endeavours. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
The following will intercept the first POV and third POV of the
characters, the first chapter will be long to build the story but hang in
with me, as I am a first time writer, I hope you enjoy it.
--------------------------------------------
The Congo had never seen or witnessed an intruder quite like James
Parker, a young skinny and frail nerdy type of scientist and explorer
from Boston Massachusetts. HIs lean and stark figure stood in contrast to
the lush scenery above the horizon. He scanned all he could see with his
piercing blue eyes and coiled red locks caressing down his neck as he sat
onboard the U.S.S. Voyager, his iPhone in his pocket, he decided to sit
on deck and write in his diary about their travels to the motherland that
was Africa and listen to some tunes. He wrote: .."June 2nd, 2015. Dear
Diary, Dad and I have been at sea for at least a week now and we are
gearing to dock any day now to the seaside port of Luanda in Angola, as
we will then trek to deep into the borders of the Congo and the
Democratic Republic of the Congo to find some archeological wonders for
my father as he aims to find the lost city of Opar. However, with my keen
interests in science and medicine, I am here to look for the rare Azune
Moonbloom, Lunaflos azurea; it is a rare and beautiful flower that only
blooms in the twilight hours. Its luminescent petals beam with a
moon-like glow and silvery lines, creating a stark contrast against its
deep green heart-shaped leaves...
As he was writing down his last sentence in his diary, his father Alex,
an older muscled mustachioed man in his late 50s with salt and pepper
hair and tan skin and fair lips was yelling to his only child, "Run.
Run-James. Run! Mutiny! The crew has decided to kill us and feed us to
the sharks!" Oddly, this time the frail James did not cower. He raised up
with all the strength he had and saw out of the corner of his eye a
fishing spear. He grabbed it as one of the crew men grabbed his father,
another aiming for him. He pierced the flesh of the man who let out a
wail of pain. James then secured a safe spot for his father all while
pleading for his son to hide for cover. James would not be a coward no
more, all his life he had been the frail somewhat effeminate lean skinny
nerd. Now was his chance to be a hero for his father. For himself. He
raced off the main deck up to the steering wheel, more and more members
of the mutinous crew racing after him. He grabbed the wheel and with all
his might he steered into what he thought was shallow water in hopes that
the ship would halt; he was wrong- it was a conglomerate of scattered
rocks. James heard a swift "CLANKKKKKK". The ship's mast then came
screeching down, taking the majority of the crew with it. James then saw
water rising from the below decks; he knew he needed to get his father,
Alex, and to shore. To safety.
Unbeknownst to them from the camouflaged canopy of the flora and fauna of
the dense jungle, a god was watching the scene unfold from his jungle
haven of a treehouse; he had a chiseled body of a bodybuilder; his pecs
massive, his stomach flat and taught with washboard abs; his white
skinned was tanned and rugged from the years of exploration of his
domain, fighting with apes and leopards and jaguars and various other
animals. He had medium length deep chocolate hair and the deepest hazel
eyes ever given to a man. His hands were three times the size of a
regular man along with his legs and calves that could kill a snake with
one squeeze between them. He stood at an impressive 6'7, and the only
thing weighing his muscular framed 250 pound body was a loincloth made
out of brown leather. This god of the jungle, this beast of a man was
Tarzan. Tarzan of the apes. Tarzan then used his keen eyesight to see
that this ship had cascaded onto the shallow waters of the nearby beach.
He stood from his stance on all fours, animalistic and primal to the
stance of a god. He reached for a vine and went to investigate, quickly
shifting in between the trees unnoticed by James and his father.
"Dad, Dad! Are you ok? Can you hear me?" James pleaded with his father
who was unconscious. As their ship began to sink, he was able to grab a
lifeboat, a small first aid kit and him and his fathers backpacks. When
the mast came down wiping out the crew, James knew then he had to act
fast. Sadly it knocked out his father but he used all of his might to get
his father, his only protector in this world to shore. As he pushed the
boat containing his father down off the main deck, the boat began to
break in two. James then leapt into the floating vessel below, scraping
his knee in the process. He didn't even flinch in the process. He had to
get to shore. To safety.
He ignored the pain from his right knee and began to row against the
strong current that began to brew as the U.S.S. Voyager began to sink
into the Atlantic. After what seemed like hours, a giant wave finally
drew James and his father ashore. Disregarding the sharp sting in his
grazed right knee, James dragged the lifeboat further and further up the
shore until a small clearing in an uninhabited cave came into view.
Somewhat relieved at the sight of shelter, tears began to cascade down
the young man's face. He accessed his thoughts as he perked up his
unconscious father. He said aloud to himself, "Why did this happen to
ME?! I know nothing at all about surviving in the jungle. I am only 19. I
am a student in my last year at Harvard. I write medical papers and do
research in hopes I can cure cancer. Not get involved in a disaster of a
failed mutiny. Dad always wants me to go on his adventures. Now look at
us. Stranded. Hurt. Alone. Fuck!" In his fit of anger and aggression at
the whole ordeal he had been into, James looked at his father. Instantly,
his years of medical training and quick thinking as a child prodigy
kicked in. He raced to the boat to get the first aid kit in hopes of
finding something for him and his Dad. As he quickly grabbed the kit, he
raced back to the cave to tend to his wounds and his father's. Unknown to
them, two separate figures watched: the supreme lord of the jungle,
Tarzan, and Sabor, the spotted leopard. Tarzan let out a monsterous yell
that frightened the big cat away from the cave containing the two
marooned men. He was satisfied that order was once again in his domain.
He grabbed a vine and swung back to his treetop palace.
James heard the yell and immediately dug through his bag and found a
lighter and tore off his shirt and wrapped it around a stick nearby. He
had amazingly made a makeshift torch. He looked around his surroundings,
his glasses still dirty and foggy from the afternoon's plague and
shielded himself in front of his father, bold enough to watch for any
predator to come near them. After an hour his nerves settled some and he
stuck the torch in the sand and began to arrange rocks into a circle and
make a proper fire. James was amazed that his lighter still worked so it
made it a little easier to make a fire after he gathered some scattered
leaves and coconut husks. By now, his father began to wake and make
noises. "...Jay what happened?" "Dad!?! Oh. The crew members of the ship
attempted to mutinize the ship and kill us. The mast of the ship
collapsed and literally overthrew the crew but knocked you unconscious. I
immediately grabbed our two backpacks and a first aid kit after throwing
you into a lifeboat and falling into the boat of freedom myself. The ship
sank and I rowed for hours to this beach." Alex nodded slowly to process
everything his son was telling him. "My damn head hurts so bad", Alex
exclaimed in pain. "Here. Here is an emergency ice pack that I found in
the first aid kit." said James. Alex began to attempt to stand up but
could only muster the strength to sit halfway up. James began to help his
father up, inching him closer to the fire. Alex began to softly speak to
his only child, "After your mother died I knew that I couldn't be gone
from you for a long period of time like normal. I knew that I could
always jump back into finding the jewels of the ancient city of Opar like
I wanted to; but I could only truly be a father to you once in this
lifetime. You needed me. You were only 10 when she passed. And now look
at you. You are a man now, the youngest ever to graduate Harvard with a
double doctorate in Medical Herbology and chose to forgo your planned
excursion in Asia this summer to be marooned on god knows where in the
heart of Africa sitting in a cave with me. I am so proud of you son. I
love you." Without thinking, Alex embraced his son and kissed him on the
lips and held him; using all the strength he could muster. This stirred
feelings into James he never thought of before; of course he was an out
and proud gay man, but he never thought of his father in a sexual way. As
Alex began to regain further consciousness, his cock began to harden. He
began to slip his tongue down his son's throat and tear away the little
remains of clothes on the both of them. James didn't know how to respond
but to keep deeply kissing his father and he began to break from the kiss
and breath heavily. "Dad we can't-it's wrong." "Son, make love to your
old man, I genuinely love you and want to physically show you that. No
one else will know. It will be just us." Still somewhat apprehensive,
James gave into his father's demands and began to feel the mighty pecs
and abs of the older man. His tongue licked and sucked at every form and
fold, and when it came time, Alex instructed James to check the first aid
kit for any lube. Astonishingly, there was a small bottle inside the kit
and James gave it to Alex. "Oh baby. I am gonna enjoy this." grinned Alex
as he lubed up his fat thick 7-inch cock. James presented his bubble but,
his lanky twink like arms folding in front of him as a makeshift pillow.
Alex thrust into his son as the echoes of the jungle were as loud as the
moonlight flickered into the cave amidst the small fire nearby.
"FUCKKKKKK DADDDYYYYY. FUCK ME. FUCK MY LITTLE TIGHT HOLE." Alex thrust
his whole weight onto the frail boy and cupped his shoulders as he thrust
his piece of meat into the fruit of his loins. He first fucked him fast
to get going and then flipped James on his back, facing him, then going
slow. The two passionately kissed, "You are such a good boy, y'know that?
I have been wanting your sweet hole ever since you came out to me three
years ago, but didn't know how to approach you." James replied in-between
each thrust, "Oh Daddy. I wanted you too! I love you!" The two men
kissed, but it was very obvious who was the real man here and who was the
effeminate little sub. James rocked back and forth on his old man's cock,
moaning in ecstasy. After making love for over an hour, Alex began to
grunt and picked up his boy and then fucked him while standing up, James
moaning, "Daddy, I'm gonna cummmmm", whimpering like a small child
almost. "Here it goes baby!" Alex exclaimed, his salt and pepper chest
wet with sweat against James' frail little hairless body. Alex cummed the
biggest load of his life into his son. James had never been fucked before
and this was an amazing start. Alex pulled out of James and laid down by
the fire using his backpack as a pillow. He motioned for his baby boy to
come over to him and lay down. James laid his naked body next to his new
lover, his dad. He gazed into the fire as he began to fall asleep wrapped
up safe in his father's arms.
---------
Across from the opening of the small cave, Tarzan crouched onto a branch
of the tall Sapele tree, watching the newcomers into his territory
sleep, making sure that no animal or foe made any harm to them. Tarzan
then decided that tomorrow morning he would make contact with these new
creatures. What happened the next morning would change his and James'
life forever.
</colemanfarms88@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/seemingly-bad-turned-good | Date: Sun, 14 Apr 2024 21:21:05 +0000 From: Sven Benters Subject: Seemingly Bad Turned Good This is a fanfiction story with the characters Adam Newman (Mark Grossman) and Xander Cook Kiriakis (Paul Telfer). This story says nothing about the actors' sexual references; it's just fiction. Copyrights © CBS Young AND THE RESTLESS / PEACOCKE DAYS OF OUR LIVES ********************************* Adam Newman is on a business trip when he ends up in a bar in the town Salem. There at the bar is Xander Kiriakis. He had a bad day with all those people in Salem who think they are all saints, but made mistakes by themselves as well and he always ends up the one needing to pay for situations he comes in while others get forgiven very fast. Adam takes a seat next to Xander and orders a drink. The two men end up chatting while they drink their beer and they start to realize they are not so different. Both are always getting blamed by people and never forgiven. When the bar is about to close they need to leave but both are enjoying their company by relating their situations. Xander invited Adam to his place. Already wasted from the beer they drank, Xander and Adam arrive at Xander's place. There Xander picks another beer out of the fridge while Adam sits down on the couch. Xander gets next to Adam and hands him the beer only to slip it out of his hand and beer spills out of the bottle over Adam his clothes. "Oh shit!" Adam says, jumping up. "Sorry man, that was an accident." Xander explains. Adam starts to undo his blazer and starts to unbutton his shirt, revealing his masculine body to Xander. Xander is impressed by Adam's masculine physique. "Wow, you've got an impressive body man." Xander compliments Adam. Adam looks at Xander and for a moment flexes his biceps. Xander clearly under influence of the booze stands up and starts to feel up Adam his biceps and then rubs his hands on Adam's firm pecs. The feeling of having his body being touched brings excitement to Adam. While Xander continues to feel Adam up, they look into each other's eyes and there is some deep mutual attraction between the two muscle men. Xander and Adam lean in to each other and start to kiss passionately. Xander pushes Adam off and removes his own shirt. Adam is impressed by Xander's big pillow looking pecs covered by fur. He reaches his hand out and starts to feel them up. Xander feels so horny and gets his arms around Adam to pull him closer to him and they kiss again. While the men kiss, Xander leads Adam to the bedroom. Inside the bedroom they don't break off the kiss and start to undo the other's pants. Full with lust, the men passionately kiss and get naked. The kissing breaks and they stare down at the other his impressive dick. It's Xander who suddenly grabs both dicks in his hands and compares them. They're equally sized, the one of Xander is a little thicker. Adam feels shots of pleasure with his dick being held by someone else and feels how Xander starts to stroke their dicks against each other in his one hand. Moans escape Adam's mouth, feeling his dick getting full salute in Xander's hand. Xander gets hard as well, feeling all horny to this situation. They stare at each other and Xander leans back in to kiss the hunky man. Xander keeps on stroking their dicks while he pulls Adam back to kiss him. Their lips locked with each other. More moans escape their mouths while Xander keeps on stroking their dicks. Their chests pressed against each other, Adam's smooth chest feeling Xander's hairy chest rubbing against his pecs. Electricity between the two hunks is felt by every touch and kiss they are sharing while Xander keeps stroking their dicks against each other, getting both rock hard in Xander's hands. Every touch ignites the pleasure and excitement they are feeling. Both getting lost in all of their sexual pleasure, forgetting everything around them and giving in with Xander leading them to the bed and letting go of their dicks for the first time, both their dicks standing straight forward. Adam looks down at how hard his dick is. Never thinking he would have that for a man. Xander has the same thought, but he knows he's in charge and pushes Adam down on the bed. Adam looks up from the bed, seeing this buff hairy man with perfect big pecs and abs. Xander strokes his dick while looking down at Adam. "Spread your legs for me." He instructs. Adam now realizing he will be the bottom between them hesitates, he looks at Xander. "I know you want this too, just spread them and let it happen." Xander says. Adam looks at his hard dick still standing straight forward and he then spreads his legs for Xander to see that tight rosebutt of Adam. Xander grins and hangs forward to spit at it. Shivers run over Adam's spine by feeling Xander spitting at his hole. Xander continues spitting at that hole and presses his thumb at that rosebutt to massage it and make it all wet. Adam lets a few moans escape his mouth by feeling for the first time how his rosebutt is being played with. Xander stops and stands up. "Lay those legs on my shoulders." He instructs while standing close between Adam's spread legs. "I don't know if I can do this." Adam says. "Sure you can, just lay them on my shoulders and I will do the rest." Adam nervously lays his legs over Xander's shoulders who comes suddenly very close hanging over him and he feels Xander's dick hitting his rosebutt. "Now just relax and let me come inside you." Xander says. Adam suddenly tenses up when he feels that dick coming inside him. "Relax man, the less pain you will feel when you relax." Xander assures Adam. Adam can't believe this is really happening to him. This big masculine hairy man is entering his big dick inside him. Xander presses his chest against Adam's while bringing that entire dick all the way inside Adam. Adam shakes and screams, feeling that big dick being pressed inside him till he feels Xander's pubs tickling his ass. Realizing that entire dick is now inside him and he only feels a burning pain of his hole being stretched out. Adam has wrapped his arms tight around Xander, bulging his biceps to hold on to the big masculine man that has lodged that big dick inside him. Xander stares Adam in the eyes. "Now this is the moment it can still hurt but soon you will feel pleasure and don't want anything else anymore." Xander tells Adam. Adam widens his eyes when he feels Xander starting to go back and forth with his hips. Xander starts to go faster and thrusts harder. Adam closes his eyes tight and screams to the pain he's feeling. Xander leans in and starts to kiss Adam while he picks up the pace to fuck Adam wildly. Adam is taken by this incredible masculine man. He holds on tight to him, feeling that dick hitting all kinds of pleasurable spots that makes him suddenly moan during the kissing. Xander keeps on kissing and can't get enough of this hot masculine man's tight ass he's fucking. Xander breaks off the kiss and runs his fingers through Adam's hair. Adam looks at this big man that's thrusting deep inside him now suddenly running his fingers through his hair. "I want you to ride my dick." Xander says and gets off of Adam. Adam lays there surprised at what Xander wants him to do. He slowly gets to sit up. Xander reaches a hand out and helps Adam on his feet and lays himself down on the bed. Adam looks at Xander laying ready with his dick standing straight up. "Giddy up boy!" Xander says, while holding his dick in one hand. Adam can't believe he's doing this and climbs on the bed and then squats himself down above Xander's dick to get that big dick back inside him. That dick stretching that sphincter of Adam even more. "I can't get enough of that tight ass of yours on my dick." Xander says and reaches his hands out to feel Adam's masculine body up. Adam slowly starts to move up and down, taking that big dick, feeling it hitting several parts inside that bring pleasure to him. Xander grabs hold of Adam's dick and starts to stroke it. "Fuck man this is so hot. Keep riding my dick and I will stroke you." Adam moans loudly, enjoying all the pleasure he's feeling. After a little while, Adam finds a rhythm and continues to ride Xander's big dick. Xander teases Adam's dick by only stroking it several times at the mushroomhead. Not wanting the big muscle hunk to come too fast. Sweat appears on both masculine hunks their bodies. Their moans echoing through the room. Xander lets go of Adam's dick and wraps his arms around the muscle man so he can turn Adam on his back so he can thrust deep inside Adam again. Adam cries out by the sudden hard thrusts, but somehow enjoys that roughness. Xander moves his hips back and forth, thrusting in and out of Adam's ass. Then, Xander turns Adam over on his hands and knees. Adam looks over his shoulder and Xander smiles at him. "I'm gonna fuck you hard now." Something in those words excites Adam now and he smiles at Xander "Yeah fuck me hard." He replies. Not believing he just said that. Xander grabs hold of Adam's shoulders and rams his dick inside the muscle man. "FUUUCCCKKK!!" Adam screams loudly. Xander brings one hand to Adam's mouth and starts to pump Adam's ass hard, ramming it in and out, back and forth moving his hips. Adam screams inside Xander's hand, enjoying the rough fucking he's getting. It turns Adam so much on that he grabs hold of his dick and starts to stroke himself. "Fuck yeah, this is so hot!" Xander says while he keeps pounding Adam's ass hard. Both are now all sweaty and their hair even wet by the rough fucking they are having. Adam strokes his dick hard and fast in his fist. Xander's hips slaps hard against Adam's ass. It's like both are trying to be the first to cum. It's in a few seconds of difference when Xander roars while filling Adam up and Adam moans loudly while cumming all over the sheets. Both collapsing on the bed, catching their breaths. "Damn I have never fucked someone that hard and rough." Xander admits. "Glad I got that honor." Adam says laughing. "That ass can really take a good fucking!" Xander says. "I will be sore tomorrow." Adam says. "I'm sure you will." Xander says while grabbing Adam in his arms. Adam lays his head on Xander's hairy pec and runs his fingers through that chest hair until he falls asleep. Xander lays awake with a sleeping Adam on his chest and pets the guy's hair. "I need to find a way to fuck you again." He says before falling asleep as well. ********************************* If you enjoyed the story or have a request please send me a message For more stories from me, visit https://www.facebook.com/groups/480903845719867 Please donate to Nifty for support to let this great site and its archive stay free. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sun, 14 Apr 2024 21:21:05 +0000
From: Sven Benters <daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com>
Subject: Seemingly Bad Turned Good
This is a fanfiction story with the characters Adam Newman (Mark Grossman)
and Xander Cook Kiriakis (Paul Telfer).
This story says nothing about the actors' sexual references; it's just
fiction.
Copyrights © CBS Young AND THE RESTLESS / PEACOCKE DAYS OF OUR LIVES
*********************************
Adam Newman is on a business trip when he ends up in a bar in the town
Salem. There at the bar is Xander Kiriakis. He had a bad day with all those
people in Salem who think they are all saints, but made mistakes by
themselves as well and he always ends up the one needing to pay for
situations he comes in while others get forgiven very fast.
Adam takes a seat next to Xander and orders a drink. The two men end up
chatting while they drink their beer and they start to realize they are not
so different. Both are always getting blamed by people and never
forgiven. When the bar is about to close they need to leave but both are
enjoying their company by relating their situations. Xander invited Adam to
his place.
Already wasted from the beer they drank, Xander and Adam arrive at Xander's
place. There Xander picks another beer out of the fridge while Adam sits
down on the couch. Xander gets next to Adam and hands him the beer only to
slip it out of his hand and beer spills out of the bottle over Adam his
clothes.
"Oh shit!" Adam says, jumping up.
"Sorry man, that was an accident." Xander explains.
Adam starts to undo his blazer and starts to unbutton his shirt, revealing
his masculine body to Xander.
Xander is impressed by Adam's masculine physique. "Wow, you've got an
impressive body man." Xander compliments Adam.
Adam looks at Xander and for a moment flexes his biceps.
Xander clearly under influence of the booze stands up and starts to feel up
Adam his biceps and then rubs his hands on Adam's firm pecs. The feeling of
having his body being touched brings excitement to Adam. While Xander
continues to feel Adam up, they look into each other's eyes and there is
some deep mutual attraction between the two muscle men. Xander and Adam
lean in to each other and start to kiss passionately.
Xander pushes Adam off and removes his own shirt. Adam is impressed by
Xander's big pillow looking pecs covered by fur. He reaches his hand out
and starts to feel them up. Xander feels so horny and gets his arms around
Adam to pull him closer to him and they kiss again. While the men kiss,
Xander leads Adam to the bedroom.
Inside the bedroom they don't break off the kiss and start to undo the
other's pants. Full with lust, the men passionately kiss and get naked.
The kissing breaks and they stare down at the other his impressive
dick. It's Xander who suddenly grabs both dicks in his hands and compares
them. They're equally sized, the one of Xander is a little thicker. Adam
feels shots of pleasure with his dick being held by someone else and feels
how Xander starts to stroke their dicks against each other in his one hand.
Moans escape Adam's mouth, feeling his dick getting full salute in Xander's
hand. Xander gets hard as well, feeling all horny to this situation. They
stare at each other and Xander leans back in to kiss the hunky man. Xander
keeps on stroking their dicks while he pulls Adam back to kiss him. Their
lips locked with each other. More moans escape their mouths while Xander
keeps on stroking their dicks. Their chests pressed against each other,
Adam's smooth chest feeling Xander's hairy chest rubbing against his pecs.
Electricity between the two hunks is felt by every touch and kiss they are
sharing while Xander keeps stroking their dicks against each other, getting
both rock hard in Xander's hands. Every touch ignites the pleasure and
excitement they are feeling. Both getting lost in all of their sexual
pleasure, forgetting everything around them and giving in with Xander
leading them to the bed and letting go of their dicks for the first time,
both their dicks standing straight forward.
Adam looks down at how hard his dick is. Never thinking he would have that
for a man. Xander has the same thought, but he knows he's in charge and
pushes Adam down on the bed.
Adam looks up from the bed, seeing this buff hairy man with perfect big
pecs and abs. Xander strokes his dick while looking down at Adam. "Spread
your legs for me." He instructs.
Adam now realizing he will be the bottom between them hesitates, he looks
at Xander.
"I know you want this too, just spread them and let it happen." Xander
says.
Adam looks at his hard dick still standing straight forward and he then
spreads his legs for Xander to see that tight rosebutt of Adam. Xander
grins and hangs forward to spit at it. Shivers run over Adam's spine by
feeling Xander spitting at his hole. Xander continues spitting at that hole
and presses his thumb at that rosebutt to massage it and make it all wet.
Adam lets a few moans escape his mouth by feeling for the first time how
his rosebutt is being played with.
Xander stops and stands up. "Lay those legs on my shoulders." He instructs
while standing close between Adam's spread legs.
"I don't know if I can do this." Adam says.
"Sure you can, just lay them on my shoulders and I will do the rest."
Adam nervously lays his legs over Xander's shoulders who comes suddenly
very close hanging over him and he feels Xander's dick hitting his
rosebutt.
"Now just relax and let me come inside you." Xander says.
Adam suddenly tenses up when he feels that dick coming inside him.
"Relax man, the less pain you will feel when you relax." Xander assures
Adam.
Adam can't believe this is really happening to him. This big masculine
hairy man is entering his big dick inside him.
Xander presses his chest against Adam's while bringing that entire dick all
the way inside Adam. Adam shakes and screams, feeling that big dick being
pressed inside him till he feels Xander's pubs tickling his ass. Realizing
that entire dick is now inside him and he only feels a burning pain of his
hole being stretched out. Adam has wrapped his arms tight around Xander,
bulging his biceps to hold on to the big masculine man that has lodged that
big dick inside him.
Xander stares Adam in the eyes. "Now this is the moment it can still hurt
but soon you will feel pleasure and don't want anything else anymore."
Xander tells Adam.
Adam widens his eyes when he feels Xander starting to go back and forth
with his hips. Xander starts to go faster and thrusts harder. Adam closes
his eyes tight and screams to the pain he's feeling. Xander leans in and
starts to kiss Adam while he picks up the pace to fuck Adam wildly.
Adam is taken by this incredible masculine man. He holds on tight to him,
feeling that dick hitting all kinds of pleasurable spots that makes him
suddenly moan during the kissing. Xander keeps on kissing and can't get
enough of this hot masculine man's tight ass he's fucking.
Xander breaks off the kiss and runs his fingers through Adam's hair. Adam
looks at this big man that's thrusting deep inside him now suddenly running
his fingers through his hair.
"I want you to ride my dick." Xander says and gets off of Adam.
Adam lays there surprised at what Xander wants him to do. He slowly gets to
sit up. Xander reaches a hand out and helps Adam on his feet and lays
himself down on the bed. Adam looks at Xander laying ready with his dick
standing straight up.
"Giddy up boy!" Xander says, while holding his dick in one hand.
Adam can't believe he's doing this and climbs on the bed and then squats
himself down above Xander's dick to get that big dick back inside him. That
dick stretching that sphincter of Adam even more.
"I can't get enough of that tight ass of yours on my dick." Xander says and
reaches his hands out to feel Adam's masculine body up.
Adam slowly starts to move up and down, taking that big dick, feeling it
hitting several parts inside that bring pleasure to him.
Xander grabs hold of Adam's dick and starts to stroke it. "Fuck man this is
so hot. Keep riding my dick and I will stroke you."
Adam moans loudly, enjoying all the pleasure he's feeling. After a little
while, Adam finds a rhythm and continues to ride Xander's big dick. Xander
teases Adam's dick by only stroking it several times at the
mushroomhead. Not wanting the big muscle hunk to come too fast. Sweat
appears on both masculine hunks their bodies. Their moans echoing through
the room.
Xander lets go of Adam's dick and wraps his arms around the muscle man so
he can turn Adam on his back so he can thrust deep inside Adam again. Adam
cries out by the sudden hard thrusts, but somehow enjoys that
roughness. Xander moves his hips back and forth, thrusting in and out of
Adam's ass. Then, Xander turns Adam over on his hands and knees.
Adam looks over his shoulder and Xander smiles at him. "I'm gonna fuck you
hard now."
Something in those words excites Adam now and he smiles at Xander "Yeah
fuck me hard." He replies. Not believing he just said that.
Xander grabs hold of Adam's shoulders and rams his dick inside the muscle
man.
"FUUUCCCKKK!!" Adam screams loudly.
Xander brings one hand to Adam's mouth and starts to pump Adam's ass hard,
ramming it in and out, back and forth moving his hips. Adam screams inside
Xander's hand, enjoying the rough fucking he's getting. It turns Adam so
much on that he grabs hold of his dick and starts to stroke himself.
"Fuck yeah, this is so hot!" Xander says while he keeps pounding Adam's ass
hard.
Both are now all sweaty and their hair even wet by the rough fucking they
are having. Adam strokes his dick hard and fast in his fist. Xander's hips
slaps hard against Adam's ass. It's like both are trying to be the first to
cum.
It's in a few seconds of difference when Xander roars while filling Adam up
and Adam moans loudly while cumming all over the sheets. Both collapsing on
the bed, catching their breaths.
"Damn I have never fucked someone that hard and rough." Xander admits.
"Glad I got that honor." Adam says laughing.
"That ass can really take a good fucking!" Xander says.
"I will be sore tomorrow." Adam says.
"I'm sure you will." Xander says while grabbing Adam in his arms.
Adam lays his head on Xander's hairy pec and runs his fingers through that
chest hair until he falls asleep.
Xander lays awake with a sleeping Adam on his chest and pets the guy's
hair. "I need to find a way to fuck you again." He says before falling
asleep as well.
*********************************
If you enjoyed the story or have a request please send me a message
<daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com>
For more stories from me, visit
https://www.facebook.com/groups/480903845719867
Please donate to Nifty for support to let this great site and its archive
stay free.
</daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com></daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/the-heart-of-tarzan/the-heart-of-tarzan-4 | Date: Wed, 27 Mar 2024 16:09:21 -0500 From: Cullen Coleman Subject: The Heart of Tarzan, Chapter 4 The Heart of Tarzan, Chapter 4 Here is part four of this story. I am sorry about the long wait but, I hope whoever reads it finds it arousing and entertaining as much as I have writing it! This is my ultimate fantasy, so I hope you enjoy it. Please if you can donate to Nifty and help them by donating; donate here at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html "Dear diary. It has been almost three months since my jungle lord saved me from the wretched trap and Sabor. You wouldn't think that this--this is my life now. I am fully now and one living in the jungles of the Congo with the most powerful man in the world, a literal Master of the jungle. Tarzan is everything and more that I have wanted in a mate; he is caring, charming and protective and an amazing lover. I have grown from a skinny little seedling to a man in my own right. I mean, you must in order to keep up with the literal king of the jungle. Tarzan has taken me all over his domain and taught me so much; we have dived off waterfalls, rode on the backs of elephants and looked underneath the stars laying next to wild mountain gorillas. It is beyond magical. My body and mind has been transformed for the better and I am happy to be the mate of such a loving man-" As he was sprawled across their bed, ass arched up, Tarzan swung into the treehouse with a bouquet of fiery red and orange flowers that James did not recognize. Tarzan muttered, "Sundara nyekundu". "It means orange red flower". James immediately grinned and slunk his small frame towards his jungle master; his loincloth barely hanging onto him as he moved forward. Tarzan reached out and made a similar grin and eyed his prize. His 5'5 mate was noticeably smaller than his 6'8 frame but in the three months since their last encounter with Sabor, James had quickly adapted. His copper hair now flowing past his shoulder blades like embers in a fire, almost longer than Tarzan's; his shoulders a tad broader than before and his pale pink body now bronzed like a light toffee. As Tarzan reached out to James, his hazel eyes met James' blue and then Tarzan took his paw of a hand and cradled James closer in for a kiss. He laid the flowers down on the nearby table and began to passionately tongue fuck his mate and when they broke away briefly, Tarzan started to ooh and ahh in his natural ape manner. Seeing his love gleaming with joy made him aroused. Without thinking, Tarzan scooped up James and fell out the side of the treehouse nearing the floor of the jungle and catching a nearby vine. James closed his eyes and held onto Tarzan's beefy chest and clutched his man. Tarzan let out a powerful yell. It was early in the morning and the sun was rising. It was time to let the jungle awake from its slumber and know that its king was in a happy mood. James was still clutching onto Tarzan when he noticed they were coming up to a nearby lake. Without thinking, Tarzan dropped James below and let go of the vine, diving headfirst into the water. James couldn't think. The water was like icicles being daggers into his body. He gathered himself and swam upward. As he gasped for air, he noticed he was naked. Tarzan tore off his loincloth as he threw him into the lake! Nearby, a small waterfall poured into the lake and James noticed Tarzan sitting atop a rock smiling like a sly fox. James then raced over and said, "Tarzan give me back my loincloth please." Tarzan replied, "No. Come up here. Now." James did as his lord asked of him. He was cold and shivering. Unknown to him, Tarzan had a plan in mind that morning. Tarzan snapped his fingers and implied that James stand up. He took his knife from his belt and snapped off a piece of vine near him. He then proceeded to tie James up and bound his hands behind his back and led him to a nearby grove of trees that crisscrossed one another perfectly into an X shape. Tarzan then made a makeshift mask with two banana leaves and blinded James. James knew better than to disapprove or not submit to Tarzan. Although loving, Tarzan could have a temper if prompted and James knew who oversaw this scene-the literal lord of the jungle. With James tied and unable to break free, Tarzan began to speak in his deep low masculine tone. "James my love, you are going to submit to me and only cum when I deem you are ready to, understand?" "Yes Sir." "Yes. Yes, I am Sir. I am your Lord and Master. And you will submit to me." Tarzan then took off his own loincloth; his 11-inch cock was already pulsating to life; it's uncut tip already drooling with precum. Tarzan tied his long brown hair back and began to lick his mate. He started at James' nip and worked his way down to his cock. James writhed in ecstasy. "Baby, stop that tickles", said James. Tarzan giggled to himself. He got on all fours and maneuvered himself behind James and gazed at James' hairless hole. Tarzan loved the tight pink pussy. He would then take his fingers and gently poke inside his boy's cunt. James shivered. Tarzan began to lick the pussy. He licked and ate his boy's hole like it was a meal for an hour or so, savoring the taste of sweet precum that flowed from James's cock and down his taint. Tarzan then took it upon himself and tied James upside down so that his mouth was in the perfect condition to take his cock for a blowjob. James relaxed his throat and took all of his jungle lord's cock. He began to suck vigorously onto Tarzan's member. Tarzan was getting closer and closer and started to fuck James' throat. After 5 or so minutes, Tarzan flooded James's mouth, throat and nose with a massive amount of sticky sweet cum. He began to beat and holler on his chest and thrust his cock back into James's throat. He pulled out and immediately flipped James over and took some of his own cum out of James' mouth and began to use it as lube and fuck James senseless. James began to pour more pre-cum out of his own cock and whined, "Yes Sir. Fuck me Sir. I am yours Tarzan." Tarzan replied, "Yes, you're Tarzan bitch, Tarzan owns this pussy." The 11-inch cock never weakened. Each time he pulled out, more cum poured into James and then after a good 30 minutes of thrusting, round two came. Tarzan then held James as he rut into his mate making primal ape noises and after one last thrust into James he cummed. He beat his chest one more time to signify to James that he owned him. Tarzan was satisfied with this morning fucking and then gently slid his knife in-between James' wrists setting him free. Tarzan then grabbed a vine and as James was getting himself together, Tarzan grunted, "Going to hunt. Be back at treehouse before sundown." He then flew away from various vines. James took off the make-shift blindfold and realized that he was drenched in dried cum and took a moment to catch his breath. He then noticed that his own loincloth was tied to a tree limb nearby and since he was familiar with the area, he decided to take a dip into the lake to clean off and reminisce about the last few hours of submitting to his mate. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Wed, 27 Mar 2024 16:09:21 -0500
From: Cullen Coleman <colemanfarms88@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heart of Tarzan, Chapter 4
The Heart of Tarzan, Chapter 4
Here is part four of this story. I am sorry about the long wait but, I
hope whoever reads it finds it arousing and entertaining as much as I
have writing it! This is my ultimate fantasy, so I hope you enjoy it.
Please if you can donate to Nifty and help them by donating; donate here
at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
"Dear diary. It has been almost three months since my jungle lord saved
me from the wretched trap and Sabor. You wouldn't think that this--this
is my life now. I am fully now and one living in the jungles of the Congo
with the most powerful man in the world, a literal Master of the jungle.
Tarzan is everything and more that I have wanted in a mate; he is caring,
charming and protective and an amazing lover. I have grown from a skinny
little seedling to a man in my own right. I mean, you must in order to
keep up with the literal king of the jungle. Tarzan has taken me all over
his domain and taught me so much; we have dived off waterfalls, rode on
the backs of elephants and looked underneath the stars laying next to
wild mountain gorillas. It is beyond magical. My body and mind has been
transformed for the better and I am happy to be the mate of such a loving
man-"
As he was sprawled across their bed, ass arched up, Tarzan swung into the
treehouse with a bouquet of fiery red and orange flowers that James did
not recognize. Tarzan muttered, "Sundara nyekundu". "It means orange
red flower". James immediately grinned and slunk his small frame towards
his jungle master; his loincloth barely hanging onto him as he moved
forward. Tarzan reached out and made a similar grin and eyed his prize.
His 5'5 mate was noticeably smaller than his 6'8 frame but in the three
months since their last encounter with Sabor, James had quickly adapted.
His copper hair now flowing past his shoulder blades like embers in a
fire, almost longer than Tarzan's; his shoulders a tad broader than
before and his pale pink body now bronzed like a light toffee. As Tarzan
reached out to James, his hazel eyes met James' blue and then Tarzan
took his paw of a hand and cradled James closer in for a kiss. He laid
the flowers down on the nearby table and began to passionately tongue
fuck his mate and when they broke away briefly, Tarzan started to ooh and
ahh in his natural ape manner. Seeing his love gleaming with joy made him
aroused. Without thinking, Tarzan scooped up James and fell out the side
of the treehouse nearing the floor of the jungle and catching a nearby
vine. James closed his eyes and held onto Tarzan's beefy chest and
clutched his man. Tarzan let out a powerful yell. It was early in the
morning and the sun was rising. It was time to let the jungle awake from
its slumber and know that its king was in a happy mood. James was still
clutching onto Tarzan when he noticed they were coming up to a nearby
lake. Without thinking, Tarzan dropped James below and let go of the
vine, diving headfirst into the water. James couldn't think. The water
was like icicles being daggers into his body. He gathered himself and
swam upward. As he gasped for air, he noticed he was naked. Tarzan tore
off his loincloth as he threw him into the lake! Nearby, a small
waterfall poured into the lake and James noticed Tarzan sitting atop a
rock smiling like a sly fox. James then raced over and said, "Tarzan
give me back my loincloth please." Tarzan replied, "No. Come up here.
Now." James did as his lord asked of him. He was cold and shivering.
Unknown to him, Tarzan had a plan in mind that morning. Tarzan snapped
his fingers and implied that James stand up. He took his knife from his
belt and snapped off a piece of vine near him. He then proceeded to tie
James up and bound his hands behind his back and led him to a nearby
grove of trees that crisscrossed one another perfectly into an X shape.
Tarzan then made a makeshift mask with two banana leaves and blinded
James. James knew better than to disapprove or not submit to Tarzan.
Although loving, Tarzan could have a temper if prompted and James knew
who oversaw this scene-the literal lord of the jungle. With James tied
and unable to break free, Tarzan began to speak in his deep low masculine
tone. "James my love, you are going to submit to me and only cum when I
deem you are ready to, understand?" "Yes Sir." "Yes. Yes, I am Sir. I
am your Lord and Master. And you will submit to me." Tarzan then took
off his own loincloth; his 11-inch cock was already pulsating to life;
it's uncut tip already drooling with precum. Tarzan tied his long brown
hair back and began to lick his mate. He started at James' nip and
worked his way down to his cock. James writhed in ecstasy. "Baby, stop
that tickles", said James. Tarzan giggled to himself. He got on all
fours and maneuvered himself behind James and gazed at James' hairless
hole. Tarzan loved the tight pink pussy. He would then take his fingers
and gently poke inside his boy's cunt. James shivered. Tarzan began to
lick the pussy. He licked and ate his boy's hole like it was a meal for
an hour or so, savoring the taste of sweet precum that flowed from
James's cock and down his taint. Tarzan then took it upon himself and
tied James upside down so that his mouth was in the perfect condition to
take his cock for a blowjob. James relaxed his throat and took all of his
jungle lord's cock. He began to suck vigorously onto Tarzan's member.
Tarzan was getting closer and closer and started to fuck James' throat.
After 5 or so minutes, Tarzan flooded James's mouth, throat and nose
with a massive amount of sticky sweet cum. He began to beat and holler on
his chest and thrust his cock back into James's throat. He pulled out
and immediately flipped James over and took some of his own cum out of
James' mouth and began to use it as lube and fuck James senseless. James
began to pour more pre-cum out of his own cock and whined, "Yes Sir.
Fuck me Sir. I am yours Tarzan." Tarzan replied, "Yes, you're Tarzan
bitch, Tarzan owns this pussy." The 11-inch cock never weakened. Each
time he pulled out, more cum poured into James and then after a good 30
minutes of thrusting, round two came. Tarzan then held James as he rut
into his mate making primal ape noises and after one last thrust into
James he cummed. He beat his chest one more time to signify to James that
he owned him. Tarzan was satisfied with this morning fucking and then
gently slid his knife in-between James' wrists setting him free. Tarzan
then grabbed a vine and as James was getting himself together, Tarzan
grunted, "Going to hunt. Be back at treehouse before sundown." He then
flew away from various vines. James took off the make-shift blindfold and
realized that he was drenched in dried cum and took a moment to catch his
breath. He then noticed that his own loincloth was tied to a tree limb
nearby and since he was familiar with the area, he decided to take a dip
into the lake to clean off and reminisce about the last few hours of
submitting to his mate.
</colemanfarms88@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/formula-football/miami-treat-4-5 | Date: Mon, 4 Mar 2024 08:00:00 +0000
From: PCW Tosh <pcwtosh@gmail.com>
Subject: Miami Treat 4 & 5
Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence that this actually happened, but we can all dream.
Stay healthy and practice safe sex!
Happy reading.
Formula Football 5.2: Miami Treat, Volumes IV & V
• Volume 4 - Danger (fuck) in Shallow Waters
"We thought you'd got lost!!!" Lando chuckled as Harry and Romeo appeared
holding plenty of cottons. "Yeah sorry, they'd been moved." Romeo croaked;
his throat still blocked by Harry's thick spunk. Harry placed down a set of
towels on a table between the loungers closest to where Lando and Tom
stood. "Guys, sit down, do you want a drink?" Romeo asked, placing more
cotton down on top of the towels. "Yeah dude, whatever you've got." Tom
answered after they shared a nod.
Waving a thumbs up Romeo disappeared towards the house. "Guys, it's been
great meeting you but I've gotta head off too." Harry smiled. "Ahhh dude,
fair play, nice to meet you." "Yeah, had fun with the kickabout man." Lando
and Tom replied politely. "Yeah, massive fan, massive fan." Harry grinned
as he shook each of their hands then followed Romeo inside.
The footballer returned with a wide selection of drinks on a tray including
beers, sodas and fruit juices. "That's amazing!" Lando exclaimed as Romeo
set the tray down. "Yeah, thanks Romeo." Tom agreed, grabbing one of the
beers. "No problem boys." Romeo beamed proudly. "Yeah, good shout." Lando
agreed, scanning the actor's beer then searching for a light one. "Why
didn't you just say beers?!" Romeo teased, rolling his eyes to feign
irritation. "Like I would miss the chance to have you as my sexy pool boy
servant." Tom snorted before dropping down into a lounger and giving a long
sigh of relaxation. Romeo's gaze then turned to Lando who blushed with
embarrassment.
"You not getting in then?" Romeo asked after taking a long draught of a
beer. "No trunks." Tom shrugged. "You didn't bring any trunks to Florida?!"
Romeo gasped with despair. "Fuck's sake, right well you got robes if you
wanna jump in wearing your boxers, or skinny." Romeo continued. "Dad will
be home in a bit though, he won't mind but just so you know." Romeo
finished.
There was a brief silence where Lando and Tom looked at each other,
seemingly unable to decide. "Right, well I'm getting in." Romeo announced
stripping down to his boxers and diving in towards the pair to make sure
they got some of his splash. "Ha, such a dick. Coming in?" Tom laughed,
pulling his shirt over his head and turning to Lando. "Yeah, why not."
Lando nodded without hesitation. The pair stripped down to their boxers
while Romeo splashed Tom with water, catching Lando with many droplets
somewhat unwittingly. "Fucker!!!" Tom roared, setting his beer down near
the edge and launching himself into the pool. Lando giggled, picking up
Romeo's beer and placing it down next to Tom's then his own before hopping
into the pool himself.
"Fucking hell that's refreshing." Tom beamed, wading gently while looking
between Lando and Romeo with his wet hair now stuck to his
forehead. Grabbing their beers, they paddled across to the shallow end
where they could enjoy the cool water while sitting down.
"Excited for a new track?" Tom asked Lando. "Errr yeah, I guess. I've been
doing a lot of work in the simulator for it so it feels like I've been
driving there for years already." Lando thought aloud. "Nice, think you've
got a chance?" Romeo asked. "Points yeah, but not much more than that I
don't think." Lando replied realistically. "I'll do my rain dance." Tom
giggled. "After Sochi, I never wanna see rain again!" Lando laughed. "Dude,
I was so gutted for you!" Romeo exclaimed, throwing his arms open. Lando's
perverted mind drank in Romeo's sexy body before allowing it to surround
him. Tom felt his cock stir into action watching the sight develop in front
of him, two young athletes, skinny, smooth, wet and so, SO sexy!
There wasn't a limp dick in the house when Lando and Romeo parted a few
seconds later. Lando and Romeo had the touch of each other's slim, wet
bodies to thank for their hardness while Tom couldn't resist the delicious
view in front of him. Both Romeo and Tom knew they were both turned on by
the idea of Lando and Romeo up close, personal and naked, but how did Lando
feel? The McLaren driver famously had one of the biggest smiles in F1 but
that didn't mean he would necessarily be interested in fucking a guy, no
correlation whatsoever, someone was going to have to ask without scaring
him off and ruining their weekend as guests of the McLaren F1 team.
"Alright, you're gonna hate me for asking, but I know footballers do
already...do F1 drivers ever get a bit freaky together in the locker room?"
Tom beamed. "Ha, you guys get freaky?" Lando grinned at Romeo, ducking the
question initially. "Some of the lads jerk off together." Romeo
shrugged. "And actors fuck around too. But how about you??" Tom
added. "Ahhh, I don't wanna say." Lando blushed. "Lol, dude, your secret is
safe with us." Tom beamed, sensing Lando had a secret he wanted to
share. "Err, what about you two?" Lando stalled. "Yup, I've done a few, erm
Finn Cole?" Tom nodded proudly. "Peaky Blinders guy, nice." Lando beamed
looking from Tom across to Romeo. "Harvey Neville." Romeo winked. "The guy
from earlier?" Lando asked. "Yup." "Oh, cute." Lando smiled then blushed
again realising it was his turn. "George, Lewis and Pierre." Lando
giggled. "At once?" Tom gasped. "Nooo! Oh, actually yeah, George and Pierre
were." Lando chuckled and he realised his mistake.
Now that Lando had shared he felt a little easier and he'd noticed that his
revelation had made both Romeo and Tom hang on his every word. The McLaren
driver was just about to add to his revelation when Tom beat him to
it. "Very hot indeed, Romeo has fucked the absolute shit out of me a few
times!" Tom beamed proudly. "Oh snappp!" Lando replied, his jaw dropping
and glancing back at Romeo who faltered slightly. "That's really hot too."
Lando smiled, realising Tom's statement wasn't a gloat, rather a
suggestion. "Definitely, so what should we do then, 3 horny young lads in a
swimming pool and no one around?" Tom smiled malevolently. "Dad might come
back though." Romeo grumbled. "Probably shouldn't waste any time then." Tom
grinned. Lando watched on unwilling to intervene, he was with Tom, fuck it
let's do it before someone catches us, but the decision was Romeo's to
make. "Fuck it, dad wouldn't care anyway!" Romeo chuckled, reaching out for
Tom who took his hand and met the footballer with a firm kiss.
"Sexy poofs." Lando spat with pure jealousy. Romeo and Tom broke their kiss
and glanced towards the racer. Tom reached out to Lando, the Bristolian
taking the actor's hand and allowed himself to be pulled between the two
sexy studs. First Lando was pulled towards Tom's mouth, the superhero's
lips were pink and enticingly wet with Romeo's spit. Tom titled his face
and sucked at Lando's soft lips; the McLaren driver tasted even sweeter
than he looked. The superhero was only allowed a few seconds to enjoy
Lando's cuteness before Romeo took Lando by the wrist and spun him
around. Romeo pulled Lando towards him and threw his tongue at the
22-year-old's lips. Lando allowed Romeo entry while Tom moved in behind
him, slowly caressing the F1 driver's smooth, wet skin.
Tom's hands slid up and down Lando's smooth torso, the actor studied the
McLaren driver's beautiful, tanned skin. Tom noticed the incredible toning
as a result of the F1 driver's health regime. The superhero pressed himself
up against Lando's sexy body, the F1 driver's juicy arse drawing him in
with its enticing roundness. While Romeo's lips danced with Lando's, Tom
moved in behind kissing at the back of the McLaren driver's neck.
"Mmmm." Lando moaned through his nose, aroused by the feeling of two sexy
men rubbing their wet hands across his slick, naked skin. Romeo's hands
dipped under the water, sliding along Lando's hips and as his hands became
immersed, they slipped around to the McLaren driver's front. Lando's moans
turned to grunts as Rome's wandering hands found the most sensitive areas
of his horny body. The footballer moved his left hand under Lando's boxers
while his right moved into the fly at the front and with one firm motion
action, Romeo took hold of Lando's solid 7.5-inch cock. Tom's lips pressed
against Lando's neck while his mischievous fingers also wandered around
Lando's body. Tom had located the gap behind the F1 driver, a perfect divot
to slip his fingers and following the trail of Lando's crack, the actor
found Lando's tight hole.
Lando felt powerless to resist the two sexy studs exploring his own
impressive body. Romeo groped his balls, massaging them with a good, firm
grip while the footballer's palm rolled along his shaft, teasing it to
throb for him and Lando duly obliged. Finally, Tom's wet digits poked at
his hole, gradually increasing their pressure against Lando's ring which
parted to grant them entry. Romeo pushed forward forcefully to turn Lando's
face towards Tom who swallowed the McLaren driver's lips before the
22-year-old could catch his breath. The footballer then dove for Lando's
exposed neck, planting two lips on his smooth skin and sucking
hard. "Mmmmm." Lando squealed louder this time as he marvelled at the boys'
attention.
Tom's free hand reached around to Romeo's side and pulled the footballer in
a little tighter. Holding Romeo's tight buns, Tom massaged the footballer's
right arse cheek massaging a gentle flow of pleasure into the youngster's
sexy body. Romeo took Tom's guidance as a suggestion and while his lips
sucked at Lando's, the footballer pushed his crotch into Lando's slender
frame pressing his smooth, wet skin against Lando's smooth wet skin.
Tom's intentions however were completely selfish and reaching further
around while Romeo edged forward into Lando, the actor located the gap
between Romeo's cheeks and placed his fingers against Romeo's hole. Tom
found Romeo's entrance and applying pressure he began to force his way into
the footballer's willing hole. Tom's angle made it a little harder to force
his way into Romeo, but the young Beckham was experienced enough to know he
needed to help his friend and pushing out hard, Tom's finger slid their way
into Romeo's slim hole and instantly began to wriggle around inside the
sexy footballer. With two lads on his fingers the actor pulled away from
the back of Lando's neck and watched the other two embracing as if he were
their puppet master.
Now there were just two of them kissing, Romeo took his hand from Lando's
balls and placed it behind Lando's head to firmly pull the McLaren driver
in. The scene in front of Tom was sensationally hot, with the smooth, wet
twinks deepthroating each other's tongues while their toned bodies rubbed
against each other sensually. The kissers shared the same thought, looking
into each other's eyes and with Tom's fingers probing inside them, Lando
imagined how it would feel with Romeo fucking him and Romeo imagined how it
would feel with Lando fucking him.
Tom's cock raged as he watched them, he knew how Romeo tasted and the
memory of that taste always turned the actor on, but there was something
about Lando's innocent face and willing arse that intrigued Tom. The
superhero enjoyed the feeling of Lando's tight walls squeezing against his
fingers which fought hard to slide into his warm cunt, persistently probing
the cute racer. Tom didn't need to be told, just by the way that Lando
backed up onto his fingers pressing his ring against the actor's knuckles
Tom was convinced that the McLaren driver knew how to take a hard dick up
that tight little arse. Just the thought of his throbbing 6.5-inch boner
burying itself in Lando's warm hole made the decision for Tom, he was going
in and it was going to happen now!
After removing his hand from Romeo's sweet ring and rotating around behind
the McLaren driver, Tom kept his fingers within Lando's hole and placing
his tip against his fingers for guidance the actor moved into
position. With the McLaren driver's hole nice and relaxed, Tom felt his
head digging nicely into Lando's hole and breaching the 22-year-old with
minimal effort. To help Tom along, Lando pushed himself backwards moaning
into Romeo's mouth as the superhero's hard cock expanded his chute from the
inside.
Romeo broke away from Lando's lips and peered over the McLaren driver's
shoulder to see Tom sliding his cock into the racer. The teenager could
feel the jealousy growing inside him, "Rim me?" He asked softly which Lando
responded to with a distracted nod. The footballer whipped himself around
and took a step away from Lando, bending slightly as he did so. Lando also
bent over, lowering himself to place a hand on each of Romeo's cheeks while
Tom's throbbing boner advanced within his sweet hole.
Tom edged back and forth gently, the view forming in front of him was
probably the hottest one he'd ever seen. The actor pushed forward then
pulled back slowly forcing himself deeper inside the McLaren driver whose
smooth back muscles tensed with each movement from the top while his cute
face had moved into the gap between Romeo's tight arse cheeks which were
nicely spread to give Lando access. "Hmmmm." Lando moaned rolling his
tongue across the footballer's sexy crevice while Tom gently bumped him
from behind advancing deeper within his belly. "Ooooh." Romeo
growled. Pushing his ring out onto Lando's face the young Beckham gave the
racer as much hole as he could eat.
At the rear of the train Tom moved carefully, easing his cock back and
forth between Lando's tanned arse cheeks which greeted him willingly. The
racer's arse felt amazing, clearly spending most of the day on his arse
worked well for Lando. The actor kept his legs perfectly still using his
glutes to slide his cock up and down inside the sexy bottom. Although he
couldn't vocalise his appreciation, the lack of protest and ease of their
union told Tom the bottom was comfortable with his hard cock sliding inside
him.
Spreading Romeo's tight little arse cheeks as far apart as possible, Lando
pushed his face into the footballer's irresistible ridge. The racer curled
his tongue up into Romeo's tight cunt, sucking at the sexy Beckham's sweet
cavity causing his own hole to tense around Tom's hard shaft and his hard
cock to throb hungrily for some attention of its own. Romeo had kept his
hole in pristine condition, a faint trail of hairs lined the way up his
arse cheeks and into the distinct groove that was his entrance. Every
moment Lando spent with his tongue between the tight pink lips of Romeo's
twinkish entrance the McLaren driver felt his cock thickening, raging
harder, desperate for its turn inside Romeo's sexy little lad cave.
Romeo tensed his teenage hole, squeezing Lando's cheeky tongue inside him
then without warning, the footballer pulled off Lando's tongue and
straightened up. Stepping back towards the others, Romeo made his arse
available for Lando who took it in a cupped palm as it reversed. Lando's
hand closed around the footballer's tight arse cheeks, using it to guide
the footballer towards his target. Tom watched the events unfolding in
front of him and eased his pace to reduce any bumping while his heart
jumped excitedly, knowing that he too was now free to back up on Romeo's
amazing cock. Lando's tip divided the groove of Romeo's cheeks and rested
against the base of the younger's nicely lubricated ring. The footballer
allowed Lando to have full control over penetration and feeling the McLaren
driver's tip at his entrance, Romeo relaxed allowing Lando's swollen head
an easy entry.
"Ahhhh." Lando whined as his head pierced the wet lips of Romeo's tight
entrance and began to edge into the warmth of the sexy bottom. Tom smiled
at the sound of Lando's moan knowing exactly how the McLaren driver felt
right now. Pausing, the actor allowed Lando to focus on finding his way
deeper within Romeo. The 22-year-old allowed himself to be selfish,
following the demands of his bulging nuts, Lando began to force his cock
deep into Romeo's tight belly. "Uhhh." Romeo bleated as Lando's cock filled
3 inches of his hole, then 4.5 inches, then 5 inches, 6 inches then with
one final push he was 7 inches deep inside the footballer and pressing his
neat pubes against Romeo's tight arse cheeks.
Holding his position, Tom allowed Lando to fuck himself with the actor's
cock while he fucked Romeo. Lando's little round arse looked so good as it
clenched tight, rocking back and forth to fuck Romeo's sexy hole while
giving his own hole the same level of punishment with every thrust. The
bubbling water sloshed around their thighs as Lando added more energy to
his movements, the three of them groaning softly as their bare bodies slid
together. Lando struggled to keep his head still, rolling his neck once as
the feeling of Romeo's ring sucking on his shaft tingled through him and
again as Tom's nice, hard shaft stretched his sensitive tunnel. The
thickness of Tom's bare, meat probing deep inside him was deliciously
arousing to Lando who backed himself onto the moreish cock with clear
intent to fuck himself. Holding Romeo by his skinny thighs, Lando drilled
harder and harder waiting to be told to ease up but his bottom was in
dreamland. The footballer stood as firmly as he could with his legs nice
and spread to keep himself steady as Lando's crotch smashed into his skinny
arse. "Time for a switcheroo." Tom finally breathed into Lando's ear after
a couple of minutes of this incredible train. The F1 driver nodded,
throwing his hips forward a couple more times then slowing down for Tom to
disengage.
Between the time Tom worked his way around the sexy pair, the actor took a
moment to appreciate the view in front of him as Lando's sexy body collided
with Romeo's skinny arse sending impact waves through the footballer's
beautiful butt. The bottom emitted gentle sighs of pleasure to sing along
with happiness as Lando repeatedly filled him with his favourite
treat. Even with just the briefest glance Tom could tell that Lando was
finding at least 5 inches of movement with every pull back of his pulsing
boner. The pair looked perfect together with their youthful athleticism
completing the ultimate combination. Moving into position in front of the
perfect pair, Tom took hold of Romeo's free boner and stood in front,
looking back at the adorable bottom.
Pulling Romeo's chin towards him with one hand and clutching the
footballer's cock in the other, Tom placed Romeo's tip at his entrance and
initiated a passionate kiss. A long, sensual groan accompanied the union of
Romeo and Tom's bodies, the former's hard cock penetrating the latter's
tight hole for yet another occasion The regularity of Romeo's cock inside
Tom's perfect hole and the ability of the actor to bottom so readily made
their union practically seamless. Even with Lando continuing to pump his
own cock into Romeo's cute arse from the other side, in one steady motion
Tom reversed the length of Romeo's 8-inch mast and parked his round cheeks
against the footballer's firm crotch. Keeping their lips for another few
seconds, Tom savoured the feeling of his cute friend's moustache and
goatee, giving the young Beckham a little extra tongue whilst Romeo's
crotch got buffeted into his arse from the weight of Lando behind
him. Releasing Romeo's chin and rocking forward to submerge himself
temporarily, Tom bent over to give Romeo the perfect angle from which to
fuck his perfect arse.
Romeo gave another long, loud groan of pleasure as Tom's hole hungrily
devoured his cock at the same time as Lando piled his chute full of his
hard, throbbing cock. The McLaren driver was next to reach for Romeo's
chin, turning the footballer towards him and offering Romeo another
passionate kiss as he pumped the footballer full of his meat.
Without the ability to speak, Romeo could only groan through his nose, his
groaning broken by the heavy bumps of Lando's horny crotch. The racer's
cock was exactly how Romeo had always imagined it, hard, perfectly curved
and as relentless as its owner. Jabbing himself in and up, Lando filled
Romeo with that addictive tingle a bare, hard cock always gave the sweet
bottom.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU BOYS DOING?!!!!" David roared
• Volume 5 - Finishing the Job
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU BOYS DOING?!!!!" David roared, standing poolside
with his hands on his hips. "OH SHITTT, DAD!!!" Romeo gasped, jumping away
from Lando and Tom in fright. "Fuck's sake Romeo, you two as well, get in
the bloody house and finish off." David added before Romeo could
incriminate himself any further and to relieve the awkwardness of his
clearly guilty friends. After remaining frozen for another few seconds
Romeo's muscles found motion and the youngster waded across to the edge of
the pool to pull himself out. Lando and Tom followed similarly sheepishly,
feeling a little guilt for goading Romeo into the trouble he was in.
By the time the trio reached the side of the pool David had already spun on
his heel and hotfooted back to the house muttering to himself. "Sorry
Romeo." Tom whispered. "It's ok don't worry." Romeo smirked as he pulled
his skinny, wet body out from the water and pulled a nice, soft, white
cotton robe around him. The others followed, covering themselves in the
luxurious material and once everyone was robed, Romeo led them back to the
house. "Why do I think that's not the first time you've been caught?" Lando
laughed unashamedly. "That would be telling...the danger was fucking hot
though!" Romeo chuckled.
Noticing his dad relaxing in the front room, Romeo led Lando and Tom back
into the house through the dining room. David seemed to ignore their
presence as they slinked up the stairs and climbing up to the top floor,
there were two doors both wide open. Inside the other room Lando and Tom
could make out a picture of Cruz and some of his friends as they followed
Romeo into the other.
Predominantly red with Arsenal merchandise there were also a few PSG
branded collectibles and pictures of Romeo with a host of different tennis
legends decorating the walls. Romeo waited at the door as the others filed
past then closing the door behind him, the teenager turned and dropped his
robe then peeled down his soaked boxers, kicking them aside.
"Yeah...someone likes getting caught!" Tom laughed as Romeo's boner came
into view. As expected, Romeo nibbled on Tom's teasing but not in the way
Tom had expected. Moving directly towards the actor Romeo planted a hand
against Tom's chest pushing him backwards towards the bed. Tom didn't fight
Romeo and as his legs hit the bed the actor toppled over and landed on his
back. Romeo was right on top of him and without hesitation, a quick tug
dragged Tom's sodden boxers to his hamstrings and the footballer's hard
cock was pressed against Tom's hole. Romeo's left hand slid the actor's
boxers the rest of the way up and off while spreading his knees nice and
wide apart, Romeo found the perfect base and with a malevolent smile his
right hand pushed his boner hard against Tom's weakened hole.
"Oohhhhhh holy fuckkkkk." Tom cried as Romeo's cock re-penetrated
him. Tom's hole was nicely open, but they had lost some moisture in transit
meaning their reconnection was a little drier than they had expected. Lando
watched from the hottest seat in the house as Romeo's skinny, tanned figure
began to pump its way up and down into Tom's pale, muscular body. The
McLaren driver watched hungrily as Romeo's skinny, round, twinkish arse
moved up and down in front of him looking so damn irresistible while Tom
grumbled below him.
"Fuck, yeah, yeah, yeah!!!" Tom continued to moan as Romeo fucked him deep
and hard, the skinny footballer was feeling ruthless after Tom's idea had
got him in trouble and after the actor's teasing, Romeo was going to give
him every inch of his 8-inch cock in both directions. That thick Beckham
dick ramming deep into his belly had Tom harder than a rock with his cock
untouched and pointing directly at his moaning face.
Mindlessly rubbing his 7.5-inch cock as he watched, Lando just wanted to
jump in behind Romeo and complete the train by re-entering that sexy, tight
butt. The footballer looked to be deep in concentration as he pounded his
cock down into Tom's arse but there was enough capacity for Romeo to turn
to Lando and with a wink and a nod behind the McLaren driver received the
signal he needed; he was still fully involved in this little fuck fest.
With an almighty thud Romeo slammed his crotch into Tom's arse and held it
there. For a moment the bottom thought Romeo had achieved his climax, but
the wobbling bed suggested something else which was confirmed when Lando's
head came into view over the footballer's shoulder. Romeo's hand reached
back which Lando guided onto his hip while edging closer towards the
footballer's hole until he rested against Romeo's pink ring.
Confident in the tightness of his cock inside Tom, Romeo focused on his
rear and reversing, the footballer impaled himself easily onto a stationary
Lando before the racer could react. Romeo's loosened hole made light work
of Lando's solid boner, devouring every inch of the racer in one smooth
motion and keeping Lando right where he was, Romeo began to throw his hips
back and forth.
The middleman in the sexy sandwich was in full control, pulling back to
impale his skinny chute around Lando's bare 7.5-inch sword and marvelling
in the thickness of the cute top then pushing forward to fill Tom's
muscular hole with 8 inches of his bare cock. The talents of the young
footballer brought satisfied groans from both sides as he increased his
speed gradually to pleasure three horny men.
"Fuck yesss." Lando hissed as Romeo's hole resumed its seductive suction of
his throbbing pole. The McLaren driver's eyes were fixed upon Romeo's tight
arse cheeks as they moved back and forth, releasing his bare shaft then
swallowing it again with each passing second. The paleness of his twinkish
arse cheeks compared to his bronze back made the footballer even sexier
somehow. Lando watched on happily as his bare cock disappeared into Romeo's
hole, the surroundings of which felt deliciously tight around his meat as
the footballer's arse cheeks rested against his crotch for less than a
second before he rocked forward again, moving so far forward that the base
of Lando's head peeked up at him.
"Right fucking there lad." Tom squealed from the other side as Romeo pumped
away energetically. The actor couldn't have been much happier, maybe Lando
sitting on his face would trump his current scenario, but there were no
complaints from the bottom who slowly strummed his uncut 6.5-inch
boner. They had been fucking around for long enough, it was probably time
to bust a nut. "Sling it right in there!" Tom demanded unnecessarily as
Romeo filled him within another 8 inches of athletic, young cock.
The evil tease in Romeo decided it was time for a bit of fun and as he
pulled his arse back to fill himself with Lando's cock he stayed there,
gyrating for the benefit of the racer while Tom rapped his cock hard and
fast. "Cunt, fucking cunt!!!" Tom spat as Romeo gave a deep, hard stab
which rammed his raw head into the underside of Tom's aching
sphincter. That hard stab was followed by another rapid barrage of shots as
the skinny footballer drilled Tom's hole repeatedly for 10 seconds then
came to an abrupt stop.
"AHHHH, FUCKKKK, YOU CUNTTTTT!!!!" Tom bellowed. Romeo grinned with double
delight rolling himself back onto Lando's cock once more then slamming
himself into a cumming Tom Holland with a deep, ruthless stab. Romeo's
thrust had the desired effect, causing Tom's next shot to bypass the pair
around his belly button, smacking the actor on the underside of his smooth
neck. "Fucking...grrr!" Tom growled again, unable to control his emotions
whilst his body felt so damn good.
The sight of Tom erupting below him only made Romeo feel hotter and once
he'd finished toying with the bottom's emotions, Romeo resumed stroking his
long, hard cock smoothly within Tom's belly. "Yeah, yeahhhh, right there."
Tom vehemently agreed as Romeo's raw head tingled his insides making the
last few squirts of his cock feel as magical as ever. "Fuck, you feel so
good." Romeo muttered as he enjoyed the way Tom's tight ring sucked tighter
to his hard pole during the actor's orgasm. Coating himself with a dozen
shots of white, marbly ropes of cum, Tom soaked his lean, griddled torso
from belly button to the base of his neck in dazzling hot cum. Below the
footballer lay one of the most attractive people in the film industry naked
and orgasming from the powers of his own hard dick, Romeo had been pushed
to the brink.
Now that Tom was empty Romeo could withdraw fully which he accomplished
popping free allowing his cock to stand bolt upright. "Ram me hardddd!"
Romeo whispered back to Lando. The racer took one look down at the
footballer's tight, twinky arse cheeks and with an evil smile did exactly
as he was told.
An explosive crunch sounded the beginning of Lando's onslaught as his horny
crotch slammed hard into Romeo's tight buns. Tom lay there watching as the
aftershocks tingled his body. Romeo looked sensational as his skinny body
shook from the force of Lando's heavy pounding. And poking out ahead of
him, the bottom's uncut, 8-inch boner grew larger and larger with each
thrust of Lando's hips. "Yeah...that's it...I'm gonna...I'm cumming." Romeo
breathed as the pleasure of Lando's thrusting bare cock swept through his
body and extended his cock to the full length of his magnificent 8 inches.
Just as Romeo had promised, the footballer's cock erupted untouched giving
both Tom and Lando (who peered over Romeo's shoulder to watch) the most
beautiful fireworks display they had ever seen. From Tom's angle, he could
see the chain reaction of each muscle as the tensing began at Romeo's balls
and climbed up through Romeo's hard shaft, stiffening the bottom's entire
pole until his head tensed and a jet of cum squirted high into the air.
The beautiful sight of his cock's muscular convulsions was a wave of
incredible feelings for Romeo which were drilled into him through Lando's
hard cock. "Yeahhhh." Romeo whined as Lando stabbed his bare cock deep into
the footballer's sensitive hole, sending another squirt of his load to
decorate Tom's impressive body. "So tight." Lando breathed as he fed Romeo
with another firm jab of his hard cock, sending a jolt of pleasure through
the bottom which hardened Romeo's cock to shower Tom in another coat of his
glaze.
The early stages of an untouched orgasm were always fraught with the danger
of errant missiles and Romeo's orgasm was no different sending two wild
blasts high and far, each landing either side of Tom's beaming face. As the
initial explosiveness calmed, Romeo's aim became more predictable, shooting
the rest of his second load across the smooth, toned torso of Tom's hunky
body. The repeated pumps of Lando's amazing cock up into his chute flicked
the bottom's prostate, adding a little extra sauce to every shot.
Closing his hands nice and tight around Romeo's slender hips, Lando
continued to thrust, using Romeo's sexy body to achieve his own orgasm. The
bottom followed him like a ragdoll, swinging back and forth to the drum of
Lando's cock. "Ahhh." Romeo chortled after another thump of Lando's crotch,
sending his weakening cum shot across the actor's smooth belly button. The
last few drops of his epic orgasm bubbled from the end of Romeo's hard cock
as he marvelled in the feel of Lando's shaft sliding between the hungry
lips of his bare arse hole. The footballer's nuts were empty for the second
time today which he confirmed by dropping his head back and sighing for the
ceiling.
"I'm close too." Lando announced as Romeo lost himself within the pleasing
aftershocks of his orgasm. "Shoot your load on me Lando, complete the set."
Tom called from below. [Terrific idea!] Lando jabbed Romeo's sweet little
butt a couple more times then withdrawing with just enough margin to get
around in time, the McLaren driver stroked his aching boner causing it to
explode across Tom's sexy, cum soaked body.
"Ugh!" Romeo grumbled as Lando ripped his hard cock from the bottom's chute
and shuffled around Romeo just in time to explode over Tom's waiting
torso. The McLaren racer's explosion was just as powerful as Romeo's,
firing thin streaks of cum a metre into the air before they splashed down
onto Tom's sexy body. Stroking harder and faster, Lando's cock looked like
a foaming mess as his cream blasted in multiple shots across Tom's waiting
frame, adding his seed to that of Romeo's and Tom's which lay hardening
across the actor's smooth torso.
Unlike Romeo before him, this was Lando's first load of the day, and his
viewers could tell. The fountain that was the McLaren driver's cock
squirted high and hard repeatedly for at least 15 seconds. The show was
spectacular as thick drops of bright white cum spread from Tom's smooth,
muscular neck, over his smooth, broad pecs, covering his smooth, toned abs
and pooled over and around Tom's shallow belly button. The McLaren driver
looked down happily as he enjoyed the final few moments of his ultimate
joy. Lando had thrown his head back and sighed to the ceiling while
stroking his uncut, 7.5-inch boner to squirt the last of his nuts over the
sexy superhero. That was the moment Lando remembered that Tom was of course
Spiderman and looking down at the hunky actor he couldn't help but smile at
the cummy mess across Tom's body which of course resembled a
spiderweb. [Don't make the joke, don't make the joke!] Lando berated
himself as his previously heavy sack now felt nice and light. The strokes
of his foreskin were slower to ensure he maximised the movement in both
directions. But now that his nuts were empty there was no need to stroke
anymore and with a satisfied sigh, the beaming racer dropped his cock to
one side.
"Look at the state of ya Tommy!" Romeo squawked, beaming down on the messy
actor. "I look pretty good, don't I?!" Tom laughed. "You look like you're
wearing the cum of the entire cast of Avengers Endgame!" Romeo
teased. "Oooh, I like that...and maybe I did!" Tom winked. "Anyway, isn't
it time for you to go get a spanking from daddy?" He continued, turning the
tables of teasing back on Romeo. "Keep your dirty thoughts about my dad to
yourself yeah!" Romeo snapped, poking Tom in the ribs as he retorted.
A couple of cheeky prods in Tom's side then Romeo leant down to kiss the
sexy actor. "You two are so hot as a couple." Lando smiled. "We were even
hotter as a trio dude." Romeo replied, straightening up and moving to Lando
then engaging the racer in a kiss of his own. Once they had parted Romeo
looked between kneeling Lando and laying Tom. "What do you boys wanna do
tonight then?" He asked. "Could probably use a good dinner." Tom shrugged
looking towards Lando. "Yeah, I'm kinda hungry." Lando agreed, rubbing his
belly. "Great shout. Right then let's get you cleaned up and then we can
fill you both up again, but with food instead of ma awesome dick!" Romeo
grinned. Lando and Tom threw judgemental glances towards each other but
they both knew Romeo was right, great dick, great arse, great body, great
boy!
END
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<pre>Date: Mon, 4 Mar 2024 08:00:00 +0000
From: PCW Tosh <pcwtosh@gmail.com>
Subject: Miami Treat 4 & 5
Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence that this actually happened, but we can all dream.
Stay healthy and practice safe sex!
Happy reading.
Formula Football 5.2: Miami Treat, Volumes IV & V
• Volume 4 - Danger (fuck) in Shallow Waters
"We thought you'd got lost!!!" Lando chuckled as Harry and Romeo appeared
holding plenty of cottons. "Yeah sorry, they'd been moved." Romeo croaked;
his throat still blocked by Harry's thick spunk. Harry placed down a set of
towels on a table between the loungers closest to where Lando and Tom
stood. "Guys, sit down, do you want a drink?" Romeo asked, placing more
cotton down on top of the towels. "Yeah dude, whatever you've got." Tom
answered after they shared a nod.
Waving a thumbs up Romeo disappeared towards the house. "Guys, it's been
great meeting you but I've gotta head off too." Harry smiled. "Ahhh dude,
fair play, nice to meet you." "Yeah, had fun with the kickabout man." Lando
and Tom replied politely. "Yeah, massive fan, massive fan." Harry grinned
as he shook each of their hands then followed Romeo inside.
The footballer returned with a wide selection of drinks on a tray including
beers, sodas and fruit juices. "That's amazing!" Lando exclaimed as Romeo
set the tray down. "Yeah, thanks Romeo." Tom agreed, grabbing one of the
beers. "No problem boys." Romeo beamed proudly. "Yeah, good shout." Lando
agreed, scanning the actor's beer then searching for a light one. "Why
didn't you just say beers?!" Romeo teased, rolling his eyes to feign
irritation. "Like I would miss the chance to have you as my sexy pool boy
servant." Tom snorted before dropping down into a lounger and giving a long
sigh of relaxation. Romeo's gaze then turned to Lando who blushed with
embarrassment.
"You not getting in then?" Romeo asked after taking a long draught of a
beer. "No trunks." Tom shrugged. "You didn't bring any trunks to Florida?!"
Romeo gasped with despair. "Fuck's sake, right well you got robes if you
wanna jump in wearing your boxers, or skinny." Romeo continued. "Dad will
be home in a bit though, he won't mind but just so you know." Romeo
finished.
There was a brief silence where Lando and Tom looked at each other,
seemingly unable to decide. "Right, well I'm getting in." Romeo announced
stripping down to his boxers and diving in towards the pair to make sure
they got some of his splash. "Ha, such a dick. Coming in?" Tom laughed,
pulling his shirt over his head and turning to Lando. "Yeah, why not."
Lando nodded without hesitation. The pair stripped down to their boxers
while Romeo splashed Tom with water, catching Lando with many droplets
somewhat unwittingly. "Fucker!!!" Tom roared, setting his beer down near
the edge and launching himself into the pool. Lando giggled, picking up
Romeo's beer and placing it down next to Tom's then his own before hopping
into the pool himself.
"Fucking hell that's refreshing." Tom beamed, wading gently while looking
between Lando and Romeo with his wet hair now stuck to his
forehead. Grabbing their beers, they paddled across to the shallow end
where they could enjoy the cool water while sitting down.
"Excited for a new track?" Tom asked Lando. "Errr yeah, I guess. I've been
doing a lot of work in the simulator for it so it feels like I've been
driving there for years already." Lando thought aloud. "Nice, think you've
got a chance?" Romeo asked. "Points yeah, but not much more than that I
don't think." Lando replied realistically. "I'll do my rain dance." Tom
giggled. "After Sochi, I never wanna see rain again!" Lando laughed. "Dude,
I was so gutted for you!" Romeo exclaimed, throwing his arms open. Lando's
perverted mind drank in Romeo's sexy body before allowing it to surround
him. Tom felt his cock stir into action watching the sight develop in front
of him, two young athletes, skinny, smooth, wet and so, SO sexy!
There wasn't a limp dick in the house when Lando and Romeo parted a few
seconds later. Lando and Romeo had the touch of each other's slim, wet
bodies to thank for their hardness while Tom couldn't resist the delicious
view in front of him. Both Romeo and Tom knew they were both turned on by
the idea of Lando and Romeo up close, personal and naked, but how did Lando
feel? The McLaren driver famously had one of the biggest smiles in F1 but
that didn't mean he would necessarily be interested in fucking a guy, no
correlation whatsoever, someone was going to have to ask without scaring
him off and ruining their weekend as guests of the McLaren F1 team.
"Alright, you're gonna hate me for asking, but I know footballers do
already...do F1 drivers ever get a bit freaky together in the locker room?"
Tom beamed. "Ha, you guys get freaky?" Lando grinned at Romeo, ducking the
question initially. "Some of the lads jerk off together." Romeo
shrugged. "And actors fuck around too. But how about you??" Tom
added. "Ahhh, I don't wanna say." Lando blushed. "Lol, dude, your secret is
safe with us." Tom beamed, sensing Lando had a secret he wanted to
share. "Err, what about you two?" Lando stalled. "Yup, I've done a few, erm
Finn Cole?" Tom nodded proudly. "Peaky Blinders guy, nice." Lando beamed
looking from Tom across to Romeo. "Harvey Neville." Romeo winked. "The guy
from earlier?" Lando asked. "Yup." "Oh, cute." Lando smiled then blushed
again realising it was his turn. "George, Lewis and Pierre." Lando
giggled. "At once?" Tom gasped. "Nooo! Oh, actually yeah, George and Pierre
were." Lando chuckled and he realised his mistake.
Now that Lando had shared he felt a little easier and he'd noticed that his
revelation had made both Romeo and Tom hang on his every word. The McLaren
driver was just about to add to his revelation when Tom beat him to
it. "Very hot indeed, Romeo has fucked the absolute shit out of me a few
times!" Tom beamed proudly. "Oh snappp!" Lando replied, his jaw dropping
and glancing back at Romeo who faltered slightly. "That's really hot too."
Lando smiled, realising Tom's statement wasn't a gloat, rather a
suggestion. "Definitely, so what should we do then, 3 horny young lads in a
swimming pool and no one around?" Tom smiled malevolently. "Dad might come
back though." Romeo grumbled. "Probably shouldn't waste any time then." Tom
grinned. Lando watched on unwilling to intervene, he was with Tom, fuck it
let's do it before someone catches us, but the decision was Romeo's to
make. "Fuck it, dad wouldn't care anyway!" Romeo chuckled, reaching out for
Tom who took his hand and met the footballer with a firm kiss.
"Sexy poofs." Lando spat with pure jealousy. Romeo and Tom broke their kiss
and glanced towards the racer. Tom reached out to Lando, the Bristolian
taking the actor's hand and allowed himself to be pulled between the two
sexy studs. First Lando was pulled towards Tom's mouth, the superhero's
lips were pink and enticingly wet with Romeo's spit. Tom titled his face
and sucked at Lando's soft lips; the McLaren driver tasted even sweeter
than he looked. The superhero was only allowed a few seconds to enjoy
Lando's cuteness before Romeo took Lando by the wrist and spun him
around. Romeo pulled Lando towards him and threw his tongue at the
22-year-old's lips. Lando allowed Romeo entry while Tom moved in behind
him, slowly caressing the F1 driver's smooth, wet skin.
Tom's hands slid up and down Lando's smooth torso, the actor studied the
McLaren driver's beautiful, tanned skin. Tom noticed the incredible toning
as a result of the F1 driver's health regime. The superhero pressed himself
up against Lando's sexy body, the F1 driver's juicy arse drawing him in
with its enticing roundness. While Romeo's lips danced with Lando's, Tom
moved in behind kissing at the back of the McLaren driver's neck.
"Mmmm." Lando moaned through his nose, aroused by the feeling of two sexy
men rubbing their wet hands across his slick, naked skin. Romeo's hands
dipped under the water, sliding along Lando's hips and as his hands became
immersed, they slipped around to the McLaren driver's front. Lando's moans
turned to grunts as Rome's wandering hands found the most sensitive areas
of his horny body. The footballer moved his left hand under Lando's boxers
while his right moved into the fly at the front and with one firm motion
action, Romeo took hold of Lando's solid 7.5-inch cock. Tom's lips pressed
against Lando's neck while his mischievous fingers also wandered around
Lando's body. Tom had located the gap behind the F1 driver, a perfect divot
to slip his fingers and following the trail of Lando's crack, the actor
found Lando's tight hole.
Lando felt powerless to resist the two sexy studs exploring his own
impressive body. Romeo groped his balls, massaging them with a good, firm
grip while the footballer's palm rolled along his shaft, teasing it to
throb for him and Lando duly obliged. Finally, Tom's wet digits poked at
his hole, gradually increasing their pressure against Lando's ring which
parted to grant them entry. Romeo pushed forward forcefully to turn Lando's
face towards Tom who swallowed the McLaren driver's lips before the
22-year-old could catch his breath. The footballer then dove for Lando's
exposed neck, planting two lips on his smooth skin and sucking
hard. "Mmmmm." Lando squealed louder this time as he marvelled at the boys'
attention.
Tom's free hand reached around to Romeo's side and pulled the footballer in
a little tighter. Holding Romeo's tight buns, Tom massaged the footballer's
right arse cheek massaging a gentle flow of pleasure into the youngster's
sexy body. Romeo took Tom's guidance as a suggestion and while his lips
sucked at Lando's, the footballer pushed his crotch into Lando's slender
frame pressing his smooth, wet skin against Lando's smooth wet skin.
Tom's intentions however were completely selfish and reaching further
around while Romeo edged forward into Lando, the actor located the gap
between Romeo's cheeks and placed his fingers against Romeo's hole. Tom
found Romeo's entrance and applying pressure he began to force his way into
the footballer's willing hole. Tom's angle made it a little harder to force
his way into Romeo, but the young Beckham was experienced enough to know he
needed to help his friend and pushing out hard, Tom's finger slid their way
into Romeo's slim hole and instantly began to wriggle around inside the
sexy footballer. With two lads on his fingers the actor pulled away from
the back of Lando's neck and watched the other two embracing as if he were
their puppet master.
Now there were just two of them kissing, Romeo took his hand from Lando's
balls and placed it behind Lando's head to firmly pull the McLaren driver
in. The scene in front of Tom was sensationally hot, with the smooth, wet
twinks deepthroating each other's tongues while their toned bodies rubbed
against each other sensually. The kissers shared the same thought, looking
into each other's eyes and with Tom's fingers probing inside them, Lando
imagined how it would feel with Romeo fucking him and Romeo imagined how it
would feel with Lando fucking him.
Tom's cock raged as he watched them, he knew how Romeo tasted and the
memory of that taste always turned the actor on, but there was something
about Lando's innocent face and willing arse that intrigued Tom. The
superhero enjoyed the feeling of Lando's tight walls squeezing against his
fingers which fought hard to slide into his warm cunt, persistently probing
the cute racer. Tom didn't need to be told, just by the way that Lando
backed up onto his fingers pressing his ring against the actor's knuckles
Tom was convinced that the McLaren driver knew how to take a hard dick up
that tight little arse. Just the thought of his throbbing 6.5-inch boner
burying itself in Lando's warm hole made the decision for Tom, he was going
in and it was going to happen now!
After removing his hand from Romeo's sweet ring and rotating around behind
the McLaren driver, Tom kept his fingers within Lando's hole and placing
his tip against his fingers for guidance the actor moved into
position. With the McLaren driver's hole nice and relaxed, Tom felt his
head digging nicely into Lando's hole and breaching the 22-year-old with
minimal effort. To help Tom along, Lando pushed himself backwards moaning
into Romeo's mouth as the superhero's hard cock expanded his chute from the
inside.
Romeo broke away from Lando's lips and peered over the McLaren driver's
shoulder to see Tom sliding his cock into the racer. The teenager could
feel the jealousy growing inside him, "Rim me?" He asked softly which Lando
responded to with a distracted nod. The footballer whipped himself around
and took a step away from Lando, bending slightly as he did so. Lando also
bent over, lowering himself to place a hand on each of Romeo's cheeks while
Tom's throbbing boner advanced within his sweet hole.
Tom edged back and forth gently, the view forming in front of him was
probably the hottest one he'd ever seen. The actor pushed forward then
pulled back slowly forcing himself deeper inside the McLaren driver whose
smooth back muscles tensed with each movement from the top while his cute
face had moved into the gap between Romeo's tight arse cheeks which were
nicely spread to give Lando access. "Hmmmm." Lando moaned rolling his
tongue across the footballer's sexy crevice while Tom gently bumped him
from behind advancing deeper within his belly. "Ooooh." Romeo
growled. Pushing his ring out onto Lando's face the young Beckham gave the
racer as much hole as he could eat.
At the rear of the train Tom moved carefully, easing his cock back and
forth between Lando's tanned arse cheeks which greeted him willingly. The
racer's arse felt amazing, clearly spending most of the day on his arse
worked well for Lando. The actor kept his legs perfectly still using his
glutes to slide his cock up and down inside the sexy bottom. Although he
couldn't vocalise his appreciation, the lack of protest and ease of their
union told Tom the bottom was comfortable with his hard cock sliding inside
him.
Spreading Romeo's tight little arse cheeks as far apart as possible, Lando
pushed his face into the footballer's irresistible ridge. The racer curled
his tongue up into Romeo's tight cunt, sucking at the sexy Beckham's sweet
cavity causing his own hole to tense around Tom's hard shaft and his hard
cock to throb hungrily for some attention of its own. Romeo had kept his
hole in pristine condition, a faint trail of hairs lined the way up his
arse cheeks and into the distinct groove that was his entrance. Every
moment Lando spent with his tongue between the tight pink lips of Romeo's
twinkish entrance the McLaren driver felt his cock thickening, raging
harder, desperate for its turn inside Romeo's sexy little lad cave.
Romeo tensed his teenage hole, squeezing Lando's cheeky tongue inside him
then without warning, the footballer pulled off Lando's tongue and
straightened up. Stepping back towards the others, Romeo made his arse
available for Lando who took it in a cupped palm as it reversed. Lando's
hand closed around the footballer's tight arse cheeks, using it to guide
the footballer towards his target. Tom watched the events unfolding in
front of him and eased his pace to reduce any bumping while his heart
jumped excitedly, knowing that he too was now free to back up on Romeo's
amazing cock. Lando's tip divided the groove of Romeo's cheeks and rested
against the base of the younger's nicely lubricated ring. The footballer
allowed Lando to have full control over penetration and feeling the McLaren
driver's tip at his entrance, Romeo relaxed allowing Lando's swollen head
an easy entry.
"Ahhhh." Lando whined as his head pierced the wet lips of Romeo's tight
entrance and began to edge into the warmth of the sexy bottom. Tom smiled
at the sound of Lando's moan knowing exactly how the McLaren driver felt
right now. Pausing, the actor allowed Lando to focus on finding his way
deeper within Romeo. The 22-year-old allowed himself to be selfish,
following the demands of his bulging nuts, Lando began to force his cock
deep into Romeo's tight belly. "Uhhh." Romeo bleated as Lando's cock filled
3 inches of his hole, then 4.5 inches, then 5 inches, 6 inches then with
one final push he was 7 inches deep inside the footballer and pressing his
neat pubes against Romeo's tight arse cheeks.
Holding his position, Tom allowed Lando to fuck himself with the actor's
cock while he fucked Romeo. Lando's little round arse looked so good as it
clenched tight, rocking back and forth to fuck Romeo's sexy hole while
giving his own hole the same level of punishment with every thrust. The
bubbling water sloshed around their thighs as Lando added more energy to
his movements, the three of them groaning softly as their bare bodies slid
together. Lando struggled to keep his head still, rolling his neck once as
the feeling of Romeo's ring sucking on his shaft tingled through him and
again as Tom's nice, hard shaft stretched his sensitive tunnel. The
thickness of Tom's bare, meat probing deep inside him was deliciously
arousing to Lando who backed himself onto the moreish cock with clear
intent to fuck himself. Holding Romeo by his skinny thighs, Lando drilled
harder and harder waiting to be told to ease up but his bottom was in
dreamland. The footballer stood as firmly as he could with his legs nice
and spread to keep himself steady as Lando's crotch smashed into his skinny
arse. "Time for a switcheroo." Tom finally breathed into Lando's ear after
a couple of minutes of this incredible train. The F1 driver nodded,
throwing his hips forward a couple more times then slowing down for Tom to
disengage.
Between the time Tom worked his way around the sexy pair, the actor took a
moment to appreciate the view in front of him as Lando's sexy body collided
with Romeo's skinny arse sending impact waves through the footballer's
beautiful butt. The bottom emitted gentle sighs of pleasure to sing along
with happiness as Lando repeatedly filled him with his favourite
treat. Even with just the briefest glance Tom could tell that Lando was
finding at least 5 inches of movement with every pull back of his pulsing
boner. The pair looked perfect together with their youthful athleticism
completing the ultimate combination. Moving into position in front of the
perfect pair, Tom took hold of Romeo's free boner and stood in front,
looking back at the adorable bottom.
Pulling Romeo's chin towards him with one hand and clutching the
footballer's cock in the other, Tom placed Romeo's tip at his entrance and
initiated a passionate kiss. A long, sensual groan accompanied the union of
Romeo and Tom's bodies, the former's hard cock penetrating the latter's
tight hole for yet another occasion The regularity of Romeo's cock inside
Tom's perfect hole and the ability of the actor to bottom so readily made
their union practically seamless. Even with Lando continuing to pump his
own cock into Romeo's cute arse from the other side, in one steady motion
Tom reversed the length of Romeo's 8-inch mast and parked his round cheeks
against the footballer's firm crotch. Keeping their lips for another few
seconds, Tom savoured the feeling of his cute friend's moustache and
goatee, giving the young Beckham a little extra tongue whilst Romeo's
crotch got buffeted into his arse from the weight of Lando behind
him. Releasing Romeo's chin and rocking forward to submerge himself
temporarily, Tom bent over to give Romeo the perfect angle from which to
fuck his perfect arse.
Romeo gave another long, loud groan of pleasure as Tom's hole hungrily
devoured his cock at the same time as Lando piled his chute full of his
hard, throbbing cock. The McLaren driver was next to reach for Romeo's
chin, turning the footballer towards him and offering Romeo another
passionate kiss as he pumped the footballer full of his meat.
Without the ability to speak, Romeo could only groan through his nose, his
groaning broken by the heavy bumps of Lando's horny crotch. The racer's
cock was exactly how Romeo had always imagined it, hard, perfectly curved
and as relentless as its owner. Jabbing himself in and up, Lando filled
Romeo with that addictive tingle a bare, hard cock always gave the sweet
bottom.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU BOYS DOING?!!!!" David roared
• Volume 5 - Finishing the Job
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU BOYS DOING?!!!!" David roared, standing poolside
with his hands on his hips. "OH SHITTT, DAD!!!" Romeo gasped, jumping away
from Lando and Tom in fright. "Fuck's sake Romeo, you two as well, get in
the bloody house and finish off." David added before Romeo could
incriminate himself any further and to relieve the awkwardness of his
clearly guilty friends. After remaining frozen for another few seconds
Romeo's muscles found motion and the youngster waded across to the edge of
the pool to pull himself out. Lando and Tom followed similarly sheepishly,
feeling a little guilt for goading Romeo into the trouble he was in.
By the time the trio reached the side of the pool David had already spun on
his heel and hotfooted back to the house muttering to himself. "Sorry
Romeo." Tom whispered. "It's ok don't worry." Romeo smirked as he pulled
his skinny, wet body out from the water and pulled a nice, soft, white
cotton robe around him. The others followed, covering themselves in the
luxurious material and once everyone was robed, Romeo led them back to the
house. "Why do I think that's not the first time you've been caught?" Lando
laughed unashamedly. "That would be telling...the danger was fucking hot
though!" Romeo chuckled.
Noticing his dad relaxing in the front room, Romeo led Lando and Tom back
into the house through the dining room. David seemed to ignore their
presence as they slinked up the stairs and climbing up to the top floor,
there were two doors both wide open. Inside the other room Lando and Tom
could make out a picture of Cruz and some of his friends as they followed
Romeo into the other.
Predominantly red with Arsenal merchandise there were also a few PSG
branded collectibles and pictures of Romeo with a host of different tennis
legends decorating the walls. Romeo waited at the door as the others filed
past then closing the door behind him, the teenager turned and dropped his
robe then peeled down his soaked boxers, kicking them aside.
"Yeah...someone likes getting caught!" Tom laughed as Romeo's boner came
into view. As expected, Romeo nibbled on Tom's teasing but not in the way
Tom had expected. Moving directly towards the actor Romeo planted a hand
against Tom's chest pushing him backwards towards the bed. Tom didn't fight
Romeo and as his legs hit the bed the actor toppled over and landed on his
back. Romeo was right on top of him and without hesitation, a quick tug
dragged Tom's sodden boxers to his hamstrings and the footballer's hard
cock was pressed against Tom's hole. Romeo's left hand slid the actor's
boxers the rest of the way up and off while spreading his knees nice and
wide apart, Romeo found the perfect base and with a malevolent smile his
right hand pushed his boner hard against Tom's weakened hole.
"Oohhhhhh holy fuckkkkk." Tom cried as Romeo's cock re-penetrated
him. Tom's hole was nicely open, but they had lost some moisture in transit
meaning their reconnection was a little drier than they had expected. Lando
watched from the hottest seat in the house as Romeo's skinny, tanned figure
began to pump its way up and down into Tom's pale, muscular body. The
McLaren driver watched hungrily as Romeo's skinny, round, twinkish arse
moved up and down in front of him looking so damn irresistible while Tom
grumbled below him.
"Fuck, yeah, yeah, yeah!!!" Tom continued to moan as Romeo fucked him deep
and hard, the skinny footballer was feeling ruthless after Tom's idea had
got him in trouble and after the actor's teasing, Romeo was going to give
him every inch of his 8-inch cock in both directions. That thick Beckham
dick ramming deep into his belly had Tom harder than a rock with his cock
untouched and pointing directly at his moaning face.
Mindlessly rubbing his 7.5-inch cock as he watched, Lando just wanted to
jump in behind Romeo and complete the train by re-entering that sexy, tight
butt. The footballer looked to be deep in concentration as he pounded his
cock down into Tom's arse but there was enough capacity for Romeo to turn
to Lando and with a wink and a nod behind the McLaren driver received the
signal he needed; he was still fully involved in this little fuck fest.
With an almighty thud Romeo slammed his crotch into Tom's arse and held it
there. For a moment the bottom thought Romeo had achieved his climax, but
the wobbling bed suggested something else which was confirmed when Lando's
head came into view over the footballer's shoulder. Romeo's hand reached
back which Lando guided onto his hip while edging closer towards the
footballer's hole until he rested against Romeo's pink ring.
Confident in the tightness of his cock inside Tom, Romeo focused on his
rear and reversing, the footballer impaled himself easily onto a stationary
Lando before the racer could react. Romeo's loosened hole made light work
of Lando's solid boner, devouring every inch of the racer in one smooth
motion and keeping Lando right where he was, Romeo began to throw his hips
back and forth.
The middleman in the sexy sandwich was in full control, pulling back to
impale his skinny chute around Lando's bare 7.5-inch sword and marvelling
in the thickness of the cute top then pushing forward to fill Tom's
muscular hole with 8 inches of his bare cock. The talents of the young
footballer brought satisfied groans from both sides as he increased his
speed gradually to pleasure three horny men.
"Fuck yesss." Lando hissed as Romeo's hole resumed its seductive suction of
his throbbing pole. The McLaren driver's eyes were fixed upon Romeo's tight
arse cheeks as they moved back and forth, releasing his bare shaft then
swallowing it again with each passing second. The paleness of his twinkish
arse cheeks compared to his bronze back made the footballer even sexier
somehow. Lando watched on happily as his bare cock disappeared into Romeo's
hole, the surroundings of which felt deliciously tight around his meat as
the footballer's arse cheeks rested against his crotch for less than a
second before he rocked forward again, moving so far forward that the base
of Lando's head peeked up at him.
"Right fucking there lad." Tom squealed from the other side as Romeo pumped
away energetically. The actor couldn't have been much happier, maybe Lando
sitting on his face would trump his current scenario, but there were no
complaints from the bottom who slowly strummed his uncut 6.5-inch
boner. They had been fucking around for long enough, it was probably time
to bust a nut. "Sling it right in there!" Tom demanded unnecessarily as
Romeo filled him within another 8 inches of athletic, young cock.
The evil tease in Romeo decided it was time for a bit of fun and as he
pulled his arse back to fill himself with Lando's cock he stayed there,
gyrating for the benefit of the racer while Tom rapped his cock hard and
fast. "Cunt, fucking cunt!!!" Tom spat as Romeo gave a deep, hard stab
which rammed his raw head into the underside of Tom's aching
sphincter. That hard stab was followed by another rapid barrage of shots as
the skinny footballer drilled Tom's hole repeatedly for 10 seconds then
came to an abrupt stop.
"AHHHH, FUCKKKK, YOU CUNTTTTT!!!!" Tom bellowed. Romeo grinned with double
delight rolling himself back onto Lando's cock once more then slamming
himself into a cumming Tom Holland with a deep, ruthless stab. Romeo's
thrust had the desired effect, causing Tom's next shot to bypass the pair
around his belly button, smacking the actor on the underside of his smooth
neck. "Fucking...grrr!" Tom growled again, unable to control his emotions
whilst his body felt so damn good.
The sight of Tom erupting below him only made Romeo feel hotter and once
he'd finished toying with the bottom's emotions, Romeo resumed stroking his
long, hard cock smoothly within Tom's belly. "Yeah, yeahhhh, right there."
Tom vehemently agreed as Romeo's raw head tingled his insides making the
last few squirts of his cock feel as magical as ever. "Fuck, you feel so
good." Romeo muttered as he enjoyed the way Tom's tight ring sucked tighter
to his hard pole during the actor's orgasm. Coating himself with a dozen
shots of white, marbly ropes of cum, Tom soaked his lean, griddled torso
from belly button to the base of his neck in dazzling hot cum. Below the
footballer lay one of the most attractive people in the film industry naked
and orgasming from the powers of his own hard dick, Romeo had been pushed
to the brink.
Now that Tom was empty Romeo could withdraw fully which he accomplished
popping free allowing his cock to stand bolt upright. "Ram me hardddd!"
Romeo whispered back to Lando. The racer took one look down at the
footballer's tight, twinky arse cheeks and with an evil smile did exactly
as he was told.
An explosive crunch sounded the beginning of Lando's onslaught as his horny
crotch slammed hard into Romeo's tight buns. Tom lay there watching as the
aftershocks tingled his body. Romeo looked sensational as his skinny body
shook from the force of Lando's heavy pounding. And poking out ahead of
him, the bottom's uncut, 8-inch boner grew larger and larger with each
thrust of Lando's hips. "Yeah...that's it...I'm gonna...I'm cumming." Romeo
breathed as the pleasure of Lando's thrusting bare cock swept through his
body and extended his cock to the full length of his magnificent 8 inches.
Just as Romeo had promised, the footballer's cock erupted untouched giving
both Tom and Lando (who peered over Romeo's shoulder to watch) the most
beautiful fireworks display they had ever seen. From Tom's angle, he could
see the chain reaction of each muscle as the tensing began at Romeo's balls
and climbed up through Romeo's hard shaft, stiffening the bottom's entire
pole until his head tensed and a jet of cum squirted high into the air.
The beautiful sight of his cock's muscular convulsions was a wave of
incredible feelings for Romeo which were drilled into him through Lando's
hard cock. "Yeahhhh." Romeo whined as Lando stabbed his bare cock deep into
the footballer's sensitive hole, sending another squirt of his load to
decorate Tom's impressive body. "So tight." Lando breathed as he fed Romeo
with another firm jab of his hard cock, sending a jolt of pleasure through
the bottom which hardened Romeo's cock to shower Tom in another coat of his
glaze.
The early stages of an untouched orgasm were always fraught with the danger
of errant missiles and Romeo's orgasm was no different sending two wild
blasts high and far, each landing either side of Tom's beaming face. As the
initial explosiveness calmed, Romeo's aim became more predictable, shooting
the rest of his second load across the smooth, toned torso of Tom's hunky
body. The repeated pumps of Lando's amazing cock up into his chute flicked
the bottom's prostate, adding a little extra sauce to every shot.
Closing his hands nice and tight around Romeo's slender hips, Lando
continued to thrust, using Romeo's sexy body to achieve his own orgasm. The
bottom followed him like a ragdoll, swinging back and forth to the drum of
Lando's cock. "Ahhh." Romeo chortled after another thump of Lando's crotch,
sending his weakening cum shot across the actor's smooth belly button. The
last few drops of his epic orgasm bubbled from the end of Romeo's hard cock
as he marvelled in the feel of Lando's shaft sliding between the hungry
lips of his bare arse hole. The footballer's nuts were empty for the second
time today which he confirmed by dropping his head back and sighing for the
ceiling.
"I'm close too." Lando announced as Romeo lost himself within the pleasing
aftershocks of his orgasm. "Shoot your load on me Lando, complete the set."
Tom called from below. [Terrific idea!] Lando jabbed Romeo's sweet little
butt a couple more times then withdrawing with just enough margin to get
around in time, the McLaren driver stroked his aching boner causing it to
explode across Tom's sexy, cum soaked body.
"Ugh!" Romeo grumbled as Lando ripped his hard cock from the bottom's chute
and shuffled around Romeo just in time to explode over Tom's waiting
torso. The McLaren racer's explosion was just as powerful as Romeo's,
firing thin streaks of cum a metre into the air before they splashed down
onto Tom's sexy body. Stroking harder and faster, Lando's cock looked like
a foaming mess as his cream blasted in multiple shots across Tom's waiting
frame, adding his seed to that of Romeo's and Tom's which lay hardening
across the actor's smooth torso.
Unlike Romeo before him, this was Lando's first load of the day, and his
viewers could tell. The fountain that was the McLaren driver's cock
squirted high and hard repeatedly for at least 15 seconds. The show was
spectacular as thick drops of bright white cum spread from Tom's smooth,
muscular neck, over his smooth, broad pecs, covering his smooth, toned abs
and pooled over and around Tom's shallow belly button. The McLaren driver
looked down happily as he enjoyed the final few moments of his ultimate
joy. Lando had thrown his head back and sighed to the ceiling while
stroking his uncut, 7.5-inch boner to squirt the last of his nuts over the
sexy superhero. That was the moment Lando remembered that Tom was of course
Spiderman and looking down at the hunky actor he couldn't help but smile at
the cummy mess across Tom's body which of course resembled a
spiderweb. [Don't make the joke, don't make the joke!] Lando berated
himself as his previously heavy sack now felt nice and light. The strokes
of his foreskin were slower to ensure he maximised the movement in both
directions. But now that his nuts were empty there was no need to stroke
anymore and with a satisfied sigh, the beaming racer dropped his cock to
one side.
"Look at the state of ya Tommy!" Romeo squawked, beaming down on the messy
actor. "I look pretty good, don't I?!" Tom laughed. "You look like you're
wearing the cum of the entire cast of Avengers Endgame!" Romeo
teased. "Oooh, I like that...and maybe I did!" Tom winked. "Anyway, isn't
it time for you to go get a spanking from daddy?" He continued, turning the
tables of teasing back on Romeo. "Keep your dirty thoughts about my dad to
yourself yeah!" Romeo snapped, poking Tom in the ribs as he retorted.
A couple of cheeky prods in Tom's side then Romeo leant down to kiss the
sexy actor. "You two are so hot as a couple." Lando smiled. "We were even
hotter as a trio dude." Romeo replied, straightening up and moving to Lando
then engaging the racer in a kiss of his own. Once they had parted Romeo
looked between kneeling Lando and laying Tom. "What do you boys wanna do
tonight then?" He asked. "Could probably use a good dinner." Tom shrugged
looking towards Lando. "Yeah, I'm kinda hungry." Lando agreed, rubbing his
belly. "Great shout. Right then let's get you cleaned up and then we can
fill you both up again, but with food instead of ma awesome dick!" Romeo
grinned. Lando and Tom threw judgemental glances towards each other but
they both knew Romeo was right, great dick, great arse, great body, great
boy!
END
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</pre>
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/the-heart-of-tarzan/the-heart-of-tarzan-5 | Date: Mon, 3 Jun 2024 16:02:19 -0500 From: Cullen Coleman Subject: The Heart of Tarzan, Part 5 The Heart of Tarzan, Part 5 This work is entirely fictional and all characters, including Tarzan, are not based on any real people or events. While the character of Tarzan, originally created by Edgar Rice Burroughs, is in the public domain, it should be noted that the Tarzan name and related trademarks are owned by the Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc. corporation. This narrative is a creative, independent interpretation and not affiliated with the corporation. I appreciate feedback or constructive criticism of my writing directly at colemanfarms88@gmail.com. Also if you can, please support Nifty and all their endeavors. Please use this link to donate: https://donate.nifty.org/. ------ Sorry for the extremely long wait! Life has been hectic for me as I have bought my own home and am moving. I thought I would take time and write another chapter; here is the long awaited part 5! As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of fiery orange and crimson, James emerged from the shimmering waters. The day's escapades had left his heart racing--a wild symphony of jungle acrobatics and the intoxicating thrill of forbidden love with Tarzan. Clad only in his loincloth, he stood on the shore, the fading light casting long shadows that danced with the evening breeze. The jungle's nocturnal chorus was tuning up, a prelude to the night's mystique. James knew better than to disobey his Lord and fastened his loincloth and grabbed a vine and swung away from the lagoon that he and Tarzan made love near. Unknown to him, an enemy was afoot and was keeping a close eye on James. Mkuu, the leader of the nearby Waziri tribe was waiting in the nearby distance. This chief had enough of this so-called "King of the jungle" and sought to make an example of him by kidnapping the frail James. As James swung towards his treetop home, he took in his surroundings and saw something strange ahead-it looked like a loose piece of rope and before he realized he was entangled into the rope itself, dozens of Waziri tribesmen lowered themselves from the canopy. Frantically, James began to holler his special yodel taught to him by Tarzan- in case of danger. "AH-ahh! Ahh-ahh!" he loudly yelled. Before he knew it, he was lowered in chains of rope to the ground. Chief Mkuu stepped forward and looked over his new captive. He grabbed James' small little face and squeezed on his rosy cheeks. James' sapphire eyes were filled with tears as he continued to squirm. Mkuu then slapped James unconscious and ordered his men to tie the captive and head toward their village. He knew his plan was coming into fruition and that Tarzan would come for his mate-right into his trap.. --- The animals of the jungle alerted their Lord directly and Tarzan was fleeting away from the treehouse back to the lagoon. He keenly observed the scene. James was nowhere to be seen-all that remained was his glasses and loincloth. This made Tarzan feel anything beyond rage. He dug his heels into the ground and let out the most massive yell and beat ferociously on his chest. The whole jungle heard him. The animals and inhabitants knew better than to disobey their King. Tarzan then began to investigate and see if he could see any special footprints or scents he could pick up. He climbed up the tree where a lone rope was hanging-unknown to him that a mere 30 minutes ago his beloved James was being hogtied together by Waziri tribesmen. Tarzan looked at the rope very carefully-he noticed a small special knot on the end of the rope; only this specific knot could be made by a special group of people-the nomadic Waziri tribe. In a blink of a flash, Tarzan then began to swing towards the east to the Zaire riverlands where the Waziri are known to camp. On the surface he was as strong as an elephant but deep inside he was afraid for James. He did not want to lose the only person who had shown him what it meant to be more than an animal-what it meant to truly be human. As he gripped the vine in front of him and swung down towards the jungle floor, he let out a thunderous holler-hoping that his sweet James could hear him. Part 6 will come sooner than you think! Let me know what you think! | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Mon, 3 Jun 2024 16:02:19 -0500
From: Cullen Coleman <colemanfarms88@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heart of Tarzan, Part 5
The Heart of Tarzan, Part 5
This work is entirely fictional and all characters, including Tarzan, are
not based on any real people or events. While the character of Tarzan,
originally created by Edgar Rice Burroughs, is in the public domain, it
should be noted that the Tarzan name and related trademarks are owned by
the Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc. corporation. This narrative is a creative,
independent interpretation and not affiliated with the corporation. I
appreciate feedback or constructive criticism of my writing directly at
colemanfarms88@gmail.com. Also if you can, please support Nifty and all
their endeavors. Please use this link to donate:
https://donate.nifty.org/.
------
Sorry for the extremely long wait! Life has been hectic for me as I have
bought my own home and am moving. I thought I would take time and write
another chapter; here is the long awaited part 5!
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of fiery
orange and crimson, James emerged from the shimmering waters. The day's
escapades had left his heart racing--a wild symphony of jungle acrobatics
and the intoxicating thrill of forbidden love with Tarzan. Clad only in
his loincloth, he stood on the shore, the fading light casting long
shadows that danced with the evening breeze. The jungle's nocturnal
chorus was tuning up, a prelude to the night's mystique. James knew
better than to disobey his Lord and fastened his loincloth and grabbed a
vine and swung away from the lagoon that he and Tarzan made love near.
Unknown to him, an enemy was afoot and was keeping a close eye on James.
Mkuu, the leader of the nearby Waziri tribe was waiting in the nearby
distance. This chief had enough of this so-called "King of the jungle"
and sought to make an example of him by kidnapping the frail James. As
James swung towards his treetop home, he took in his surroundings and saw
something strange ahead-it looked like a loose piece of rope and before
he realized he was entangled into the rope itself, dozens of Waziri
tribesmen lowered themselves from the canopy. Frantically, James began to
holler his special yodel taught to him by Tarzan- in case of danger.
"AH-ahh! Ahh-ahh!" he loudly yelled. Before he knew it, he was lowered
in chains of rope to the ground. Chief Mkuu stepped forward and looked
over his new captive. He grabbed James' small little face and squeezed
on his rosy cheeks. James' sapphire eyes were filled with tears as he
continued to squirm. Mkuu then slapped James unconscious and ordered his
men to tie the captive and head toward their village. He knew his plan
was coming into fruition and that Tarzan would come for his mate-right
into his trap..
---
The animals of the jungle alerted their Lord directly and Tarzan was
fleeting away from the treehouse back to the lagoon. He keenly observed
the scene. James was nowhere to be seen-all that remained was his glasses
and loincloth. This made Tarzan feel anything beyond rage. He dug his
heels into the ground and let out the most massive yell and beat
ferociously on his chest. The whole jungle heard him. The animals and
inhabitants knew better than to disobey their King. Tarzan then began to
investigate and see if he could see any special footprints or scents he
could pick up. He climbed up the tree where a lone rope was
hanging-unknown to him that a mere 30 minutes ago his beloved James was
being hogtied together by Waziri tribesmen. Tarzan looked at the rope
very carefully-he noticed a small special knot on the end of the rope;
only this specific knot could be made by a special group of people-the
nomadic Waziri tribe. In a blink of a flash, Tarzan then began to swing
towards the east to the Zaire riverlands where the Waziri are known to
camp.
On the surface he was as strong as an elephant but deep inside he was
afraid for James. He did not want to lose the only person who had shown
him what it meant to be more than an animal-what it meant to truly be
human.
As he gripped the vine in front of him and swung down towards the jungle
floor, he let out a thunderous holler-hoping that his sweet James could
hear him.
Part 6 will come sooner than you think! Let me know what you think!
</colemanfarms88@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/the-heart-of-tarzan/the-heart-of-tarzan-3 | Date: Tue, 9 Jan 2024 18:50:55 -0600 From: Cullen Coleman Subject: The Heart of Tarzan, Chapter 3 The Heart of Tarzan, Chapter 3 Here is part three of this story. I hope whoever reads it finds it arousing and entertaining as much as I have writing it! This is my ultimate fantasy, so I hope you enjoy it. Please if you can donate to Nifty and help them by donating; donate here at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html In the early morning hours of twilight, Tarzan awoke, the memories of the night still vivid and lingering. The thunderstorm outside had raged fiercely, echoing the intensity of their newfound bond. In the midst of the tempest, Tarzan had drawn James close, a silent promise of protection and comfort within the walls of his jungle abode. James, nestled in the crook of Tarzan's muscular arm, had found solace in the warmth and safety of his embrace. With his face buried into the solid expanse of Tarzan's chest, he drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep. For the first time in his turbulent journey, he felt a sense of security that was both profound and all-encompassing. It was a feeling foreign yet deeply desired, a stark contrast to the chaos and fear that had marked his recent days. The tumultuous events that had led him here--the mutiny, the harrowing shipwreck, the harrowing loss of his father, and the life-saving intervention by this remarkable jungle dweller--seemed to fade into the background. In their place was a sense of belonging, a connection that defied explanation. The night of passion had not just been a physical union, but an emotional anchor in the storm of his life. As the first light of dawn began to filter through the dense foliage, painting the treehouse in hues of gold and green, James lay in Tarzan's arms, a man transformed. The fears and uncertainties of the jungle, of survival, had been momentarily quieted by the assurance of Tarzan's presence. For Tarzan, this connection with James was more than a simple act of desire; it was an exploration of something deeply human, a facet of his existence that had remained unexplored. In James, he found not just a mate, but a bridge to a world he had only glimpsed through the pages of his late father's books. Together, they were a testament to the power of human connection, a bond that transcended the barriers of language, culture, and experience. In the heart of the wild, they had found an unexpected haven in each other, a sanctuary amid the untamed beauty of the jungle. As he was awoken by the sounds of bird chirps lingering in the treehouse, Tarzan stretched out in the king-sized bed that was brought there all those years ago by his father and mother when they themselves were mutinied with the young Tarzan. He stretched and found James still fast asleep, his cute little nose buried in Tarzan's armpit. He was drooling and snoring peacefully. This brought a smile to Tarzan as he watched his mate sleep soundly. He made sure to creep out of the bed carefully and not to wake James. James closed his body into the assorted covers of leather and tattered animal skins; seeing this, Tarzan got an idea as he himself pulled his loincloth up to his waist: he would make James his own loincloth- a symbol of their bond as mates. A signal to every being in his kingdom that James belonged to him. Ever so cautiously, Tarzan pulled the tattered leather shield away from James. He secured his own loincloth and took his hunting knife from his sheath, its blade glistening in the early morning light and Tarzan cut a small loincloth of leopard skin for his mate and took some nearby vine and fastened it around his James. James, still asleep, moved to Tarzan's side of the bed, his scent pungent and aromatic. This made James smile as he dreamed of the night of passion he had just endured. Being satisfied with what he had done for his mate, Tarzan then leaped off a branch from the treehouse and went to forage for nuts and fruits for James. In the soft light of dawn, Tarzan left the treehouse with the utmost care, ensuring that James remained undisturbed in his deep, peaceful slumber. The tranquility of the morning was a stark contrast to the events of the previous night, and Tarzan moved through the jungle with a quiet contemplation, his thoughts lingering on James. As he traversed the familiar paths of his jungle home, Tarzan eventually came upon his ape family. The group was going about their morning routines, and among them was Kala, his ape-mother, a figure of immense importance and affection in his life. Approaching her, Tarzan felt a surge of emotions. He had much to share, feelings and experiences that were new even to him. In the language of the apes, a series of oohs, grunts and gestures that conveyed much more than words ever could, Tarzan began to recount his recent encounter with James. He spoke of the shipwrecked man he had saved, the intense connection they had formed, and the unexpected turn of events that had led to a profound bond of love. Kala listened intently, her wise eyes reflecting a deep understanding. She had always been a source of guidance and comfort for Tarzan, nurturing him since he was a child. As Tarzan expressed his feelings for James, his excitement and wonder were evident. This was a new chapter in his life, a journey of the heart that he was only beginning to understand. Kala, in her own way, communicated her support and affection. She had seen Tarzan grow and evolve, adapting to the challenges of the jungle while retaining a deep sense of empathy and compassion. This new development, though unexpected, was yet another facet of Tarzan's journey, a testament to his capacity for love and connection. In the heart of the jungle, amidst the calls of birds and the rustling of leaves, Tarzan found reassurance in Kala's presence. His love for James, though new and unfamiliar, was a natural extension of his humanity, a bridge between his wild upbringing and the complex emotions that define the human experience. With Kala's silent blessing, Tarzan felt a renewed sense of purpose, ready to embrace this new chapter in his life with the same courage and determination that had always guided him. He hugged his adopted mother farewell for the day and finally began his hunt for fruits and nuts. Swinging through the trees, he found wild oranges and grapes growing on nearby vines and branches; he swept through and grabbed them as he flit through the trees. When he had had enough of a magnificent bounty up to his standards, Tarzan took the haul of fruit to James. Without warning, Tarzan soared feet first into the treehouse, a thud of his massive prowess waking James. He came to and realized he was naked in bed wearing nothing, but a loincloth crafted from leopard skin. Tarzan then placed the fruits on the nearby table across from the bed; his muscles glistened in the morning sunlight with sweat. James crawled out of the bed and walked towards his man and with a sly smile put his arms around Tarzan. Tarzan put his massive hands on James' frail little body; his stature a behemoth compared to James. He grinned. This was the first time in his life that he did not feel alone. He scooped up James and kissed him. James placed his legs around his jungle lord, continuing to kiss him. Tarzan growled in James' ear, excited, and aroused. He playfully put James on the bed on his back and did a somersault, flip backwards to the table, and grabbed the fruit. He began to peel the fruit and place it on top of James; slices of banana, oranges, grapes, dragon fruit all atop James' pale little pink body. James shivered with mixed emotions of excitement and awe. He then put his knife on the table and walked over to the bed, eyeing his prey. He began to nibble on the fruit that lay on top of James. James writhed in ecstasy as Tarzan's touch. Tarzan untied the vines holding James' loincloth. James was fully hard; his member full at 7 inches and throbbing at the touch of the Congo's king. Tarzan took his tongue and licked James all over, his nips, his balls, his neck and ear lobes. "Oh baby!", screamed James. Tarzan looked up with sensual eyes and said, "Does my James like?" in his deep carnal voice. He finished the assortment of fruit and lifted his lover's legs in the air and set them behind his head on the back of his neck. Tarzan then took his tongue and placed it in James's tight pink twink hole. He licked his taint and balls and then began to tongue fuck him. This act made James feral. He had his eyes in the back of his head. "James get ready", Tarzan said. He untied his loincloth. His massive cock swung to the left; its veiny tip fully red and hard-all 11 inches. Tarzan spit on his cock. He inserted the tip. James screeched in half arousal and pain. Tarzan grinned and looked deep into James' eyes. James nodded for him to proceed. Tarzan took both hands and placed them on the thin throat of his lover and began to thrust. He could get used to this. He would go slow and then fast, remembering the animals he watched growing up fornicate. He thrust his hips deep into James' thighs, a slapping of flesh against flesh. He really began to get into it now. James moaning more and more; digging his hands into Tarzan's hairy chest. "Tarzan, baby I'm gonna cum", stammered James. Tarzan began to grunt and thrust more feverishly. He took his hands off the neck of his lover and placed them on the headboard of the bed. Squeak, Squeak, SQUEAK. He broke the headboard as he filled his cum into James. James encouraged his man, "Yeah baby, fuck me. Give me that load. Make me your princess. Fuck me. Own me. I want that load." Tarzan then took his attention to James and then pulled out, cum splurted out of the enlarged hole of James'. Tarzan delved straight into James' neck and began to nibble against it. He wrapped both of James' legs around him, his bronzed body entwined with the small pink figure underneath him and said, "You are mine. You belong to Tarzan now." James whispered, "Absolutely" and a small tear crept out of his left eye. Tarzan wiped it away with a calloused hand and then proceeded to beat on his chest, a thunderous holler of dominion and certainty that he had found his mate and to let James know they both belonged to each other. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Tue, 9 Jan 2024 18:50:55 -0600
From: Cullen Coleman <colemanfarms88@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heart of Tarzan, Chapter 3
The Heart of Tarzan, Chapter 3
Here is part three of this story. I hope whoever reads it finds it
arousing and entertaining as much as I have writing it! This is my
ultimate fantasy, so I hope you enjoy it. Please if you can donate to
Nifty and help them by donating; donate here at
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
In the early morning hours of twilight, Tarzan awoke, the memories of the
night still vivid and lingering. The thunderstorm outside had raged
fiercely, echoing the intensity of their newfound bond. In the midst of
the tempest, Tarzan had drawn James close, a silent promise of protection
and comfort within the walls of his jungle abode.
James, nestled in the crook of Tarzan's muscular arm, had found solace in
the warmth and safety of his embrace. With his face buried into the solid
expanse of Tarzan's chest, he drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep. For
the first time in his turbulent journey, he felt a sense of security that
was both profound and all-encompassing. It was a feeling foreign yet
deeply desired, a stark contrast to the chaos and fear that had marked
his recent days.
The tumultuous events that had led him here--the mutiny, the harrowing
shipwreck, the harrowing loss of his father, and the life-saving
intervention by this remarkable jungle dweller--seemed to fade into the
background. In their place was a sense of belonging, a connection that
defied explanation. The night of passion had not just been a physical
union, but an emotional anchor in the storm of his life.
As the first light of dawn began to filter through the dense foliage,
painting the treehouse in hues of gold and green, James lay in Tarzan's
arms, a man transformed. The fears and uncertainties of the jungle, of
survival, had been momentarily quieted by the assurance of Tarzan's
presence.
For Tarzan, this connection with James was more than a simple act of
desire; it was an exploration of something deeply human, a facet of his
existence that had remained unexplored. In James, he found not just a
mate, but a bridge to a world he had only glimpsed through the pages of
his late father's books.
Together, they were a testament to the power of human connection, a bond
that transcended the barriers of language, culture, and experience. In
the heart of the wild, they had found an unexpected haven in each other,
a sanctuary amid the untamed beauty of the jungle.
As he was awoken by the sounds of bird chirps lingering in the treehouse,
Tarzan stretched out in the king-sized bed that was brought there all
those years ago by his father and mother when they themselves were
mutinied with the young Tarzan. He stretched and found James still fast
asleep, his cute little nose buried in Tarzan's armpit. He was drooling
and snoring peacefully. This brought a smile to Tarzan as he watched his
mate sleep soundly. He made sure to creep out of the bed carefully and
not to wake James. James closed his body into the assorted covers of
leather and tattered animal skins; seeing this, Tarzan got an idea as he
himself pulled his loincloth up to his waist: he would make James his own
loincloth- a symbol of their bond as mates. A signal to every being in
his kingdom that James belonged to him. Ever so cautiously, Tarzan pulled
the tattered leather shield away from James. He secured his own loincloth
and took his hunting knife from his sheath, its blade glistening in the
early morning light and Tarzan cut a small loincloth of leopard skin for
his mate and took some nearby vine and fastened it around his James.
James, still asleep, moved to Tarzan's side of the bed, his scent
pungent and aromatic. This made James smile as he dreamed of the night of
passion he had just endured.
Being satisfied with what he had done for his mate, Tarzan then leaped
off a branch from the treehouse and went to forage for nuts and fruits
for James. In the soft light of dawn, Tarzan left the treehouse with the
utmost care, ensuring that James remained undisturbed in his deep,
peaceful slumber. The tranquility of the morning was a stark contrast to
the events of the previous night, and Tarzan moved through the jungle
with a quiet contemplation, his thoughts lingering on James.
As he traversed the familiar paths of his jungle home, Tarzan eventually
came upon his ape family. The group was going about their morning
routines, and among them was Kala, his ape-mother, a figure of immense
importance and affection in his life. Approaching her, Tarzan felt a
surge of emotions. He had much to share, feelings and experiences that
were new even to him.
In the language of the apes, a series of oohs, grunts and gestures that
conveyed much more than words ever could, Tarzan began to recount his
recent encounter with James. He spoke of the shipwrecked man he had
saved, the intense connection they had formed, and the unexpected turn of
events that had led to a profound bond of love.
Kala listened intently, her wise eyes reflecting a deep understanding.
She had always been a source of guidance and comfort for Tarzan,
nurturing him since he was a child. As Tarzan expressed his feelings for
James, his excitement and wonder were evident. This was a new chapter in
his life, a journey of the heart that he was only beginning to
understand.
Kala, in her own way, communicated her support and affection. She had
seen Tarzan grow and evolve, adapting to the challenges of the jungle
while retaining a deep sense of empathy and compassion. This new
development, though unexpected, was yet another facet of Tarzan's
journey, a testament to his capacity for love and connection.
In the heart of the jungle, amidst the calls of birds and the rustling of
leaves, Tarzan found reassurance in Kala's presence. His love for James,
though new and unfamiliar, was a natural extension of his humanity, a
bridge between his wild upbringing and the complex emotions that define
the human experience. With Kala's silent blessing, Tarzan felt a renewed
sense of purpose, ready to embrace this new chapter in his life with the
same courage and determination that had always guided him. He hugged his
adopted mother farewell for the day and finally began his hunt for fruits
and nuts. Swinging through the trees, he found wild oranges and grapes
growing on nearby vines and branches; he swept through and grabbed them
as he flit through the trees. When he had had enough of a magnificent
bounty up to his standards, Tarzan took the haul of fruit to James.
Without warning, Tarzan soared feet first into the treehouse, a thud of
his massive prowess waking James. He came to and realized he was naked in
bed wearing nothing, but a loincloth crafted from leopard skin. Tarzan
then placed the fruits on the nearby table across from the bed; his
muscles glistened in the morning sunlight with sweat. James crawled out
of the bed and walked towards his man and with a sly smile put his arms
around Tarzan. Tarzan put his massive hands on James' frail little body;
his stature a behemoth compared to James. He grinned. This was the first
time in his life that he did not feel alone. He scooped up James and
kissed him. James placed his legs around his jungle lord, continuing to
kiss him. Tarzan growled in James' ear, excited, and aroused. He
playfully put James on the bed on his back and did a somersault, flip
backwards to the table, and grabbed the fruit. He began to peel the fruit
and place it on top of James; slices of banana, oranges, grapes, dragon
fruit all atop James' pale little pink body. James shivered with mixed
emotions of excitement and awe. He then put his knife on the table and
walked over to the bed, eyeing his prey. He began to nibble on the fruit
that lay on top of James. James writhed in ecstasy as Tarzan's touch.
Tarzan untied the vines holding James' loincloth. James was fully hard;
his member full at 7 inches and throbbing at the touch of the Congo's
king. Tarzan took his tongue and licked James all over, his nips, his
balls, his neck and ear lobes. "Oh baby!", screamed James. Tarzan
looked up with sensual eyes and said, "Does my James like?" in his deep
carnal voice. He finished the assortment of fruit and lifted his lover's
legs in the air and set them behind his head on the back of his neck.
Tarzan then took his tongue and placed it in James's tight pink twink
hole. He licked his taint and balls and then began to tongue fuck him.
This act made James feral. He had his eyes in the back of his head.
"James get ready", Tarzan said. He untied his loincloth. His massive
cock swung to the left; its veiny tip fully red and hard-all 11 inches.
Tarzan spit on his cock. He inserted the tip. James screeched in half
arousal and pain. Tarzan grinned and looked deep into James' eyes. James
nodded for him to proceed. Tarzan took both hands and placed them on the
thin throat of his lover and began to thrust. He could get used to this.
He would go slow and then fast, remembering the animals he watched
growing up fornicate. He thrust his hips deep into James' thighs, a
slapping of flesh against flesh. He really began to get into it now.
James moaning more and more; digging his hands into Tarzan's hairy
chest. "Tarzan, baby I'm gonna cum", stammered James. Tarzan began to
grunt and thrust more feverishly. He took his hands off the neck of his
lover and placed them on the headboard of the bed. Squeak, Squeak,
SQUEAK. He broke the headboard as he filled his cum into James. James
encouraged his man, "Yeah baby, fuck me. Give me that load. Make me your
princess. Fuck me. Own me. I want that load." Tarzan then took his
attention to James and then pulled out, cum splurted out of the enlarged
hole of James'. Tarzan delved straight into James' neck and began to
nibble against it. He wrapped both of James' legs around him, his
bronzed body entwined with the small pink figure underneath him and said,
"You are mine. You belong to Tarzan now." James whispered,
"Absolutely" and a small tear crept out of his left eye. Tarzan wiped
it away with a calloused hand and then proceeded to beat on his chest, a
thunderous holler of dominion and certainty that he had found his mate
and to let James know they both belonged to each other.
</colemanfarms88@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/glory-hole-on-the-beach | Date: Sun, 11 Aug 2024 21:04:17 +0000 From: Sven Benters Subject: Glory Hole On The Beach This is a fanfiction story with the actor Robert Scott Wilson. This story says nothing about the actors' sexual references; it's just fiction. ********************************* Robert Scott Wilson is at the beach when he's in one of the public wooden cubicles to change clothes. He has no idea that someone is outside trying to spy on him. The person can see through the hole how Robert removes his shirt. Robert's big firm round pecs to show and those washboard abs are amazing to see. Robert who has no idea that he's being spied and lusted on so close. While the person keeps watching, Robert kicks his shoes off and removes his jeans. Firm thighs are being revealed. The person licks his lips while seeing Robert getting out of his clothes. Robert removes his underwear and his ass is shown to the spying person. The most perfect peachy ass is shown. Being completely naked Robert suddenly realizes a shadow. "Is that you babe?" Robert asks, thinking it's his girlfriend. The person teasingly says nothing but makes Robert believe it's his girlfriend. "You like to watch me don't you." Robert says cocky and reveals his front to the unknown person. The person enjoys the sight of Robert Scott Wilson completely naked, showing himself to him. Robert even starts to grab his dick and strokes it. "You like when I play with myself huh?" The person can watch how Robert starts to stroke his dick and makes it hard. Not believing that Robert is so openly towards the person. Seeing a bigger hole Robert brings his dick to it and presses it through the hole, making his dick come out of the cubicle for the person to get close and personal with it. "You want my cock, don't you?" Robert teasingly says. The person cannot control themselves and grabs hold of Robert's dick to stroke it. "Fuck yeah." Robert replies when his dick gets grabbed. "Stroke it babe." The person does what Robert wants and feels that dick pulsing and becoming brick hard. "Come on babe, suck it." Robert asks. The person likes to think Robert is asking for it and starts to suck at that big hard pulsing dick. "Oh yeah, I love that mouth around my dick." Robert confesses, having no idea it's not his girlfriend but a stranger on his dick. The hole is big enough to even get Robert's nuts through it. "Oh fuck babe, what are you doing to me." Robert says while his nuts are being pulled through the hole. His dick being sucked and balls being folded makes Robert moan loudly, forgetting there can be other people next to him in the cubicles. Pressed against the wooden board of the cubicle, Robert lets himself be sucked. "Yeah babe, don't stop." Robert says while moaning. "Do you think you can ride my dick while it's through the hole?" Robert suddenly asks. That question really makes the person so horny that `he' starts to undress himself. Robert has no idea that this fan is not his girlfriend and a stranger is going to get that dick. Having his dick and balls through the hole, Robert is pressed against the wooden wall, awaiting his girlfriend's sweet pussy at his dick on the other hand. Having no idea that a male fan has already sucked him and is now getting naked to take that dick. The person bends forward and brings his ass towards that big hard pulsing dick and letting it slide inside. "Oh yeah babe, that's that pussy!" Robert says, feeling no difference between his girlfriend's pussy or the man's hole. While Robert has his dick up inside `his babe' he moves his hips back and forth, unaware fucking that stranger. The man tries not to moan too loudly so Robert keeps being in the dark and can enjoy that dick more. Robert is a wild fucker and his hips are moving fast. He grunts and growls while fucking. The man loves how Robert can fuck like a man. Robert's dick keeps hitting inside the best spots of the man, making the man hard too. Looking over his shoulder the person can see an iron pipe and has an idea. Robert suddenly feels his dick getting free but not for long, he feels it's being hold while the man has turned around and holds himself up to the pipe and guides Robert's dick back inside. "oh yeah babe, please let me fuck you and finish." Robert says. The man really will love when Robert cums inside and starts to really ride that dick by rocking himself back and forth while holding at the iron pipe. "FUCK YEAH!" Robert screams while he also moves with his hips. Hard rough thrusting from booths sides gives the greatest pleasure for both the man and Robert. That dick slamming inside the man's ass. Robert his entire body is flexed and sweaty while thrusting. Loud moans escape Robert's mouth, hearing it getting louder and bringing Robert to the point of erupting inside the man's hole. "FUUUUUCCCKKKK YEAH!" Robert shouts while he keeps on cumming. Feeling Robert's seed inside him flowing, the man also cum and shoots against the wooden wall outside. After Robert's dick deflates out of the man's hole it can get back through the hole of the cubicle. The man quickly grabs his clothes and runs off while Robert gets in his swimming wear and out of it to find his girlfriend only to not see anyone only seeing cum shot against the wooden wall. It occurs to Robert how the person didn't speak to him, can it be, was it someone else, was it even a man who he fucked and made cumming against the wall. "Oh damn." Robert suddenly says, realizing what he thinks he just did. ********************************* If you enjoyed the story or have a request please send me a message For more stories from me, visit https://www.facebook.com/groups/480903845719867 Please donate to Nifty for support to let this great site and its archive stay free. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sun, 11 Aug 2024 21:04:17 +0000
From: Sven Benters <daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com>
Subject: Glory Hole On The Beach
This is a fanfiction story with the actor Robert Scott Wilson.
This story says nothing about the actors' sexual references; it's just fiction.
*********************************
Robert Scott Wilson is at the beach when he's in one of the public wooden
cubicles to change clothes.
He has no idea that someone is outside trying to spy on him.
The person can see through the hole how Robert removes his shirt. Robert's
big firm round pecs to show and those washboard abs are amazing to see.
Robert who has no idea that he's being spied and lusted on so close.
While the person keeps watching, Robert kicks his shoes off and removes his
jeans. Firm thighs are being revealed.
The person licks his lips while seeing Robert getting out of his clothes.
Robert removes his underwear and his ass is shown to the spying person.
The most perfect peachy ass is shown.
Being completely naked Robert suddenly realizes a shadow. "Is that you
babe?" Robert asks, thinking it's his girlfriend.
The person teasingly says nothing but makes Robert believe it's his
girlfriend.
"You like to watch me don't you." Robert says cocky and reveals his front
to the unknown person.
The person enjoys the sight of Robert Scott Wilson completely naked,
showing himself to him.
Robert even starts to grab his dick and strokes it.
"You like when I play with myself huh?"
The person can watch how Robert starts to stroke his dick and makes it
hard. Not believing that Robert is so openly towards the person.
Seeing a bigger hole Robert brings his dick to it and presses it through
the hole, making his dick come out of the cubicle for the person to get
close and personal with it.
"You want my cock, don't you?" Robert teasingly says.
The person cannot control themselves and grabs hold of Robert's dick to
stroke it.
"Fuck yeah." Robert replies when his dick gets grabbed. "Stroke it babe."
The person does what Robert wants and feels that dick pulsing and becoming
brick hard.
"Come on babe, suck it." Robert asks.
The person likes to think Robert is asking for it and starts to suck at
that big hard pulsing dick.
"Oh yeah, I love that mouth around my dick." Robert confesses, having no
idea it's not his girlfriend but a stranger on his dick.
The hole is big enough to even get Robert's nuts through it.
"Oh fuck babe, what are you doing to me." Robert says while his nuts are
being pulled through the hole.
His dick being sucked and balls being folded makes Robert moan loudly,
forgetting there can be other people next to him in the cubicles.
Pressed against the wooden board of the cubicle, Robert lets himself be
sucked.
"Yeah babe, don't stop." Robert says while moaning.
"Do you think you can ride my dick while it's through the hole?" Robert
suddenly asks.
That question really makes the person so horny that `he' starts to undress
himself.
Robert has no idea that this fan is not his girlfriend and a stranger is
going to get that dick.
Having his dick and balls through the hole, Robert is pressed against the
wooden wall, awaiting his girlfriend's sweet pussy at his dick on the other
hand. Having no idea that a male fan has already sucked him and is now
getting naked to take that dick.
The person bends forward and brings his ass towards that big hard pulsing
dick and letting it slide inside.
"Oh yeah babe, that's that pussy!" Robert says, feeling no difference
between his girlfriend's pussy or the man's hole.
While Robert has his dick up inside `his babe' he moves his hips back and
forth, unaware fucking that stranger.
The man tries not to moan too loudly so Robert keeps being in the dark and
can enjoy that dick more.
Robert is a wild fucker and his hips are moving fast. He grunts and growls
while fucking.
The man loves how Robert can fuck like a man.
Robert's dick keeps hitting inside the best spots of the man, making the
man hard too.
Looking over his shoulder the person can see an iron pipe and has an idea.
Robert suddenly feels his dick getting free but not for long, he feels it's
being hold while the man has turned around and holds himself up to the pipe
and guides Robert's dick back inside.
"oh yeah babe, please let me fuck you and finish." Robert says.
The man really will love when Robert cums inside and starts to really ride
that dick by rocking himself back and forth while holding at the iron pipe.
"FUCK YEAH!" Robert screams while he also moves with his hips.
Hard rough thrusting from booths sides gives the greatest pleasure for both
the man and Robert. That dick slamming inside the man's ass.
Robert his entire body is flexed and sweaty while thrusting.
Loud moans escape Robert's mouth, hearing it getting louder and bringing
Robert to the point of erupting inside the man's hole.
"FUUUUUCCCKKKK YEAH!" Robert shouts while he keeps on cumming.
Feeling Robert's seed inside him flowing, the man also cum and shoots
against the wooden wall outside.
After Robert's dick deflates out of the man's hole it can get back through
the hole of the cubicle.
The man quickly grabs his clothes and runs off while Robert gets in his
swimming wear and out of it to find his girlfriend only to not see anyone
only seeing cum shot against the wooden wall.
It occurs to Robert how the person didn't speak to him, can it be, was it
someone else, was it even a man who he fucked and made cumming against the
wall.
"Oh damn." Robert suddenly says, realizing what he thinks he just did.
*********************************
If you enjoyed the story or have a request please send me a message
<daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com>
For more stories from me, visit https://www.facebook.com/groups/480903845719867
Please donate to Nifty for support to let this great site and its archive
stay free.
</daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com></daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com>
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<tr><td>13K</td><td>Oct 27 00:47</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/hercules-enslaved/hercules-enslaved-10">hercules-enslaved-10</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>11K</td><td>Oct 19 12:18</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/hercules-enslaved/hercules-enslaved-9">hercules-enslaved-9</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td>8K</td><td>Oct 5 10:44</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/hercules-enslaved/hercules-enslaved-7">hercules-enslaved-7</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>9K</td><td>Sep 28 09:11</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/hercules-enslaved/hercules-enslaved-6">hercules-enslaved-6</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td>11K</td><td>Sep 13 17:30</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/hercules-enslaved/hercules-enslaved-4">hercules-enslaved-4</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>9K</td><td>Sep 6 10:39</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/hercules-enslaved/hercules-enslaved-3">hercules-enslaved-3</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>8K</td><td>Aug 3 20:34</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/hercules-enslaved/hercules-enslaved-2">hercules-enslaved-2</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td>86K</td><td>Oct 26 23:20</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-23.html">timothees-promise-23.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>138K</td><td>Oct 17 12:38</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-22.html">timothees-promise-22.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>151K</td><td>Oct 10 18:55</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-21.html">timothees-promise-21.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>84K</td><td>Oct 4 11:10</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-20.html">timothees-promise-20.html</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td>97K</td><td>Aug 30 10:01</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-15.html">timothees-promise-15.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>81K</td><td>Aug 22 19:14</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-14.html">timothees-promise-14.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>80K</td><td>Aug 16 17:11</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-13.html">timothees-promise-13.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>76K</td><td>Aug 11 13:33</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-12.html">timothees-promise-12.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>82K</td><td>Aug 2 21:13</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-11.html">timothees-promise-11.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>93K</td><td>Jul 28 09:28</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-10.html">timothees-promise-10.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>83K</td><td>Jul 19 21:51</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-9.html">timothees-promise-9.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>98K</td><td>Jul 13 12:05</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-8.html">timothees-promise-8.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>82K</td><td>Jul 5 17:59</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-7.html">timothees-promise-7.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>93K</td><td>Jun 28 15:47</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-6.html">timothees-promise-6.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>86K</td><td>Jun 21 16:27</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-5.html">timothees-promise-5.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>92K</td><td>Jun 14 19:56</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-4.html">timothees-promise-4.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>79K</td><td>Jun 7 19:50</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-3.html">timothees-promise-3.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>94K</td><td>May 30 11:36</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-2.html">timothees-promise-2.html</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>83K</td><td>May 25 22:32</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/timothees-promise/timothees-promise-1.html">timothees-promise-1.html</a></td></tr>
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-6 | Date: Sun, 12 Nov 2023 13:08:56 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance, Chapter 6 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 6: To Catch a Slave(r) -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Tarzan and Kessler were disappointed to sneak up on the slaver's camp only to find they'd already broken camp. That could only mean that they had gathered all the captives to take to auction and would be selling them off in a nearby village soon. Tarzan suggested they head straight for the closest big village and adapt their plan to infiltrate the auction. The forest path stretched ahead of them, dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves overhead. Tarzan walked beside Kessler, the rhythm of their steps matching the cadence of their shared purpose. As they walked, Tarzan's gaze wandered, taking in the rich tapestry of the jungle around them. He started to speak without properly addressing Kessler in the manner of a slave when Kessler's voice sliced through the air, firm and commanding. "Put a `Master' on it," he corrected, the word carrying the weight of their arrangement. Tarzan's jaw tightened, a subtle reminder that this charade demanded their full commitment. He nodded in acknowledgment. "Yes...Master," he replied, the words rolling off his tongue with newfound certainty. Kessler's gaze narrowed, his expression uncompromising. Without a word, he snapped a switch from a nearby tree to use in case tarzan needed further encouragement, the sound echoing through the forest. It was a stark reminder of their roles, a lesson not to be forgotten. "We must maintain the illusion, Tarzan," Kessler admonished, the switch a tangible symbol of their agreement. "You are to address me as Master, always." Tarzan felt the sting of the switch on his left pec, a sharp jolt that reverberated through him. He understood the necessity of this deception, the gravity of their mission. "Yes, Master," he affirmed, his voice carrying a blend of respect and obedience. As they continued their journey, Kessler's voice cut through the air once more, laced with a taunting edge. "Do you truly believe that your slave-like loincloth will be enough to convince the mighty slavers that you are nothing more than a lowly servant?" Tarzan met Kessler's gaze, his eyes unwavering. "Tarzan strength known far and wide, Master. No one believe tarzan is mere slave," he stated, his confidence ringing true. Kessler scoffed, a derisive chuckle escaping him. "Certainly, I have no intention of posing as your slave," he retorted, a flash of disdain in his eyes. The very thought seemed to repulse him. The closer they drew to the village outpost, the more Kessler's dominant authority seemed to settle around him like a cloak. He moved with purpose, every step increasingly revealing his determination. The air around them thrummed with a palpable tension, the weight of their plan pressing down on them. As they neared their destination, Kessler's gaze swept over Tarzan, a silent acknowledgment of the jungle stud's formidable presence. He couldn't help but feel a surge of confidence in his choice. Together, they would execute a plan that held the potential to change their fates forever. * * * * * The village came into view, a cluster of thatched huts and bustling activity. Before they entered its confines, Kessler took charge, his authority now allowed to flow freely. "Remember, Tarzan, you can either pose as my slave, or we can pretend I am showing you the inner workings of a slave auction," he stated, his voice firm. Tarzan considered the options, recognizing the weight of their decision. While his mighty muscles pumped, his not-so-mighty mind could come up with no response but to trust Kessler and his more extensive knowledge of the slavers. "Tarzan follow y-....tarzan follow Master lead," he replied, correcting himself and falling in step with Kessler's plan. As they stepped into the heart of the village, Kessler's presence commanded attention. The villagers recognized him, their expressions a mix of respect and trepidation. They knew him as a slaver, a man who held power and influence over the lives of many, a man to be feared. Though they also acknowledged Tarzan, a tinge of deference colored their gazes, a silent acknowledgment of his legendary status. However, this time, it was Kessler's dominating presence that overshadowed all else. As they moved through the village, snippets of conversation reached their ears. "Is Kessler recruiting the legendary Tarzan for the auction?" one voice queried, eliciting a ripple of mocking laughter from those nearby. Kessler's reply was deliberately vague, his sneer disguising his true intent. "We're exploring new opportunities," he stated, the words carefully chosen. They arrived at the village square, where the slaves were displayed for potential buyers. Kessler directed Tarzan's attention to the various slaves, his evaluation astute and practiced. "Look closely, Tarzan. These are the commodities that will soon be up for auction." He assessed the first five slaves they encountered, pointing out their strengths and potential value. "This one, for instance, possesses considerable strength, but lacks the discipline for complete obedience. And this one here, while obedient, lacks the breeding potential we seek." Kessler turned his scrutiny toward tarzan. "You, on the other hand, offer the full package. Muscle," he said, slapping tarzan's pec and making it dance, "beast-like strength," he said smacking his stone-hard rear, just barely covered by the loincloth, "and surely an unsurpassed stud when it comes to breeding, eh?" he said, lightly smacking tarzan's loincloth and getting a quick feel of the goods hidden beneath it. He smirked at its fullness, knowing he could control take advantage of tarzan's only vulnerability. "And as a man of honor, I think we can count on tarzan's obedience to a Master making good legal purchase of the stock," he said, playfully slapping tarzan's face to emphasize the "suggestion." Tarzan observed intently, absorbing Kessler's insights. The comparison between himself and the slaves was not lost on him. Each assessment highlighted the unique qualities that set them apart. The crowd watched, some with knowing glances, others with thoughts unspoken. They recognized Kessler's purpose in schooling Tarzan, and it fueled their anticipation for the approaching auction. The tension in the air was palpable, a prelude to the transformation their lives were about to undergo. END OF CHAPTER Six ----------------------------------------------- I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sun, 12 Nov 2023 13:08:56 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance, Chapter 6
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 6: To Catch a Slave(r) --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Tarzan and Kessler were disappointed to sneak up on the slaver's camp only
to find they'd already broken camp. That could only mean that they had
gathered all the captives to take to auction and would be selling them off
in a nearby village soon. Tarzan suggested they head straight for the
closest big village and adapt their plan to infiltrate the auction.
The forest path stretched ahead of them, dappled sunlight filtering through
the leaves overhead. Tarzan walked beside Kessler, the rhythm of their
steps matching the cadence of their shared purpose.
As they walked, Tarzan's gaze wandered, taking in the rich tapestry of the
jungle around them. He started to speak without properly addressing Kessler
in the manner of a slave when Kessler's voice sliced through the air, firm
and commanding.
"Put a `Master' on it," he corrected, the word carrying the weight of their
arrangement.
Tarzan's jaw tightened, a subtle reminder that this charade demanded their
full commitment. He nodded in acknowledgment.
"Yes...Master," he replied, the words rolling off his tongue with newfound
certainty.
Kessler's gaze narrowed, his expression uncompromising. Without a word, he
snapped a switch from a nearby tree to use in case tarzan needed further
encouragement, the sound echoing through the forest. It was a stark
reminder of their roles, a lesson not to be forgotten.
"We must maintain the illusion, Tarzan," Kessler admonished, the switch a
tangible symbol of their agreement. "You are to address me as Master,
always."
Tarzan felt the sting of the switch on his left pec, a sharp jolt that
reverberated through him. He understood the necessity of this deception,
the gravity of their mission.
"Yes, Master," he affirmed, his voice carrying a blend of respect and
obedience.
As they continued their journey, Kessler's voice cut through the air once
more, laced with a taunting edge.
"Do you truly believe that your slave-like loincloth will be enough to
convince the mighty slavers that you are nothing more than a lowly
servant?"
Tarzan met Kessler's gaze, his eyes unwavering.
"Tarzan strength known far and wide, Master. No one believe tarzan is mere
slave," he stated, his confidence ringing true.
Kessler scoffed, a derisive chuckle escaping him.
"Certainly, I have no intention of posing as your slave," he retorted, a
flash of disdain in his eyes. The very thought seemed to repulse him.
The closer they drew to the village outpost, the more Kessler's dominant
authority seemed to settle around him like a cloak. He moved with purpose,
every step increasingly revealing his determination. The air around them
thrummed with a palpable tension, the weight of their plan pressing down on
them.
As they neared their destination, Kessler's gaze swept over Tarzan, a
silent acknowledgment of the jungle stud's formidable presence. He couldn't
help but feel a surge of confidence in his choice. Together, they would
execute a plan that held the potential to change their fates forever.
* * * * *
The village came into view, a cluster of thatched huts and bustling
activity. Before they entered its confines, Kessler took charge, his
authority now allowed to flow freely.
"Remember, Tarzan, you can either pose as my slave, or we can pretend I am
showing you the inner workings of a slave auction," he stated, his voice
firm.
Tarzan considered the options, recognizing the weight of their decision.
While his mighty muscles pumped, his not-so-mighty mind could come up with
no response but to trust Kessler and his more extensive knowledge of the
slavers.
"Tarzan follow y-....tarzan follow Master lead," he replied, correcting
himself and falling in step with Kessler's plan.
As they stepped into the heart of the village, Kessler's presence commanded
attention. The villagers recognized him, their expressions a mix of respect
and trepidation. They knew him as a slaver, a man who held power and
influence over the lives of many, a man to be feared.
Though they also acknowledged Tarzan, a tinge of deference colored their
gazes, a silent acknowledgment of his legendary status. However, this time,
it was Kessler's dominating presence that overshadowed all else.
As they moved through the village, snippets of conversation reached their
ears.
"Is Kessler recruiting the legendary Tarzan for the auction?" one voice
queried, eliciting a ripple of mocking laughter from those nearby.
Kessler's reply was deliberately vague, his sneer disguising his true
intent.
"We're exploring new opportunities," he stated, the words carefully chosen.
They arrived at the village square, where the slaves were displayed for
potential buyers. Kessler directed Tarzan's attention to the various
slaves, his evaluation astute and practiced.
"Look closely, Tarzan. These are the commodities that will soon be up for
auction."
He assessed the first five slaves they encountered, pointing out their
strengths and potential value.
"This one, for instance, possesses considerable strength, but lacks the
discipline for complete obedience. And this one here, while obedient, lacks
the breeding potential we seek."
Kessler turned his scrutiny toward tarzan.
"You, on the other hand, offer the full package. Muscle," he said,
slapping tarzan's pec and making it dance, "beast-like strength," he said
smacking his stone-hard rear, just barely covered by the loincloth, "and
surely an unsurpassed stud when it comes to breeding, eh?" he said, lightly
smacking tarzan's loincloth and getting a quick feel of the goods hidden
beneath it. He smirked at its fullness, knowing he could control take
advantage of tarzan's only vulnerability. "And as a man of honor, I think
we can count on tarzan's obedience to a Master making good legal purchase
of the stock," he said, playfully slapping tarzan's face to emphasize the
"suggestion."
Tarzan observed intently, absorbing Kessler's insights. The comparison
between himself and the slaves was not lost on him. Each assessment
highlighted the unique qualities that set them apart.
The crowd watched, some with knowing glances, others with thoughts
unspoken. They recognized Kessler's purpose in schooling Tarzan, and it
fueled their anticipation for the approaching auction. The tension in the
air was palpable, a prelude to the transformation their lives were about to
undergo.
END OF CHAPTER Six -----------------------------------------------
I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you have any feedback or
input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-8 | Date: Fri, 17 Nov 2023 17:59:06 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance, Chapter 8 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 8: A Slave's Heart -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com The plan was in motion, and the village square buzzed with anticipation. Kessler turned to the expectant crowd, gauging their reactions. "Well, my friends, I must say I am willing to offer up this jungle hero for auction, but I have my doubts. Does he possess the same courage as these other slaves, I wonder?" Tarzan's pride surged, indignant at the implication. "All know tarzan much brave! Is most much brave in jungle !" he declared, his voice carrying through the square. But did he remember to address Kessler correctly, as Master? It was a moment of truth. The switch lashed through the air, the sting a sharp reminder. "Master," Tarzan corrected himself hastily, the word tinged with reluctance. The slaver approached Tarzan, his presence commanding and menacing. He mounted the stage and strode towards the kneeling jungle hero, towering over him. With a flourish, he cast aside his switch and produced a riding crop from his pocket, brandishing it threateningly. "You see," the slaver began, his voice dripping with derision, "these slaves, despite their chains, stand tall and show their bravery. Yet here we have the so-called king of the jungle, cowering on his knees." Tarzan's eyes met Kessler's, seeking reassurance. But instead of comfort, he found an unyielding authority that sent a shiver down his spine. It was a look that left no room for doubt, a look that demanded obedience. With a surprising ease that even startled Tarzan himself, he settled into the role. It felt natural, like slipping into the skin of a character he was always meant to play. He knelt at the feet of the superior slaver, embracing his proper place. Kessler's voice cut through the tension, commanding Tarzan to rise and face his destiny. "Show your courage and bravery, Tarzan," he ordered, his words resonating with authority. "Accept the restraints that signify your noble purpose -- to please your superiors." Tarzan stood, a surge of determination coursing through him. He extended his arms, offering his wrists for the steel restraints that would signify his transformation into a slave. It was a pivotal moment, a culmination of their daring plan. The jungle hero was poised to become a pawn, his fate hanging in the balance. END OF CHAPTER EIGHT ----------------------------------------------- I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Fri, 17 Nov 2023 17:59:06 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance, Chapter 8
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 8: A Slave's Heart --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
The plan was in motion, and the village square buzzed with
anticipation. Kessler turned to the expectant crowd, gauging their
reactions.
"Well, my friends, I must say I am willing to offer up this jungle hero for
auction, but I have my doubts. Does he possess the same courage as these
other slaves, I wonder?"
Tarzan's pride surged, indignant at the implication.
"All know tarzan much brave! Is most much brave in jungle !" he declared,
his voice carrying through the square. But did he remember to address
Kessler correctly, as Master? It was a moment of truth.
The switch lashed through the air, the sting a sharp reminder.
"Master," Tarzan corrected himself hastily, the word tinged with
reluctance.
The slaver approached Tarzan, his presence commanding and menacing. He
mounted the stage and strode towards the kneeling jungle hero, towering
over him. With a flourish, he cast aside his switch and produced a riding
crop from his pocket, brandishing it threateningly.
"You see," the slaver began, his voice dripping with derision, "these
slaves, despite their chains, stand tall and show their bravery. Yet here
we have the so-called king of the jungle, cowering on his knees."
Tarzan's eyes met Kessler's, seeking reassurance. But instead of comfort,
he found an unyielding authority that sent a shiver down his spine. It was
a look that left no room for doubt, a look that demanded obedience.
With a surprising ease that even startled Tarzan himself, he settled into
the role. It felt natural, like slipping into the skin of a character he
was always meant to play. He knelt at the feet of the superior slaver,
embracing his proper place.
Kessler's voice cut through the tension, commanding Tarzan to rise and face
his destiny.
"Show your courage and bravery, Tarzan," he ordered, his words resonating
with authority. "Accept the restraints that signify your noble purpose --
to please your superiors."
Tarzan stood, a surge of determination coursing through him. He extended
his arms, offering his wrists for the steel restraints that would signify
his transformation into a slave. It was a pivotal moment, a culmination of
their daring plan. The jungle hero was poised to become a pawn, his fate
hanging in the balance.
END OF CHAPTER EIGHT -----------------------------------------------
I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you have any feedback or
input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-25 | Date: Thu, 4 Jan 2024 23:07:11 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance: Chapter 25 - To Sleep, Perchance to Serve Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 25: To Sleep, Perchance to Serve -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com * * * * * Chapter 25 -- To Sleep, Perchance to Serve In tarzan's dream, his old adversaries tempt Mr. Blackwood with offers of how they could make use of his newest acuistition, the former jungle king. Captain Reynolds suggests using him for covert military operations, while Colonel Harris envisions tarzan as a bodyguard and enforcer, ensuring the security of Mr. Blackwood's interests. Professor Lawrence wants tarzan to serve as a guide in unexplored territories, leading expeditions into dangerous jungles, and Doctor Smithers sees great potential in tarzan as a subject for experiments and research. But it is the Baron who best captures Mr. Blackwood's interest. Baron von Richter proposes a more unconventional use for tarzan. He envisions tarzan as a centerpiece attraction in a private arena, where he would engage in contests against formidable opponents. Mr. Blackwood decides to honor Baron von Richter's request. The prospect of showcasing tarzan's physical prowess and making a spectacle of him aligns with Mr. Blackwood's desire to assert his dominance and control over his prized possession. In the dream, as tarzan is handed over to Baron von Richter, he finds himself in an opulent arena, surrounded by high walls and an eager audience. The air is charged with anticipation, and tarzan can feel the eyes of the guests fixed on him. Baron von Richter, a man of imposing stature and demeanor, approaches tarzan with an air of authority. He inspects tarzan closely, running a leather-gloved hand over his well-defined muscles. Tarzan stands obediently, his eyes lowered in deference. "You are a magnificent specimen," the Baron remarks, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "You will bring great excitement to my arena." Tarzan's heart pounds in his chest, a mix of trepidation and a strange sense of purpose. In this dream world, he understands that his destiny is to serve and please his masters. The Baron issues a series of commands, directing tarzan through a series of poses and movements to showcase his strength and agility. Tarzan complies without hesitation, moving fluidly and with precision. Each display elicits enthusiastic applause from the gathered guests. As the performance continues, the Baron gestures for tarzan to approach him. He leans in, his voice low and commanding. "You are mine now, and you will perform for me with absolute devotion. Do you understand?" Tarzan nods, a sense of submission washing over him. He feels a strange mixture of vulnerability and a strange sense of belonging. In this dream world, he knows that his place is at the Baron's side, ready to fulfill his every command. The dream shifts, and tarzan finds himself engaged in a series of physical challenges within the arena. He faces opponents of various strengths and skills, all carefully selected by the Baron for maximum entertainment value. Tarzan fights with a controlled intensity, each move calculated to both entertain and demonstrate his superiority. Throughout the challenges, the Baron watches with a discerning eye, occasionally offering a nod of approval or a gesture of guidance. Tarzan feels a strange sense of pride in his performance, knowing that he is fulfilling his purpose as a prized asset. As the dream nears its end, tarzan stands before the Baron, his breath heavy and his body glistening with exertion. The Baron looks at him with a mix of satisfaction and ownership. He places a hand on tarzan's shoulder, a gesture of possession that tarzan accepts without resistance. "You have proven yourself to be a valuable acquisition," the Baron says, his voice filled with assurance. "You will serve me well." Tarzan's heart swells with a strange sense of fulfillment. In this dream world, he knows he has found his true purpose, to be a source of pleasure and entertainment for his superior masters. As the dream fades, tarzan is left with a lingering sense of belonging and acceptance. He awakens with a newfound understanding of his place in this dream world, a world where he exists solely to serve and please those who hold power over him. * * * * * Tarzan's wakeful respite is brief, as the forces at work in his subconscious quickly pull him back to sleep. In the dream world, tarzan is a portrait of subservience, his every movement deliberate and calculated to demonstrate his respect for Baron von Richter. There's an air of purpose about him, a silent understanding that his sole existence is to serve the Baron. Tarzan approaches the Baron, his head bowed low in deference. With a graceful motion, he kneels before the Master, presenting himself in a posture of submission. The Baron nods in approval, acknowledging tarzan's display of respect. "You have learned well, my prized possession," the Baron intones, his voice a mixture of authority and satisfaction. "But there is always room for improvement. Show me your dedication." In the dream, the Baron's voice resonates with authority, guiding tarzan to shift his focus toward tending to the Baron's boots. Tarzan's eyes fixate on the sleek leather, recognizing the importance of this gesture in demonstrating his dedication. Tarzan looks for cloth to polish the Baron's boots with, but there is nothing but his loincloth available for his use. He tries to use the flap of his loincloth, but he can't make it reach, holding the flap out while the pouch clings tightly to his mighty package. He finds the only angle is to straddle the Baron's boots while on his knees, pressing his crotch against the Master's boots to polish the leather with his loincloth. "You have a meticulous touch, my prized possession," the Baron remarks, his tone a blend of approval and guidance. "With clear and firm direction, you will elevate it even further." Tarzan listens intently to the gospel of the Baron's words, finding a deeper level of reverence in his actions. It's as if each thrust of his crotch, each stroke of the cloth, each careful application of polish, is an embodiment of his commitment to the Baron. Tarzan absorbs the Baron's wisdom, internalizing the deeper meaning behind this act of service. He continues his ministrations, each movement deliberate and purposeful, a silent pledge of his loyalty. The Baron watches, a subtle nod of approval accompanying his keen gaze. With each moment at his task, tarzan delves deeper into his role, finding a strange sense of fulfillment in this realm of servitude and submission. The Baron's guidance serves as a compass, directing tarzan towards a path of unwavering dedication. As the dream continues, tarzan finds himself drawn further into this world, his actions and intentions aligning seamlessly with the Baron's expectations. In this dreamscape, tarzan discovers a sense of purpose that transcends the boundaries of reality, a confirmation that he has found his true place in the hierarchy of power and submission. * * * * * Of all those who could have populated tarzan's dreams, none came with more irony than his old nemesis, the Baron. Tarzan was well known to have perpetually triumphed over the Baron, stifling countless schemes and undermining the reputation of the poacher turned slaver. Baron von Richter's past encounters with Tarzan are marked by a bitter history of thwarted plans and relentless pursuit. The Baron, once a man of considerable influence and power, found his ambitions repeatedly stymied by the cunning and resourcefulness of the jungle lord. No matter how many times Baron von Richter sought to exploit the natural resources of one remote, uncharted region or another, the untamed wilderness proved to be Tarzan's domain, and the lord of the jungle fiercely defended his territory. With unparalleled knowledge of the terrain and unparalleled physical prowess, Tarzan outmaneuvered and outsmarted the Baron's hired mercenaries time and time again. Despite the Baron's considerable resources and his ruthless determination, Tarzan's intimate connection with the jungle provided him with an insurmountable advantage. The jungle responded to his every command, and its creatures aided him in his mission to thwart the Baron's plans. Baron von Richter's defeats had far-reaching consequences. Not only did he suffer significant financial losses from the failed ventures, but his reputation also suffered a severe blow. Legal repercussions followed, as evidence of the Baron's unscrupulous methods and illegal activity came to light. He faced criminal charges and ultimately spent time stewing behind bars, tarnishing his standing in society. Mentally, the Baron was deeply affected by his repeated defeats at the hands of Tarzan. The once proud and confident man found himself consumed by a burning desire for revenge. Obsession with besting Tarzan became a driving force in his life, leading him to dedicate substantial resources and time to devising schemes to capture or defeat the jungle lord. The psychological toll of these defeats weighed heavily on Baron von Richter, driving him to become increasingly ruthless and relentless in his pursuit. The memory of his previous failures haunted him, fuelling a determination to prove himself superior to Tarzan. It was perhaps because of tarzan's humiliating triumphs over the Baron that he found the Baron confronting him now in his dream. In tarzan's mind, Baron von Richter's past experiences with the king of the jungle have left an indelible mark on his character, shaping him into a man driven by a singular purpose: to finally best the jungle lord and restore his own sense of power and prestige. * * * * * In the dream, Baron von Richter stood with a triumphant gleam in his eye, having finally bested Tarzan. The jungle lord, now fully under the Baron's control, knelt before him, a symbol of his submission to superior authority. Tarzan's eyes, once fierce and defiant, now held a newfound understanding of his place in the world. Baron von Richter wasted no time, knowing this moment was pivotal. He issued precise commands to Tarzan, each one a directive to further showcase his servitude. The Baron's voice was firm but not unkind, relishing in the realization that he had finally achieved his goal. "Stand, Tarzan," Baron von Richter ordered, and the jungle lord rose to his feet, his movements deliberate and controlled. "You will wear these," the Baron continued, presenting a set of meticulously crafted steel bracelets. Tarzan extended his arms, allowing the Baron to secure them in place. They clinked together with a weight that served as a constant reminder of Tarzan's new status. Next came a sturdy steel collar, its presence encircling Tarzan's neck with an unmistakable symbolism of ownership. The Baron fastened it securely, his touch deliberate and possessive. Tarzan felt the weight of the collar, grounding him in his newfound purpose. Baron von Richter stepped back to admire his handiwork. Tarzan, now adorned with the Baron's chosen emblems of servitude, radiated an aura of submission. Every gesture, every glance, spoke of his complete surrender to the Baron's authority. "You wear these not as a burden, but as a badge of honor, Tarzan," the Baron intoned, his voice carrying a mix of triumph and satisfaction. "They signify your role as my loyal servant, a position of great importance in my world." The jungle lord nodded, his gaze fixed on the ground in humble acquiescence. He felt a profound sense of purpose settle within him, a recognition that he was meant to serve and obey men like Baron von Richter. It was a revelation that resonated deep within his being. As Baron von Richter continued to prepare Tarzan for public display, each action was executed with precision and intention. Tarzan, now fully aware of his role, responded with a sense of pride in his service. He understood that his submission was not a sign of weakness, but an acknowledgment of the strength and power of those he served. In the dream, the transformation was complete. Tarzan had embraced his destiny as a servant to superior men, and Baron von Richter reveled in the realization of his long-held ambition. Together, they stood as a testament to the undeniable potency of dominance and submission. In the dream, a circus tent rose majestically against the backdrop of the night, its grandeur casting a shadow over the gathered audience. Baron von Richter, a vision of regality, stood at the entrance, his voice booming like a clarion call, commanding the attention of all who had assembled. "Ladies and gentlemen! Gather 'round, for you are about to witness a spectacle the likes of which you have never seen before!" The Baron's words echoed through the air, carrying an air of authority that left no room for doubt. As the crowd murmured in anticipation, Baron von Richter took center stage, Tarzan at his side, now bound in a steel collar and bracelets that gleamed under the bright lights. The once-mighty jungle lord stood tall, but there was a new fire in his eyes--a fire of submission and reverence. "Behold, the transformation of a legend!" the Baron declared, his voice resolute. "Once a force of nature, now a force of servitude. This, my friends, is Tarzan, a noble servant in every sense of the word!" With a flourish, Baron von Richter attached a leash to Tarzan's collar, a symbolic gesture of ownership. The crowd watched in rapt attention, some murmuring in awe, others whispering in speculation. The ringmaster led Tarzan through a series of carefully choreographed maneuvers, each one showcasing the jungle lord's newfound obedience. He trotted gracefully around the ring, his movements fluid and precise, a stark contrast to the wild, untamed creature he once was. As the audience gasped in amazement, the Baron guided Tarzan through hoops of fire, the flames licking at the edges, but never touching. It was a mesmerizing display of trust and submission, a visual representation of the unbreakable bond between master and servant. The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and applause, their admiration for the Baron's mastery and Tarzan's newfound role palpable. They shouted words of praise and adoration, their voices carrying across the tent like a symphony of approval. "Baron von Richter, you are a true master! What a display of dominance!" "Tarzan, kneel before your superior! You are a symbol of the power of submission!" "Long live the Baron! Long live the noble servant!" Tarzan, once the ruler of the jungle, now knelt at the feet of Baron von Richter, a living embodiment of the Baron's authority. His loincloth, once a symbol of his own power, now bore the mark of his master's dominion. It was a profound transformation, a testament to the potency of submission and the undeniable strength of servitude. As the dream unfolded, Tarzan's heart swelled with a sense of purpose and fulfillment. He understood now that his destiny lay in service, that his true strength was in his unwavering devotion to superior men like Baron von Richter. It was a revelation that resonated deep within his soul, guiding him towards a newfound sense of identity and belonging. In the dream, Tarzan had found his place, kneeling at the feet of his master, proud to be a noble servant in service to a greater power. And in that moment, he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be. * * * * * Once more before waking, tarzan found himself transported to yet another slumber-induced fantasy. In the hush of night, as the moon cast its silvery glow upon the jungle, Tarzan succumbed to the realm of dreams once more. This time, his slumber was a portal to a world of opulence and decadence, a stark contrast to the untamed wilderness he knew. As he drifted into the dream, Tarzan found himself in a grand hall adorned with glistening chandeliers and tapestries that told tales of ancient kings and mythical creatures. Marble statues lined the room, their eyes seeming to follow his every move. At the far end of the hall, atop a throne of ornate gold, sat a figure whose presence exuded power and authority. It was none other than Baron von Richter, resplendent in regal attire that bespoke a life of privilege and wealth. "Tarzan," the Baron intoned, his voice resonating with a commanding timbre that echoed through the hall. "You have come to understand your true purpose, haven't you?" Tarzan, though surrounded by opulence, felt no awe in the presence of the Baron. Instead, a sense of quiet determination settled within him, as if he were finally embracing a destiny that had long been foretold. "Tarzan...serve," the apeman responded, his voice steady and unwavering. In this dream, the roles were reversed, and Tarzan was the supplicant, offering his devotion to the Baron. The Baron's eyes gleamed with approval, a glint of satisfaction dancing in their depths. "You have chosen wisely, Tarzan," Baron von Richter said to the slave. "To serve is a noble calling, a purpose that brings fulfillment and meaning." As Tarzan moved closer to the Baron, the air seemed to thrum with an unspoken understanding. This was not mere servitude; it was a pledge of loyalty and a recognition of the natural order. In this realm of dreams, the Baron held sway, and Tarzan willingly yielded to his dominion. With a graceful gesture, the Baron beckoned Tarzan to kneel before him. It was a symbolic act, a submission that transcended the physical. Tarzan's genuflection was a proclamation of allegiance, a silent vow to honor and obey. "You have the strength of the jungle, Tarzan," the Baron murmured, his hand resting on Tarzan's bowed head. "But true power lies in knowing when to yield, when to recognize a force greater than oneself." In this dream, the boundaries between reality and reverie blurred. Tarzan's heart beat in sync with the rhythm of the dream, and he felt a profound sense of purpose coursing through his veins. As the dream unfolded, the Baron guided Tarzan through the intricacies of courtly life, imparting wisdom on matters of governance and diplomacy. Tarzan listened intently, absorbing every word as if it were a sacred decree. In the midst of their discourse, a presence emerged at the threshold of the hall. It was Mr. Blackwood, his countenance exuding an air of quiet authority that mirrored the Baron's. "Ah, Mr. Blackwood," the Baron greeted, his tone one of camaraderie. "Join us, for Tarzan has shown great promise in embracing his true purpose." Mr. Blackwood inclined his head, acknowledging the Baron's words. "Indeed, Baron von Richter. Tarzan possesses a rare gift, a potential that, if harnessed, could bring about great change." The three figures stood together, a trinity of power and purpose, united by a shared understanding of the world that existed beyond the confines of waking reality. In this dream, Tarzan had found his place, a role that transcended the boundaries of the jungle. As the dream neared its end, the Baron and Mr. Blackwood bestowed their blessings upon Tarzan, their hands alighting on his shoulders in a gesture of affirmation. It was a benediction, a seal of approval that would guide Tarzan on his path. With a final nod of gratitude, Tarzan stepped back, his heart brimming with a newfound sense of purpose. As the dream dissolved, he carried with him the knowledge that he was part of a grand tapestry, a story woven into the fabric of destiny. When he awoke, the memory of the dream lingered, a beacon of guidance in the depths of his soul. Tarzan knew that he was meant for something greater, a purpose that transcended the boundaries of the jungle, and he would face it with the same strength and determination that had defined him from the beginning. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Thu, 4 Jan 2024 23:07:11 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance: Chapter 25 - To Sleep, Perchance to Serve
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 25: To Sleep, Perchance to Serve --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
Chapter 25 -- To Sleep, Perchance to Serve
In tarzan's dream, his old adversaries tempt Mr. Blackwood with offers of
how they could make use of his newest acuistition, the former jungle king.
Captain Reynolds suggests using him for covert military operations, while
Colonel Harris envisions tarzan as a bodyguard and enforcer, ensuring the
security of Mr. Blackwood's interests. Professor Lawrence wants tarzan to
serve as a guide in unexplored territories, leading expeditions into
dangerous jungles, and Doctor Smithers sees great potential in tarzan as a
subject for experiments and research.
But it is the Baron who best captures Mr. Blackwood's interest. Baron von
Richter proposes a more unconventional use for tarzan. He envisions tarzan
as a centerpiece attraction in a private arena, where he would engage in
contests against formidable opponents.
Mr. Blackwood decides to honor Baron von Richter's request. The prospect of
showcasing tarzan's physical prowess and making a spectacle of him aligns
with Mr. Blackwood's desire to assert his dominance and control over his
prized possession.
In the dream, as tarzan is handed over to Baron von Richter, he finds
himself in an opulent arena, surrounded by high walls and an eager
audience. The air is charged with anticipation, and tarzan can feel the
eyes of the guests fixed on him.
Baron von Richter, a man of imposing stature and demeanor, approaches
tarzan with an air of authority. He inspects tarzan closely, running a
leather-gloved hand over his well-defined muscles. Tarzan stands
obediently, his eyes lowered in deference.
"You are a magnificent specimen," the Baron remarks, his voice tinged with
satisfaction. "You will bring great excitement to my arena."
Tarzan's heart pounds in his chest, a mix of trepidation and a strange
sense of purpose. In this dream world, he understands that his destiny is
to serve and please his masters.
The Baron issues a series of commands, directing tarzan through a series of
poses and movements to showcase his strength and agility. Tarzan complies
without hesitation, moving fluidly and with precision. Each display elicits
enthusiastic applause from the gathered guests.
As the performance continues, the Baron gestures for tarzan to approach
him. He leans in, his voice low and commanding.
"You are mine now, and you will perform for me with absolute devotion. Do
you understand?"
Tarzan nods, a sense of submission washing over him. He feels a strange
mixture of vulnerability and a strange sense of belonging. In this dream
world, he knows that his place is at the Baron's side, ready to fulfill his
every command.
The dream shifts, and tarzan finds himself engaged in a series of physical
challenges within the arena. He faces opponents of various strengths and
skills, all carefully selected by the Baron for maximum entertainment
value. Tarzan fights with a controlled intensity, each move calculated to
both entertain and demonstrate his superiority.
Throughout the challenges, the Baron watches with a discerning eye,
occasionally offering a nod of approval or a gesture of guidance. Tarzan
feels a strange sense of pride in his performance, knowing that he is
fulfilling his purpose as a prized asset.
As the dream nears its end, tarzan stands before the Baron, his breath
heavy and his body glistening with exertion. The Baron looks at him with a
mix of satisfaction and ownership. He places a hand on tarzan's shoulder, a
gesture of possession that tarzan accepts without resistance.
"You have proven yourself to be a valuable acquisition," the Baron says,
his voice filled with assurance. "You will serve me well."
Tarzan's heart swells with a strange sense of fulfillment. In this dream
world, he knows he has found his true purpose, to be a source of pleasure
and entertainment for his superior masters.
As the dream fades, tarzan is left with a lingering sense of belonging and
acceptance. He awakens with a newfound understanding of his place in this
dream world, a world where he exists solely to serve and please those who
hold power over him.
* * * * *
Tarzan's wakeful respite is brief, as the forces at work in his
subconscious quickly pull him back to sleep. In the dream world, tarzan is
a portrait of subservience, his every movement deliberate and calculated to
demonstrate his respect for Baron von Richter. There's an air of purpose
about him, a silent understanding that his sole existence is to serve the
Baron.
Tarzan approaches the Baron, his head bowed low in deference. With a
graceful motion, he kneels before the Master, presenting himself in a
posture of submission. The Baron nods in approval, acknowledging tarzan's
display of respect.
"You have learned well, my prized possession," the Baron intones, his voice
a mixture of authority and satisfaction. "But there is always room for
improvement. Show me your dedication."
In the dream, the Baron's voice resonates with authority, guiding tarzan to
shift his focus toward tending to the Baron's boots. Tarzan's eyes fixate
on the sleek leather, recognizing the importance of this gesture in
demonstrating his dedication.
Tarzan looks for cloth to polish the Baron's boots with, but there is
nothing but his loincloth available for his use. He tries to use the flap
of his loincloth, but he can't make it reach, holding the flap out while
the pouch clings tightly to his mighty package. He finds the only angle is
to straddle the Baron's boots while on his knees, pressing his crotch
against the Master's boots to polish the leather with his loincloth.
"You have a meticulous touch, my prized possession," the Baron remarks, his
tone a blend of approval and guidance. "With clear and firm direction, you
will elevate it even further."
Tarzan listens intently to the gospel of the Baron's words, finding a
deeper level of reverence in his actions. It's as if each thrust of his
crotch, each stroke of the cloth, each careful application of polish, is an
embodiment of his commitment to the Baron.
Tarzan absorbs the Baron's wisdom, internalizing the deeper meaning behind
this act of service. He continues his ministrations, each movement
deliberate and purposeful, a silent pledge of his loyalty.
The Baron watches, a subtle nod of approval accompanying his keen gaze.
With each moment at his task, tarzan delves deeper into his role, finding a
strange sense of fulfillment in this realm of servitude and submission. The
Baron's guidance serves as a compass, directing tarzan towards a path of
unwavering dedication.
As the dream continues, tarzan finds himself drawn further into this world,
his actions and intentions aligning seamlessly with the Baron's
expectations. In this dreamscape, tarzan discovers a sense of purpose that
transcends the boundaries of reality, a confirmation that he has found his
true place in the hierarchy of power and submission.
* * * * *
Of all those who could have populated tarzan's dreams, none came with more
irony than his old nemesis, the Baron. Tarzan was well known to have
perpetually triumphed over the Baron, stifling countless schemes and
undermining the reputation of the poacher turned slaver.
Baron von Richter's past encounters with Tarzan are marked by a bitter
history of thwarted plans and relentless pursuit. The Baron, once a man of
considerable influence and power, found his ambitions repeatedly stymied by
the cunning and resourcefulness of the jungle lord.
No matter how many times Baron von Richter sought to exploit the natural
resources of one remote, uncharted region or another, the untamed
wilderness proved to be Tarzan's domain, and the lord of the jungle
fiercely defended his territory. With unparalleled knowledge of the terrain
and unparalleled physical prowess, Tarzan outmaneuvered and outsmarted the
Baron's hired mercenaries time and time again.
Despite the Baron's considerable resources and his ruthless determination,
Tarzan's intimate connection with the jungle provided him with an
insurmountable advantage. The jungle responded to his every command, and
its creatures aided him in his mission to thwart the Baron's plans.
Baron von Richter's defeats had far-reaching consequences. Not only did he
suffer significant financial losses from the failed ventures, but his
reputation also suffered a severe blow. Legal repercussions followed, as
evidence of the Baron's unscrupulous methods and illegal activity came to
light. He faced criminal charges and ultimately spent time stewing behind
bars, tarnishing his standing in society.
Mentally, the Baron was deeply affected by his repeated defeats at the
hands of Tarzan. The once proud and confident man found himself consumed by
a burning desire for revenge. Obsession with besting Tarzan became a
driving force in his life, leading him to dedicate substantial resources
and time to devising schemes to capture or defeat the jungle lord.
The psychological toll of these defeats weighed heavily on Baron von
Richter, driving him to become increasingly ruthless and relentless in his
pursuit. The memory of his previous failures haunted him, fuelling a
determination to prove himself superior to Tarzan.
It was perhaps because of tarzan's humiliating triumphs over the Baron that
he found the Baron confronting him now in his dream. In tarzan's mind,
Baron von Richter's past experiences with the king of the jungle have left
an indelible mark on his character, shaping him into a man driven by a
singular purpose: to finally best the jungle lord and restore his own sense
of power and prestige.
* * * * *
In the dream, Baron von Richter stood with a triumphant gleam in his eye,
having finally bested Tarzan. The jungle lord, now fully under the Baron's
control, knelt before him, a symbol of his submission to superior
authority. Tarzan's eyes, once fierce and defiant, now held a newfound
understanding of his place in the world.
Baron von Richter wasted no time, knowing this moment was pivotal. He
issued precise commands to Tarzan, each one a directive to further showcase
his servitude. The Baron's voice was firm but not unkind, relishing in the
realization that he had finally achieved his goal.
"Stand, Tarzan," Baron von Richter ordered, and the jungle lord rose to his
feet, his movements deliberate and controlled. "You will wear these," the
Baron continued, presenting a set of meticulously crafted steel bracelets.
Tarzan extended his arms, allowing the Baron to secure them in place. They
clinked together with a weight that served as a constant reminder of
Tarzan's new status.
Next came a sturdy steel collar, its presence encircling Tarzan's neck with
an unmistakable symbolism of ownership. The Baron fastened it securely, his
touch deliberate and possessive. Tarzan felt the weight of the collar,
grounding him in his newfound purpose.
Baron von Richter stepped back to admire his handiwork. Tarzan, now adorned
with the Baron's chosen emblems of servitude, radiated an aura of
submission. Every gesture, every glance, spoke of his complete surrender to
the Baron's authority.
"You wear these not as a burden, but as a badge of honor, Tarzan," the
Baron intoned, his voice carrying a mix of triumph and satisfaction. "They
signify your role as my loyal servant, a position of great importance in my
world."
The jungle lord nodded, his gaze fixed on the ground in humble
acquiescence. He felt a profound sense of purpose settle within him, a
recognition that he was meant to serve and obey men like Baron von
Richter. It was a revelation that resonated deep within his being.
As Baron von Richter continued to prepare Tarzan for public display, each
action was executed with precision and intention. Tarzan, now fully aware
of his role, responded with a sense of pride in his service. He understood
that his submission was not a sign of weakness, but an acknowledgment of
the strength and power of those he served.
In the dream, the transformation was complete. Tarzan had embraced his
destiny as a servant to superior men, and Baron von Richter reveled in the
realization of his long-held ambition. Together, they stood as a testament
to the undeniable potency of dominance and submission.
In the dream, a circus tent rose majestically against the backdrop of the
night, its grandeur casting a shadow over the gathered audience. Baron von
Richter, a vision of regality, stood at the entrance, his voice booming
like a clarion call, commanding the attention of all who had assembled.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Gather 'round, for you are about to witness a
spectacle the likes of which you have never seen before!" The Baron's words
echoed through the air, carrying an air of authority that left no room for
doubt.
As the crowd murmured in anticipation, Baron von Richter took center stage,
Tarzan at his side, now bound in a steel collar and bracelets that gleamed
under the bright lights. The once-mighty jungle lord stood tall, but there
was a new fire in his eyes--a fire of submission and reverence.
"Behold, the transformation of a legend!" the Baron declared, his voice
resolute. "Once a force of nature, now a force of servitude. This, my
friends, is Tarzan, a noble servant in every sense of the word!"
With a flourish, Baron von Richter attached a leash to Tarzan's collar, a
symbolic gesture of ownership. The crowd watched in rapt attention, some
murmuring in awe, others whispering in speculation.
The ringmaster led Tarzan through a series of carefully choreographed
maneuvers, each one showcasing the jungle lord's newfound obedience. He
trotted gracefully around the ring, his movements fluid and precise, a
stark contrast to the wild, untamed creature he once was.
As the audience gasped in amazement, the Baron guided Tarzan through hoops
of fire, the flames licking at the edges, but never touching. It was a
mesmerizing display of trust and submission, a visual representation of the
unbreakable bond between master and servant.
The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and applause, their admiration
for the Baron's mastery and Tarzan's newfound role palpable. They shouted
words of praise and adoration, their voices carrying across the tent like a
symphony of approval.
"Baron von Richter, you are a true master! What a display of dominance!"
"Tarzan, kneel before your superior! You are a symbol of the power of
submission!"
"Long live the Baron! Long live the noble servant!"
Tarzan, once the ruler of the jungle, now knelt at the feet of Baron von
Richter, a living embodiment of the Baron's authority. His loincloth, once
a symbol of his own power, now bore the mark of his master's dominion. It
was a profound transformation, a testament to the potency of submission and
the undeniable strength of servitude.
As the dream unfolded, Tarzan's heart swelled with a sense of purpose and
fulfillment. He understood now that his destiny lay in service, that his
true strength was in his unwavering devotion to superior men like Baron von
Richter. It was a revelation that resonated deep within his soul, guiding
him towards a newfound sense of identity and belonging.
In the dream, Tarzan had found his place, kneeling at the feet of his
master, proud to be a noble servant in service to a greater power. And in
that moment, he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be.
* * * * *
Once more before waking, tarzan found himself transported to yet another
slumber-induced fantasy. In the hush of night, as the moon cast its silvery
glow upon the jungle, Tarzan succumbed to the realm of dreams once
more. This time, his slumber was a portal to a world of opulence and
decadence, a stark contrast to the untamed wilderness he knew.
As he drifted into the dream, Tarzan found himself in a grand hall adorned
with glistening chandeliers and tapestries that told tales of ancient kings
and mythical creatures. Marble statues lined the room, their eyes seeming
to follow his every move.
At the far end of the hall, atop a throne of ornate gold, sat a figure
whose presence exuded power and authority. It was none other than Baron von
Richter, resplendent in regal attire that bespoke a life of privilege and
wealth.
"Tarzan," the Baron intoned, his voice resonating with a commanding timbre
that echoed through the hall. "You have come to understand your true
purpose, haven't you?"
Tarzan, though surrounded by opulence, felt no awe in the presence of the
Baron. Instead, a sense of quiet determination settled within him, as if he
were finally embracing a destiny that had long been foretold.
"Tarzan...serve," the apeman responded, his voice steady and unwavering. In
this dream, the roles were reversed, and Tarzan was the supplicant,
offering his devotion to the Baron.
The Baron's eyes gleamed with approval, a glint of satisfaction dancing in
their depths.
"You have chosen wisely, Tarzan," Baron von Richter said to the slave. "To
serve is a noble calling, a purpose that brings fulfillment and meaning."
As Tarzan moved closer to the Baron, the air seemed to thrum with an
unspoken understanding. This was not mere servitude; it was a pledge of
loyalty and a recognition of the natural order. In this realm of dreams,
the Baron held sway, and Tarzan willingly yielded to his dominion.
With a graceful gesture, the Baron beckoned Tarzan to kneel before him. It
was a symbolic act, a submission that transcended the physical. Tarzan's
genuflection was a proclamation of allegiance, a silent vow to honor and
obey.
"You have the strength of the jungle, Tarzan," the Baron murmured, his hand
resting on Tarzan's bowed head. "But true power lies in knowing when to
yield, when to recognize a force greater than oneself."
In this dream, the boundaries between reality and reverie blurred. Tarzan's
heart beat in sync with the rhythm of the dream, and he felt a profound
sense of purpose coursing through his veins.
As the dream unfolded, the Baron guided Tarzan through the intricacies of
courtly life, imparting wisdom on matters of governance and
diplomacy. Tarzan listened intently, absorbing every word as if it were a
sacred decree.
In the midst of their discourse, a presence emerged at the threshold of the
hall. It was Mr. Blackwood, his countenance exuding an air of quiet
authority that mirrored the Baron's.
"Ah, Mr. Blackwood," the Baron greeted, his tone one of camaraderie. "Join
us, for Tarzan has shown great promise in embracing his true purpose."
Mr. Blackwood inclined his head, acknowledging the Baron's words.
"Indeed, Baron von Richter. Tarzan possesses a rare gift, a potential that,
if harnessed, could bring about great change."
The three figures stood together, a trinity of power and purpose, united by
a shared understanding of the world that existed beyond the confines of
waking reality. In this dream, Tarzan had found his place, a role that
transcended the boundaries of the jungle.
As the dream neared its end, the Baron and Mr. Blackwood bestowed their
blessings upon Tarzan, their hands alighting on his shoulders in a gesture
of affirmation. It was a benediction, a seal of approval that would guide
Tarzan on his path.
With a final nod of gratitude, Tarzan stepped back, his heart brimming with
a newfound sense of purpose. As the dream dissolved, he carried with him
the knowledge that he was part of a grand tapestry, a story woven into the
fabric of destiny.
When he awoke, the memory of the dream lingered, a beacon of guidance in
the depths of his soul. Tarzan knew that he was meant for something
greater, a purpose that transcended the boundaries of the jungle, and he
would face it with the same strength and determination that had defined him
from the beginning.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-31 | Date: Wed, 14 Feb 2024 21:44:36 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 31 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 31: An Ascending Alpha -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Baron von Richter's heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and grim satisfaction as he absorbed the information about Tarzan's current circumstances. The revelation that Tarzan had been sold into the hands of Lord Harrington and subsequently partnered with Mr. Blackwood only fueled the Baron's determination to seize this opportunity. His next step was clear. He needed to infiltrate Harrington's estate, to observe Tarzan in this new setting, and to bide his time until the moment was right. The Baron had no intention of letting this chance slip through his fingers. He knew that striking too soon could jeopardize his plans, so he would need to be patient, to study the dynamics at play, and to wait for the perfect moment to make his move. As the days passed, the Baron kept a watchful eye on the estate, learning its layout, the routines of its inhabitants, and the ebb and flow of activity. He observed Tarzan as he toiled in the fields and mines, a stark contrast to the jungle lord he once knew. It was a sight that both troubled and emboldened the Baron. In the shadows, the Baron plotted and schemed. He knew that the upcoming event, where so-called "superiors" would have the chance to test Alden's theory about Tarzan's true nature, presented a unique opportunity. It would draw attention, it would bring potential adversaries into the open, and it would create a spectacle that the Baron could exploit to his advantage. The Baron considered his options carefully. He could masquerade as one of these "superiors," enter the event, and confront Tarzan directly. Or he could work from the shadows, manipulating the circumstances to his benefit, setting the stage for a confrontation that would leave no doubt as to who held the upper hand. As the event drew nearer, the Baron's anticipation grew. He knew that the moment of reckoning was approaching, that fate had presented him with an opportunity to settle the score with his old nemesis once and for all. He would not let this chance slip away. Under the cover of night, the Baron made his move. He infiltrated the estate, moving with the stealth and precision of a jungle predator. He observed the preparations for the event, studying the layout and identifying the key players. He knew that he needed to position himself strategically, to ensure that when the time came, he would have the upper hand. The Baron moved through the shadows, his eyes fixed on Tarzan, who stood at the center of it all, a figure both powerful and vulnerable. The Baron bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment to make his move. He knew that patience was his greatest ally, that rushing in would only lead to disaster. And so, he watched and he waited, knowing that the climax of their long-standing feud was imminent. The stage was set, the players in position, and the jungle itself seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the clash of its most formidable adversaries. The Baron's heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and vindication, knowing that the moment he had waited for was finally at hand. * * * * * Baron von Richtor decides to pay a visit to the Outpost to speak to the gossip columnist. He will go in disguise as a Master ready to take on tarzan during the upcoming event. After all, he is as fearsome and intimidating a cruel master as there is. He is confident he can get more information out of the pansy gossip columnist. Dressed in an elaborate disguise, Baron von Richter strode into the Outpost, exuding an air of confidence and authority. His presence commanded attention, and he could feel the curious gazes of the patrons and staff alike. He was a formidable figure, his reputation as a fearsome master preceding him. Approaching the counter, he demanded to speak with the gossip columnist, Jonathan Alden. The staff, though taken aback by his imposing presence, quickly complied, fetching Alden from his office. As Alden approached, he could sense the power and dominance exuded by the man before him. "Mr. Alden, I am here to discuss the upcoming event," the Baron rumbled, his voice deep and commanding. "I have a particular interest in testing your theory about Tarzan's true nature. You see, I am a master of unparalleled authority, and I believe I am well-equipped to reveal the depths of his ers down the gossip columnist's spine. "I trust you will provide me with any pertinent information that may aid me in this endeavor," the Baron stated, his tone brooking no argument. Alden nodded fervently, realizing that the Baron was not a man to be trifled with. He knew that this encounter held the potential to unlock vital insights into Tarzan's true character. "You have my word, Master. I shall ensure you are well-prepared for the event." Over the course of their conversation, the Baron skillfully gleaned information from Alden, extracting details about Tarzan's behavior, his interactions, and the dynamics at Lord Harrington's estate. With each revelation, the Baron grew more confident in his understanding of the situation. As their meeting concluded, the Baron gave Alden a curt nod, his gaze unwavering. "I expect nothing but the utmost discretion in this matter, Mr. Alden. The success of our endeavor relies on the precision of our preparations." Alden, eager to please the formidable Master before him, assured him of his absolute discretion. "You have my word, Master. Your confidence in me will not be misplaced." Before the Baron leaves the Outpost, Alden asks him if he has any history with tarzan or if he can provide any juicy details about the enslaved jungle stud that will help build readership in his paper and attract interest to the event. He notes the heightened interest his readers have in tarzan's loincloth and the value of any information the Baron could provide in that area. Baron von Richter considered Alden's request carefully. He was well aware of Tarzan's reputation and the various encounters they had had in the past. While he couldn't reveal his true identity, he could certainly share some tantalizing morsels of gossip. "You see, Mr. Alden," the Baron began, his voice dripping with intrigue, "Tarzan has always been a creature of contrasts. A man of immense strength and power, yet bound by a sense of honor and duty that often defies expectations." Alden leaned in, his eyes wide with anticipation. He knew that the Baron held the key to some of the most compelling stories about Tarzan's past. "Once, in a confrontation with a rival tribe, Tarzan displayed a level of strategic thinking and combat prowess that left even his enemies in awe. He emerged from that encounter as a legend among the jungle tribes," the Baron continued, relishing the opportunity to share such an enthralling tale. Alden couldn't help but be captivated by the Baron's storytelling. He knew that these anecdotes would be a treasure trove for his readers. "As for his loincloth," the Baron mused, "it is a symbol of his identity, a reflection of his understanding of his place in the world. It speaks volumes about his acceptance of his role as a servant, a submissive figure at heart." Alden nodded eagerly, recognizing the value of the Baron's insights. "You have provided me with invaluable material, Master. Your understanding of Tarzan's nature will undoubtedly be of great interest to my readers." "Oh, one more thing," Alden says as Baron von Richter is almost out the door. "You've told me about tarzan's heroics, but good gossip would include details embarrassing to the enslaved king of the jungle." Alden remembers the effectiveness of the riding crop on getting details from tarzan, and he pulls it out of a desk drawer and places the riding crop on the table as he tries to be stern as he asks von Richter for details about any insight he has about tarzan's passion for serving superior Masters. Baron von Richter's eyes glittered with amusement at Alden's theatrics, especially at the sight of the riding crop. He chuckled heartily and gave Alden's cheek a playful slap. "You have a flair for the dramatic, my dear sir. I must admit, I find your enthusiasm quite infectious." Alden blushed under the Baron's gaze, a mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration coursing through him. He quickly regained his composure and gestured to the chair, silently urging the Baron to continue. The Baron settled back into his seat, ready to share yet another tantalizing tidbit. "Ah, there was an incident in the jungle, a rather amusing one, I must say. Tarzan, in his fervor to serve his superiors, once mistook a visiting dignitary for a common laborer. The poor man was quite taken aback, to say the least. Tarzan's eagerness to please knew no bounds." Alden couldn't help but chuckle at the image that formed in his mind. It was precisely the type of anecdote that would captivate his readers. "And then there was the time he tried to groom a visiting guest, thinking it was his duty as a servant. You see, Mr. Alden, Tarzan's commitment to his role is unwavering. He is a creature of service through and through," the Baron continued, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and satisfaction. As the Baron regaled him with more stories, Alden's excitement grew to a fever pitch. Each revelation was a gem, a piece of gossip that would undoubtedly captivate his readers. He could hardly wait to commit these tales to paper. With a final flourish, the Baron concluded his narrative. "You have enough material to keep your readers enthralled for quite some time, Mr. Alden. I trust you will make good use of it." Alden could barely contain his gratitude. "Master von Richter, you have been most generous with your insights. I can assure you, these stories will be shared with the utmost care and respect for their significance." As the Baron made his exit, Alden was left in a state of exhilaration. He knew that the upcoming article would be a sensation, and it was all thanks to the Baron's willingness to share his knowledge. Alden could hardly wait to put pen to paper and immortalize these tales in print. * * * * * "Tarzan Unmasked: Tales of Service and Submission" By Jonathan Alden In the heart of the untamed jungle, where the wild meets the civilized, there exists a story that transcends the boundaries of legend and reality. Our beloved Tarzan, known for his prowess and strength, holds a secret that will leave you astounded. Through exclusive interviews and revelations from a mysterious source, we bring you the untold tales of Tarzan's life of servitude and submission. Picture this: a dignitary of high status, bedecked in finery, mistaken for a common laborer by none other than Tarzan himself. The jungle echoes with laughter as the visiting guest grapples with the unexpected encounter. It seems our mighty Tarzan's dedication to servitude knows no bounds. But that's not all, dear readers. Another unforgettable tale reveals Tarzan's misguided attempt at grooming a visitor, driven by his unwavering commitment to his role. Such moments of earnestness are what define our hero, proving he is a true servant through and through. These stories, shared exclusively with us by an anonymous benefactor, shed light on Tarzan's hidden life of submission. They offer a glimpse into the depths of his devotion to serving those he perceives as his superiors. As we delve deeper into this revelation, it becomes clear that Tarzan's loincloth is more than a mere garment; it is a symbol of his submissive nature, a badge of honor that he wears with pride. It is a visual declaration of his understanding of his place in the world--a place that is firmly rooted in the service of others. It is said that the loincloth is meticulously maintained, a testament to Tarzan's unwavering dedication. The care and attention lavished upon this simple garment are a reflection of the care and devotion he extends to his superiors. This newfound insight into Tarzan's true nature leaves us in awe. It is a testament to the complexity of the human spirit, to the depths one can go in pursuit of their noble purpose. Tarzan's story is a reminder that true strength lies not in dominance, but in the willingness to submit for the greater good. In the wake of these revelations, we anticipate a surge of interest in the upcoming event. The challenge laid forth by our esteemed columnist, yours truly, Jonathan Alden, has captivated the minds of many, drawing forth those who wish to put Tarzan's true nature to the test. As the anticipation builds, we are left with a newfound respect for Tarzan and his journey of self-discovery. His story reminds us that sometimes, the path to enlightenment lies in unexpected places, and that true nobility can be found in the most humble of hearts. Stay tuned, dear readers, for this saga is far from over. The jungle holds many secrets, and as the days unfold, we may yet uncover more of the enigma that is Tarzan. * * * * * In no time, Alden's desk Is inundated with letters from readers eager to take part in putting tarzan in his rightful place once and for all. He quickly puts out the following follow-up article: "Readers Respond: The Tarzan Challenge Gains Momentum!" By Jonathan Alden Dear readers, The response to our last column has been nothing short of extraordinary! The impending event featuring Tarzan has struck a chord with many, leading to an influx of enthusiastic letters and suggestions pouring in. It seems our challenge to prove Tarzan's submissive nature has ignited a fire in the hearts of countless self-proclaimed alphas. First, let me extend my heartfelt thanks to all who took the time to share their thoughts and ideas. Your passion and creativity have not gone unnoticed, and I am eager to share some of your intriguing suggestions. Let us dive into the treasure trove of ideas that have flooded my mailbox: -------------- Letter 1: From a Reader in the Heart of the Jungle Dear Mr. Alden, I have followed your column for years, and I must say, this latest challenge is nothing short of brilliance! I propose we name the event "The Tarzan Trials," where prospective Masters can compete to reveal Tarzan's true nature. To further enhance the challenge, we could include various tests of strength, intellect, and, of course, servitude. The winner shall be bestowed with the title of "Master of the Jungle." -------------- Letter 2: From a Distinguished Gentleman Dear Mr. Alden, Your column has always been a source of enlightenment, and this latest venture is no exception. I suggest we call the event "Dominance Unveiled: Tarzan's True Calling." As for the challenge, I propose a series of tasks that test Tarzan's commitment to serving his superior. It is only through these trials that his true nature shall be revealed. -------------- Letter 3: From a Fierce Advocate for Alpha Superiority Dear Sir, I commend you for daring to challenge the established norms. I propose the event be titled "Alpha Ascendance: Taming the Jungle King." To prove Tarzan's true nature, we must subject him to a series of tests that require unwavering submission. Only then will his status as an obedient servant be beyond doubt. -------------- Letter 4: From an Enthusiastic Newcomer Mr. Alden, I have recently discovered your column, and I must say, it has become a beacon of insight. For the event, I suggest the name "Tarzan's Trials: Unmasking the Submissive Heart." To reveal Tarzan's true nature, we could employ a combination of physical challenges, intellectual quizzes, and tasks that demand unwavering servitude. -------------- Letter 5: From an Admiring Admirer Dear Mr. Alden, Your column has been a source of fascination for me, and this latest endeavor has only heightened my admiration. I propose we name the event "Jungle Revelations: The Tarzan Challenge." To ascertain Tarzan's submissive nature, we should focus on tasks that require unquestioning obedience and servitude, leaving no room for doubt. -------------- Letter 6: From an Inquisitive Mind Mr. Alden, Your challenge has captured my imagination. I suggest we call it "The Tarzan Transformation: Unveiling a Servant's Heart." To prove Tarzan's true nature, we could incorporate a range of challenges that demand obedience, intellect, and strength. Only through these trials will his subservience be unquestionable. -------------- These letters, each brimming with creativity and enthusiasm, reflect the profound impact of our challenge. It is evident that Tarzan's story has resonated with many, and as the event approaches, we can only anticipate the revelations it will bring. Stay tuned, dear readers, for this journey is just beginning, and who knows what other secrets the jungle may hold. * * * * * In the heart of the dense jungle, Mr. Blackwood was seated in his opulent study, engrossed in the latest issue of the Outpost. His eyes scanned the columns, and a sardonic smile crept across his face as he read Jonathan Alden's latest pieces. He was surprised that Alden had chosen to publish the gossip about Tarzan's dreams involving an unidentified figure, presumably a Master. However, Mr. Blackwood couldn't deny the impact it had. The phone lines at Blackwood's club had been ringing incessantly, eager "superiors" clamoring for tickets and a chance to partake in the event. It seemed that Alden's challenge had struck a chord, and the allure of Tarzan's submission was too tantalizing for many to resist. As Mr. Blackwood perused the various suggestions for the event's name, one stood out to him: "Alpha Ascendance: Taming the Jungle King." It perfectly captured the essence of what was to come. The event would be a testament to the power of a true Master, a demonstration of dominance over the mighty Tarzan. With a decisive nod, Mr. Blackwood set the paper aside and rose from his chair. It was time for a visit to the fields where Tarzan labored under Lord Harrington's watchful eye. The sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows across the landscape. The workers toiled diligently, but Tarzan's immense strength and tireless efforts set him apart. Approaching Tarzan, Mr. Blackwood greeted him with a curt nod. "Tarzan, I trust you are aware of the recent revelations in the Outpost?" His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable glint of anticipation in his eyes. Tarzan paused in his work, his chest heaving with exertion. "Yes, Master Blackwood," he replied, his gaze fixed on the ground. "Good," Mr. Blackwood continued. "You understand that, as property shared by Lord Harrington and myself, you have already submitted fully to us. But I believe in acting out one's desires, don't you?" Tarzan's muscles tensed, sensing the underlying message. He nodded slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. "Then do so now," Mr. Blackwood commanded, his tone firm. "Show me your submission, Tarzan." Without hesitation, Tarzan sank to his knees in the dirt, his hands resting on his thighs. He bowed his head, his body a picture of submission to his Master. Mr. Blackwood studied Tarzan, a predatory glint in his eyes. This was just a taste of what was to come. He had no idea what to expect from the event, but he was determined to seize every opportunity to assert his dominance over the legendary Tarzan. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the jungle in shadows, the stage was set for an unprecedented demonstration of power and submission. The Jungle King was about to face a challenge that would reveal the depths of his true nature. Little did they know, the events that would unfold in the days to come would leave an indelible mark on the jungle, forever altering the lives of those involved. Before Mr. Blackwood leaves, he tells tarzan he has dirtied his boots walking out to see his slave. He commands tarzan to remedy the situation. Tarzan looks for something to wash Blackwood's boots with, but the only liquid out in the fields his own sweat. He looks up at the Master, then leans over his boots and moistens them with his own saliva. He then looks for a suitable cloth, but there is nothing in the field but tarzan, and tarzan has nothing but his loincloth to work with. He gets his crotch closer to his Master's boots, trying to hold the flap of the leather against the boot, but he has very little material to work with, especially is it clings tightly to his bulging manhood. Tarzan's only solution is to move even closer, so he can rub his crotch on his Master's boots, cleaning them with his loincloth, even as the humiliating position makes his loincloth bulge even more. Mr. Blackwood sneers at his slave as he waits to see his creative solution to the task before the lowly slave. Tarzan, understanding the gravity of Mr. Blackwood's presence and his position of authority, bows his head in a submissive gesture. He speaks with a tone of deference, "Tarzan do what Master command. Tarzan serve Master how Master see fit." Mr. Blackwood nods approvingly, acknowledging tarzan's obedience. "Good, my loyal servant. Remember, your purpose is to please and serve your superiors. That is the essence of your being." As he works, tarzan keeps his focus solely on the task at hand, ensuring that every speck of dirt is removed. His movements are calculated, demonstrating a genuine desire to serve his Master to the best of his ability. Mr. Blackwood watches with a discerning eye, his expression stern yet satisfied. He observes tarzan's dedication to the task, pleased with the display of submission and obedience. Once the boots are cleaned to Mr. Blackwood's satisfaction, Tarzan bows his head, a sense of pride and fulfillment welling up within him. He knows that he has fulfilled his purpose in this moment, bringing satisfaction to his superior. The Master nods in approval. "Well done, my obedient slave. You have served me well." Mr. Blackwood had been pondering the recent revelations in the Outpost, his curiosity about tarzan's past piqued. He decided to take this opportunity to delve deeper into the enigmatic slave's history. "Tarzan," Mr. Blackwood began, his tone authoritative yet not unkind, "I am interested to know about your time in the jungle. Who were your worst enemies there? Are there any experiences that stand out, ones that might be embarrassing if the paper were to get hold of them?" Tarzan shifted slightly, memories of fierce battles and close encounters with dangerous creatures flooding back. "Is much challenge in jungle, Master. Is much fierce beast -- is Sabor, lioness, and warriors of the Umkala tribe." Mr. Blackwood nodded, absorbing the information. "I can imagine the jungle was a brutal environment. It must have been quite the ordeal." He continued, "Now, tell me, is there something or someone you fear most, and why?" Tarzan hesitated for a moment, his gaze steady, but his training kicks in and he answers with words he could never have imagined before the fateful auction that cost him his freedom. "Tarzan fear no serve superior, have no purpose. Is fate worse than danger in jungle." Mr. Blackwood nodded in understanding. He could sense the sincerity in tarzan's words. "That is a valid concern, tarzan. Your dedication to your purpose is commendable." He paused before asking his next question. "What, in your opinion, would be the worst thing that could happen to you at this stage in your life?" Tarzan thought carefully before responding. "Is much bad thing for tarzan lose Master trust, tarzan be no worthy serve Master." Mr. Blackwood nodded again, appreciating the honesty in tarzan's words. "I see," he said thoughtfully. "Your devotion is evident, tarzan. Now, is there anything you feel you should tell your Master about your dreams? Any insights or thoughts that you believe are relevant?" Tarzan took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Tarzan make much dream, Master. Dream hold message, teach tarzan purpose, teach tarzan serve. Is much mighty dream, make tarzan much mighty serve." Mr. Blackwood listened intently, intrigued by tarzan's revelation. "Interesting," he mused. "These dreams seem to hold great significance for you. I will keep that in mind as we continue our partnership, tarzan." Tarzan nodded, grateful for the opportunity to share his thoughts with his Master. He knew that this conversation had deepened the understanding between them, strengthening their bond as Master and servant. "You have told me the animals you fear, tarzan, but I with to hear of the men you fear. Even the mighty tarzan must have come across superiors among the noble slavers and safari leaders n the jungle. Tell me now." Tarzan pauses, reluctant to reveal his most vulnerable secrets. The crackling sound of the cattle prod filled the air as Mr. Blackwood applied a jolt of electricity, a sharp reminder of his authority. Tarzan's muscles tensed, and he winced in response to the shock. "Master," tarzan gasped, his voice strained, "tarzan remember now. Is only few men tarzan fear. Is Captain Reynolds...Colonel Harris...Professor Lawrence...Doctor Smithers...and," he paused before reluctantly revealing the last of the men with a shiver, "...Baron von Richter. Is all guest at Master club in tarzan dream. Is much mighty." Mr. Blackwood's expression softened slightly as tarzan spoke. He lowered the cattle prod, a satisfied glint in his eyes. "Very good, tarzan. You must always remember your place and those who hold power over you. It is essential for your continued service." Tarzan nodded, relief flooding through him as the electric charge ceased. He knew he must be vigilant, always mindful of the figures who held sway over his life. His submission was not a choice; it was an undeniable truth. "That will be all for now, tarzan. Continue your duties diligently, and remember who you serve." With that, Mr. Blackwood turned and left tarzan to his tasks, the weight of his submission settling heavily upon him once more. Tarzan knew that every action he took, every thought he harbored, must be in service to his Masters. It was his purpose, his destiny, and he would fulfill it with unwavering loyalty. * * * * * The distant footsteps of Mr. Blackwood echoed through the fields as tarzan's heart raced in his chest. He couldn't let his Master leave without knowing the truth, without understanding the depths of his submission. Without hesitation, tarzan sprinted after Mr. Blackwood, his powerful legs propelling him forward. He reached the master just as he was about to step out of reach, dropping to his knees and throwing his arms around Mr. Blackwood's boots. "Master, please! Forgive tarzan," he pleaded, his voice desperate, his eyes filled with fervent supplication. "Tarzan no make full answer. Tarzan beg Master mercy." Mr. Blackwood looked down at the kneeling figure before him, his expression unreadable. He listened as tarzan began to recount his history with each of the men he had named earlier. The stories spilled forth, revealing the confrontations, the battles, the moments of triumph and defeat. Tarzan bared his soul, leaving nothing unsaid, knowing that this was his only chance for redemption. As the narrative unfolded, tarzan hesitated momentarily before finally admitting, "Is Baron tarzan most much fear. Baron much cruel, much merciless." Silence hung in the air after tarzan's confession, broken only by the distant sounds of the jungle. He waited with bated breath, hoping for a word of comfort, for a sign of forgiveness. But it was not to be. Mr. Blackwood's response was a cold, unyielding command. "Earn what you beg for, tarzan. Your words hold little weight without action to match. Now, remove yourself from my path." With that, Mr. Blackwood thrust his boot against tarzan's chest, propelling him backward. tarzan stumbled, sprawling onto the ground. He watched, his heart heavy with regret, as Mr. Blackwood turned and walked away. Left alone in the fields, tarzan could feel the weight of his submission pressing down on him once more. He knew that he must prove himself, that his actions were the only currency that mattered in the eyes of his Masters. With newfound determination, tarzan pushed himself to his feet, the resolve in his eyes unwavering. He would labor tirelessly, serve diligently, and offer his unwavering obedience. It was the only path to redemption, the only way to earn the forgiveness he so desperately sought. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Wed, 14 Feb 2024 21:44:36 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 31
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 31: An Ascending Alpha --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Baron von Richter's heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and grim
satisfaction as he absorbed the information about Tarzan's current
circumstances. The revelation that Tarzan had been sold into the hands of
Lord Harrington and subsequently partnered with Mr. Blackwood only fueled
the Baron's determination to seize this opportunity.
His next step was clear. He needed to infiltrate Harrington's estate, to
observe Tarzan in this new setting, and to bide his time until the moment
was right. The Baron had no intention of letting this chance slip through
his fingers. He knew that striking too soon could jeopardize his plans, so
he would need to be patient, to study the dynamics at play, and to wait for
the perfect moment to make his move.
As the days passed, the Baron kept a watchful eye on the estate, learning
its layout, the routines of its inhabitants, and the ebb and flow of
activity. He observed Tarzan as he toiled in the fields and mines, a stark
contrast to the jungle lord he once knew. It was a sight that both troubled
and emboldened the Baron.
In the shadows, the Baron plotted and schemed. He knew that the upcoming
event, where so-called "superiors" would have the chance to test Alden's
theory about Tarzan's true nature, presented a unique opportunity. It would
draw attention, it would bring potential adversaries into the open, and it
would create a spectacle that the Baron could exploit to his advantage.
The Baron considered his options carefully. He could masquerade as one of
these "superiors," enter the event, and confront Tarzan directly. Or he
could work from the shadows, manipulating the circumstances to his benefit,
setting the stage for a confrontation that would leave no doubt as to who
held the upper hand.
As the event drew nearer, the Baron's anticipation grew. He knew that the
moment of reckoning was approaching, that fate had presented him with an
opportunity to settle the score with his old nemesis once and for all. He
would not let this chance slip away.
Under the cover of night, the Baron made his move. He infiltrated the
estate, moving with the stealth and precision of a jungle predator. He
observed the preparations for the event, studying the layout and
identifying the key players. He knew that he needed to position himself
strategically, to ensure that when the time came, he would have the upper
hand.
The Baron moved through the shadows, his eyes fixed on Tarzan, who stood at
the center of it all, a figure both powerful and vulnerable.
The Baron bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment to make his
move. He knew that patience was his greatest ally, that rushing in would
only lead to disaster. And so, he watched and he waited, knowing that the
climax of their long-standing feud was imminent. The stage was set, the
players in position, and the jungle itself seemed to hold its breath,
awaiting the clash of its most formidable adversaries. The Baron's heart
pounded with a mixture of anticipation and vindication, knowing that the
moment he had waited for was finally at hand.
* * * * *
Baron von Richtor decides to pay a visit to the Outpost to speak to the
gossip columnist. He will go in disguise as a Master ready to take on
tarzan during the upcoming event. After all, he is as fearsome and
intimidating a cruel master as there is. He is confident he can get more
information out of the pansy gossip columnist.
Dressed in an elaborate disguise, Baron von Richter strode into the
Outpost, exuding an air of confidence and authority. His presence commanded
attention, and he could feel the curious gazes of the patrons and staff
alike. He was a formidable figure, his reputation as a fearsome master
preceding him.
Approaching the counter, he demanded to speak with the gossip columnist,
Jonathan Alden. The staff, though taken aback by his imposing presence,
quickly complied, fetching Alden from his office. As Alden approached, he
could sense the power and dominance exuded by the man before him.
"Mr. Alden, I am here to discuss the upcoming event," the Baron rumbled,
his voice deep and commanding. "I have a particular interest in testing
your theory about Tarzan's true nature. You see, I am a master of
unparalleled authority, and I believe I am well-equipped to reveal the
depths of his ers down the gossip columnist's spine.
"I trust you will provide me with any pertinent information that may aid me
in this endeavor," the Baron stated, his tone brooking no argument.
Alden nodded fervently, realizing that the Baron was not a man to be
trifled with. He knew that this encounter held the potential to unlock
vital insights into Tarzan's true character.
"You have my word, Master. I shall ensure you are well-prepared for the
event." Over the course of their conversation, the Baron skillfully
gleaned information from Alden, extracting details about Tarzan's behavior,
his interactions, and the dynamics at Lord Harrington's estate. With each
revelation, the Baron grew more confident in his understanding of the
situation.
As their meeting concluded, the Baron gave Alden a curt nod, his gaze
unwavering.
"I expect nothing but the utmost discretion in this matter, Mr. Alden. The
success of our endeavor relies on the precision of our preparations."
Alden, eager to please the formidable Master before him, assured him of his
absolute discretion.
"You have my word, Master. Your confidence in me will not be misplaced."
Before the Baron leaves the Outpost, Alden asks him if he has any history
with tarzan or if he can provide any juicy details about the enslaved
jungle stud that will help build readership in his paper and attract
interest to the event. He notes the heightened interest his readers have
in tarzan's loincloth and the value of any information the Baron could
provide in that area.
Baron von Richter considered Alden's request carefully. He was well aware
of Tarzan's reputation and the various encounters they had had in the
past. While he couldn't reveal his true identity, he could certainly share
some tantalizing morsels of gossip.
"You see, Mr. Alden," the Baron began, his voice dripping with intrigue,
"Tarzan has always been a creature of contrasts. A man of immense strength
and power, yet bound by a sense of honor and duty that often defies
expectations."
Alden leaned in, his eyes wide with anticipation. He knew that the Baron
held the key to some of the most compelling stories about Tarzan's past.
"Once, in a confrontation with a rival tribe, Tarzan displayed a level of
strategic thinking and combat prowess that left even his enemies in awe. He
emerged from that encounter as a legend among the jungle tribes," the Baron
continued, relishing the opportunity to share such an enthralling tale.
Alden couldn't help but be captivated by the Baron's storytelling. He knew
that these anecdotes would be a treasure trove for his readers.
"As for his loincloth," the Baron mused, "it is a symbol of his identity, a
reflection of his understanding of his place in the world. It speaks
volumes about his acceptance of his role as a servant, a submissive figure
at heart."
Alden nodded eagerly, recognizing the value of the Baron's insights.
"You have provided me with invaluable material, Master. Your understanding
of Tarzan's nature will undoubtedly be of great interest to my readers."
"Oh, one more thing," Alden says as Baron von Richter is almost out the
door. "You've told me about tarzan's heroics, but good gossip would
include details embarrassing to the enslaved king of the jungle."
Alden remembers the effectiveness of the riding crop on getting details
from tarzan, and he pulls it out of a desk drawer and places the riding
crop on the table as he tries to be stern as he asks von Richter for
details about any insight he has about tarzan's passion for serving
superior Masters.
Baron von Richter's eyes glittered with amusement at Alden's theatrics,
especially at the sight of the riding crop. He chuckled heartily and gave
Alden's cheek a playful slap. "You have a flair for the dramatic, my dear
sir. I must admit, I find your enthusiasm quite infectious."
Alden blushed under the Baron's gaze, a mixture of embarrassment and
exhilaration coursing through him. He quickly regained his composure and
gestured to the chair, silently urging the Baron to continue.
The Baron settled back into his seat, ready to share yet another
tantalizing tidbit.
"Ah, there was an incident in the jungle, a rather amusing one, I must
say. Tarzan, in his fervor to serve his superiors, once mistook a visiting
dignitary for a common laborer. The poor man was quite taken aback, to say
the least. Tarzan's eagerness to please knew no bounds."
Alden couldn't help but chuckle at the image that formed in his mind. It
was precisely the type of anecdote that would captivate his readers.
"And then there was the time he tried to groom a visiting guest, thinking
it was his duty as a servant. You see, Mr. Alden, Tarzan's commitment to
his role is unwavering. He is a creature of service through and through,"
the Baron continued, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and
satisfaction.
As the Baron regaled him with more stories, Alden's excitement grew to a
fever pitch. Each revelation was a gem, a piece of gossip that would
undoubtedly captivate his readers. He could hardly wait to commit these
tales to paper.
With a final flourish, the Baron concluded his narrative. "You have enough
material to keep your readers enthralled for quite some time, Mr. Alden. I
trust you will make good use of it."
Alden could barely contain his gratitude.
"Master von Richter, you have been most generous with your insights. I can
assure you, these stories will be shared with the utmost care and respect
for their significance."
As the Baron made his exit, Alden was left in a state of exhilaration. He
knew that the upcoming article would be a sensation, and it was all thanks
to the Baron's willingness to share his knowledge. Alden could hardly wait
to put pen to paper and immortalize these tales in print.
* * * * *
"Tarzan Unmasked: Tales of Service and Submission" By Jonathan Alden
In the heart of the untamed jungle, where the wild meets the civilized,
there exists a story that transcends the boundaries of legend and
reality. Our beloved Tarzan, known for his prowess and strength, holds a
secret that will leave you astounded. Through exclusive interviews and
revelations from a mysterious source, we bring you the untold tales of
Tarzan's life of servitude and submission.
Picture this: a dignitary of high status, bedecked in finery, mistaken for
a common laborer by none other than Tarzan himself. The jungle echoes with
laughter as the visiting guest grapples with the unexpected encounter. It
seems our mighty Tarzan's dedication to servitude knows no bounds.
But that's not all, dear readers. Another unforgettable tale reveals
Tarzan's misguided attempt at grooming a visitor, driven by his unwavering
commitment to his role. Such moments of earnestness are what define our
hero, proving he is a true servant through and through.
These stories, shared exclusively with us by an anonymous benefactor, shed
light on Tarzan's hidden life of submission. They offer a glimpse into the
depths of his devotion to serving those he perceives as his superiors.
As we delve deeper into this revelation, it becomes clear that Tarzan's
loincloth is more than a mere garment; it is a symbol of his submissive
nature, a badge of honor that he wears with pride. It is a visual
declaration of his understanding of his place in the world--a place that is
firmly rooted in the service of others.
It is said that the loincloth is meticulously maintained, a testament to
Tarzan's unwavering dedication. The care and attention lavished upon this
simple garment are a reflection of the care and devotion he extends to his
superiors.
This newfound insight into Tarzan's true nature leaves us in awe. It is a
testament to the complexity of the human spirit, to the depths one can go
in pursuit of their noble purpose. Tarzan's story is a reminder that true
strength lies not in dominance, but in the willingness to submit for the
greater good.
In the wake of these revelations, we anticipate a surge of interest in the
upcoming event. The challenge laid forth by our esteemed columnist, yours
truly, Jonathan Alden, has captivated the minds of many, drawing forth
those who wish to put Tarzan's true nature to the test.
As the anticipation builds, we are left with a newfound respect for Tarzan
and his journey of self-discovery. His story reminds us that sometimes, the
path to enlightenment lies in unexpected places, and that true nobility can
be found in the most humble of hearts.
Stay tuned, dear readers, for this saga is far from over. The jungle holds
many secrets, and as the days unfold, we may yet uncover more of the enigma
that is Tarzan.
* * * * *
In no time, Alden's desk Is inundated with letters from readers eager to
take part in putting tarzan in his rightful place once and for all. He
quickly puts out the following follow-up article:
"Readers Respond: The Tarzan Challenge Gains Momentum!" By Jonathan Alden
Dear readers,
The response to our last column has been nothing short of extraordinary!
The impending event featuring Tarzan has struck a chord with many, leading
to an influx of enthusiastic letters and suggestions pouring in. It seems
our challenge to prove Tarzan's submissive nature has ignited a fire in the
hearts of countless self-proclaimed alphas.
First, let me extend my heartfelt thanks to all who took the time to share
their thoughts and ideas. Your passion and creativity have not gone
unnoticed, and I am eager to share some of your intriguing suggestions.
Let us dive into the treasure trove of ideas that have flooded my mailbox:
-------------- Letter 1: From a Reader in the Heart of the Jungle
Dear Mr. Alden,
I have followed your column for years, and I must say, this latest
challenge is nothing short of brilliance! I propose we name the event "The
Tarzan Trials," where prospective Masters can compete to reveal Tarzan's
true nature. To further enhance the challenge, we could include various
tests of strength, intellect, and, of course, servitude. The winner shall
be bestowed with the title of "Master of the Jungle." --------------
Letter 2: From a Distinguished Gentleman
Dear Mr. Alden,
Your column has always been a source of enlightenment, and this latest
venture is no exception. I suggest we call the event "Dominance Unveiled:
Tarzan's True Calling." As for the challenge, I propose a series of tasks
that test Tarzan's commitment to serving his superior. It is only through
these trials that his true nature shall be revealed. -------------- Letter
3: From a Fierce Advocate for Alpha Superiority
Dear Sir,
I commend you for daring to challenge the established norms. I propose the
event be titled "Alpha Ascendance: Taming the Jungle King." To prove
Tarzan's true nature, we must subject him to a series of tests that require
unwavering submission. Only then will his status as an obedient servant be
beyond doubt. -------------- Letter 4: From an Enthusiastic Newcomer
Mr. Alden, I have recently discovered your column, and I must say, it has
become a beacon of insight. For the event, I suggest the name "Tarzan's
Trials: Unmasking the Submissive Heart." To reveal Tarzan's true nature, we
could employ a combination of physical challenges, intellectual quizzes,
and tasks that demand unwavering servitude. -------------- Letter 5: From
an Admiring Admirer
Dear Mr. Alden,
Your column has been a source of fascination for me, and this latest
endeavor has only heightened my admiration. I propose we name the event
"Jungle Revelations: The Tarzan Challenge." To ascertain Tarzan's
submissive nature, we should focus on tasks that require unquestioning
obedience and servitude, leaving no room for doubt. -------------- Letter
6: From an Inquisitive Mind
Mr. Alden,
Your challenge has captured my imagination. I suggest we call it "The
Tarzan Transformation: Unveiling a Servant's Heart." To prove Tarzan's true
nature, we could incorporate a range of challenges that demand obedience,
intellect, and strength. Only through these trials will his subservience be
unquestionable. -------------- These letters, each brimming with
creativity and enthusiasm, reflect the profound impact of our challenge. It
is evident that Tarzan's story has resonated with many, and as the event
approaches, we can only anticipate the revelations it will bring.
Stay tuned, dear readers, for this journey is just beginning, and who knows
what other secrets the jungle may hold.
* * * * *
In the heart of the dense jungle, Mr. Blackwood was seated in his opulent
study, engrossed in the latest issue of the Outpost. His eyes scanned the
columns, and a sardonic smile crept across his face as he read Jonathan
Alden's latest pieces. He was surprised that Alden had chosen to publish
the gossip about Tarzan's dreams involving an unidentified figure,
presumably a Master.
However, Mr. Blackwood couldn't deny the impact it had. The phone lines at
Blackwood's club had been ringing incessantly, eager "superiors" clamoring
for tickets and a chance to partake in the event. It seemed that Alden's
challenge had struck a chord, and the allure of Tarzan's submission was too
tantalizing for many to resist.
As Mr. Blackwood perused the various suggestions for the event's name, one
stood out to him: "Alpha Ascendance: Taming the Jungle King." It perfectly
captured the essence of what was to come. The event would be a testament to
the power of a true Master, a demonstration of dominance over the mighty
Tarzan.
With a decisive nod, Mr. Blackwood set the paper aside and rose from his
chair. It was time for a visit to the fields where Tarzan labored under
Lord Harrington's watchful eye. The sun was beginning its descent, casting
long shadows across the landscape. The workers toiled diligently, but
Tarzan's immense strength and tireless efforts set him apart.
Approaching Tarzan, Mr. Blackwood greeted him with a curt nod.
"Tarzan, I trust you are aware of the recent revelations in the Outpost?"
His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable glint of anticipation in
his eyes.
Tarzan paused in his work, his chest heaving with exertion.
"Yes, Master Blackwood," he replied, his gaze fixed on the ground.
"Good," Mr. Blackwood continued. "You understand that, as property shared
by Lord Harrington and myself, you have already submitted fully to us. But
I believe in acting out one's desires, don't you?"
Tarzan's muscles tensed, sensing the underlying message. He nodded slowly,
his heart pounding in his chest.
"Then do so now," Mr. Blackwood commanded, his tone firm. "Show me your
submission, Tarzan."
Without hesitation, Tarzan sank to his knees in the dirt, his hands resting
on his thighs. He bowed his head, his body a picture of submission to his
Master.
Mr. Blackwood studied Tarzan, a predatory glint in his eyes. This was just
a taste of what was to come. He had no idea what to expect from the event,
but he was determined to seize every opportunity to assert his dominance
over the legendary Tarzan.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the jungle in shadows, the
stage was set for an unprecedented demonstration of power and
submission. The Jungle King was about to face a challenge that would reveal
the depths of his true nature.
Little did they know, the events that would unfold in the days to come
would leave an indelible mark on the jungle, forever altering the lives of
those involved.
Before Mr. Blackwood leaves, he tells tarzan he has dirtied his boots
walking out to see his slave. He commands tarzan to remedy the situation.
Tarzan looks for something to wash Blackwood's boots with, but the only
liquid out in the fields his own sweat. He looks up at the Master, then
leans over his boots and moistens them with his own saliva.
He then looks for a suitable cloth, but there is nothing in the field but
tarzan, and tarzan has nothing but his loincloth to work with. He gets his
crotch closer to his Master's boots, trying to hold the flap of the leather
against the boot, but he has very little material to work with, especially
is it clings tightly to his bulging manhood. Tarzan's only solution is to
move even closer, so he can rub his crotch on his Master's boots, cleaning
them with his loincloth, even as the humiliating position makes his
loincloth bulge even more.
Mr. Blackwood sneers at his slave as he waits to see his creative solution
to the task before the lowly slave.
Tarzan, understanding the gravity of Mr. Blackwood's presence and his
position of authority, bows his head in a submissive gesture. He speaks
with a tone of deference,
"Tarzan do what Master command. Tarzan serve Master how Master see fit."
Mr. Blackwood nods approvingly, acknowledging tarzan's obedience.
"Good, my loyal servant. Remember, your purpose is to please and serve your
superiors. That is the essence of your being."
As he works, tarzan keeps his focus solely on the task at hand, ensuring
that every speck of dirt is removed. His movements are calculated,
demonstrating a genuine desire to serve his Master to the best of his
ability.
Mr. Blackwood watches with a discerning eye, his expression stern yet
satisfied. He observes tarzan's dedication to the task, pleased with the
display of submission and obedience.
Once the boots are cleaned to Mr. Blackwood's satisfaction, Tarzan bows his
head, a sense of pride and fulfillment welling up within him. He knows that
he has fulfilled his purpose in this moment, bringing satisfaction to his
superior.
The Master nods in approval.
"Well done, my obedient slave. You have served me well."
Mr. Blackwood had been pondering the recent revelations in the Outpost, his
curiosity about tarzan's past piqued. He decided to take this opportunity
to delve deeper into the enigmatic slave's history.
"Tarzan," Mr. Blackwood began, his tone authoritative yet not unkind, "I am
interested to know about your time in the jungle. Who were your worst
enemies there? Are there any experiences that stand out, ones that might be
embarrassing if the paper were to get hold of them?"
Tarzan shifted slightly, memories of fierce battles and close encounters
with dangerous creatures flooding back.
"Is much challenge in jungle, Master. Is much fierce beast -- is Sabor,
lioness, and warriors of the Umkala tribe."
Mr. Blackwood nodded, absorbing the information.
"I can imagine the jungle was a brutal environment. It must have been quite
the ordeal." He continued, "Now, tell me, is there something or someone you
fear most, and why?"
Tarzan hesitated for a moment, his gaze steady, but his training kicks in
and he answers with words he could never have imagined before the fateful
auction that cost him his freedom.
"Tarzan fear no serve superior, have no purpose. Is fate worse than danger
in jungle."
Mr. Blackwood nodded in understanding. He could sense the sincerity in
tarzan's words.
"That is a valid concern, tarzan. Your dedication to your purpose is
commendable." He paused before asking his next question. "What, in your
opinion, would be the worst thing that could happen to you at this stage in
your life?"
Tarzan thought carefully before responding.
"Is much bad thing for tarzan lose Master trust, tarzan be no worthy serve
Master." Mr. Blackwood nodded again, appreciating the honesty in tarzan's
words.
"I see," he said thoughtfully. "Your devotion is evident, tarzan. Now, is
there anything you feel you should tell your Master about your dreams? Any
insights or thoughts that you believe are relevant?"
Tarzan took a moment to gather his thoughts.
"Tarzan make much dream, Master. Dream hold message, teach tarzan purpose,
teach tarzan serve. Is much mighty dream, make tarzan much mighty serve."
Mr. Blackwood listened intently, intrigued by tarzan's revelation.
"Interesting," he mused. "These dreams seem to hold great significance for
you. I will keep that in mind as we continue our partnership, tarzan."
Tarzan nodded, grateful for the opportunity to share his thoughts with his
Master. He knew that this conversation had deepened the understanding
between them, strengthening their bond as Master and servant.
"You have told me the animals you fear, tarzan, but I with to hear of the
men you fear. Even the mighty tarzan must have come across superiors among
the noble slavers and safari leaders n the jungle. Tell me now."
Tarzan pauses, reluctant to reveal his most vulnerable secrets.
The crackling sound of the cattle prod filled the air as Mr. Blackwood
applied a jolt of electricity, a sharp reminder of his authority. Tarzan's
muscles tensed, and he winced in response to the shock.
"Master," tarzan gasped, his voice strained, "tarzan remember now. Is only
few men tarzan fear. Is Captain Reynolds...Colonel Harris...Professor
Lawrence...Doctor Smithers...and," he paused before reluctantly revealing
the last of the men with a shiver, "...Baron von Richter. Is all guest at
Master club in tarzan dream. Is much mighty."
Mr. Blackwood's expression softened slightly as tarzan spoke. He lowered
the cattle prod, a satisfied glint in his eyes.
"Very good, tarzan. You must always remember your place and those who hold
power over you. It is essential for your continued service."
Tarzan nodded, relief flooding through him as the electric charge
ceased. He knew he must be vigilant, always mindful of the figures who held
sway over his life. His submission was not a choice; it was an undeniable
truth.
"That will be all for now, tarzan. Continue your duties diligently, and
remember who you serve."
With that, Mr. Blackwood turned and left tarzan to his tasks, the weight of
his submission settling heavily upon him once more. Tarzan knew that every
action he took, every thought he harbored, must be in service to his
Masters. It was his purpose, his destiny, and he would fulfill it with
unwavering loyalty.
* * * * *
The distant footsteps of Mr. Blackwood echoed through the fields as
tarzan's heart raced in his chest. He couldn't let his Master leave without
knowing the truth, without understanding the depths of his submission.
Without hesitation, tarzan sprinted after Mr. Blackwood, his powerful legs
propelling him forward. He reached the master just as he was about to step
out of reach, dropping to his knees and throwing his arms around
Mr. Blackwood's boots.
"Master, please! Forgive tarzan," he pleaded, his voice desperate, his eyes
filled with fervent supplication. "Tarzan no make full answer. Tarzan beg
Master mercy."
Mr. Blackwood looked down at the kneeling figure before him, his expression
unreadable. He listened as tarzan began to recount his history with each of
the men he had named earlier. The stories spilled forth, revealing the
confrontations, the battles, the moments of triumph and defeat. Tarzan
bared his soul, leaving nothing unsaid, knowing that this was his only
chance for redemption.
As the narrative unfolded, tarzan hesitated momentarily before finally
admitting,
"Is Baron tarzan most much fear. Baron much cruel, much merciless."
Silence hung in the air after tarzan's confession, broken only by the
distant sounds of the jungle. He waited with bated breath, hoping for a
word of comfort, for a sign of forgiveness.
But it was not to be. Mr. Blackwood's response was a cold, unyielding
command.
"Earn what you beg for, tarzan. Your words hold little weight without
action to match. Now, remove yourself from my path."
With that, Mr. Blackwood thrust his boot against tarzan's chest, propelling
him backward. tarzan stumbled, sprawling onto the ground. He watched, his
heart heavy with regret, as Mr. Blackwood turned and walked away.
Left alone in the fields, tarzan could feel the weight of his submission
pressing down on him once more. He knew that he must prove himself, that
his actions were the only currency that mattered in the eyes of his
Masters.
With newfound determination, tarzan pushed himself to his feet, the resolve
in his eyes unwavering. He would labor tirelessly, serve diligently, and
offer his unwavering obedience. It was the only path to redemption, the
only way to earn the forgiveness he so desperately sought.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-13 | Date: Mon, 27 Nov 2023 11:59:54 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 13 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 13: Worthington and Blackwood's Desires -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com * * * * * The crowd found a thrill in seeing the intimidating bid from Lord Hastings, and the sense of those watching was that the esteemed landowner had already made a winning bid that wouldn't be touched. But Hastings was not the only man with a bag of coins burning a hole in pocket. A second bidder, a wealthy aristocrat with a sprawling estate, sought Tarzan as a domestic servant. He saw in Tarzan the perfect attendant to his opulent lifestyle, a servant who could perform any task with grace and power. Tarzan would be a symbol of his prestige, a silent guardian of his grandeur. Mr. Worthington, a portly man of refined demeanor and polished sophistication, leaned in to confer with his companion, whispering discreetly as he observed Tarzan being paraded before the crowd. His eyes glinted with a calculated interest, contemplating the acquisition of the savage for his grand estate. "My dear friend, do observe that magnificent specimen," Mr. Worthington murmured softly, gesturing toward Tarzan. "His physique is astounding, don't you agree? I envision him gracing my estate, a paragon of strength and grace serving under my roof." His companion nodded in agreement, acknowledging Mr. Worthington's discerning eye for potential. "Tarzan, if acquired, shall be an exemplary addition to my household," Mr. Worthington continued, a hint of determination coloring his voice. "I envision him as a domestic servant, attending to the needs of my residence, and of course, my personal needs. His strength and agility shall prove invaluable in maintaining the estate's grandeur." Mr. Worthington's gaze lingered on Tarzan as more bids came in. He envisaged the savage navigating the corridors of his opulent mansion, performing intimate tasks with an effortless poise that belied his untamed origins. "Bidding is heating up!" cried the auctioneer. "Each bid acknowledges the extraordinary qualities that define Tarzan. His resilience in the face of nature's challenges, his unparalleled agility, and his unparalleled strength. Such assets are rarely found!" Amidst the escalating offers, the portly Worthington joined in. "800 pounds!" he proclaimed for a bid. "Tarzan will be a servant for my estate, catering to every need. His strength and skill will ensure a life of comfort for me!" The auctioneer highlighted the prospect. "800 pounds! A bid for Tarzan as a domestic servant, attending to the needs of a gentleman. His strength devoted to a life of personal service. Do we have another offer?" The third distinctive bidder, a ruthless club owner, had the most sinister intentions. He wanted Tarzan as an exotic spectacle to entertain his patrons. Tarzan would be displayed, like a caged beast, to amuse and titillate the crowd. His strength would become a source of amusement, a spectacle of dominance. Mr. Blackwood is a well-dressed man of considerable stature, with a commanding presence that demands attention. He typically wears tailored suits, and often dons a tuxedo when he is holding forth at his club, The Dom's Den, exuding an air of sophistication and authority. When not on stage, he is often dressed for the more rugged work of training his slaves to serve the elite patrons who fill his club. At the market, he's focused and observant, scanning the crowd with a discerning eye as he aims to acquire a particular asset for The Dom's Den. He appears confident, yet there's an underlying intensity in his gaze that hints at his determination to secure what he desires from the auction. Mr. Blackwood is seeking an exotic and powerful addition to his club, someone who can captivate and entertain his wealthy patrons. He's looking for a figure that exudes strength and primal allure, someone whose physicality can entrance the audience. He's seeking a spectacle, someone who can command attention and evoke a sense of dominance and submission in the performance he envisions for his establishment. Mr. Blackwood sees Tarzan as a captivating and commanding figure, a potential star attraction for his club. He recognizes Tarzan's inherent physical prowess and envisions him as the epitome of raw power, a spectacle that can mesmerize his audience. He believes Tarzan's primal appeal and untamed strength will captivate the patrons of The Dom's Den, enthralling and entertaining. The club owner knows that the real allure lies in dominating someone who's synonymous with strength, flipping the power dynamics entirely. Mr. Blackwood perceives Tarzan as the ultimate challenge--a being of immense strength and power. Tarzan's potential to succumb and submit will become the pinnacle of the Dom's Den, a display of the dominance over a figure known for his indomitable nature. It's not just showcasing Tarzan's strength but the allurement of breaking that strength to submission, a feat that would enthrall the club's patrons. "Raise your offers, ladies and gentlemen!" the auctioneer barked. "Tarzan represents a rare opportunity. A titan amongst men, an enigma waiting to be harnessed. His strength alone could shape industries, change the course of labor, and bring immeasurable wealth!" Mr. Blackwood, raised the bid. "1,000 pounds!" he announced. " The auctioneer nodded as the crowd gasped, capturing Blackwood's intent. "1,000 pounds! Mr. Blackwood sees in Tarzan a force of nature to be harnassed as a spectacle as his club. Do we have another bid?" A voice emerged from the crowd. "1,500 pounds!" It was Lord Hastings, the emphatic plantation owner. "I will harness his strength in my fields, and he will toil under the sun. He'll plow my lands, bringing forth bountiful harvests!" The crowd erupted in cheers as the auctioneer portrayed the plan. "1,500 pounds! A visionary bid to utilize Tarzan's might in the fields, cultivating the earth. His strength to yield prosperous harvests! Any other bids?" The bids continued to soar, each bidder envisioning Tarzan serving their distinct purpose. The auctioneer meticulously accentuated Tarzan's qualities according to the potential buyers' desires. "Let's recognize the value here!" the auctioneer prodded. "Tarzan, a paragon of physical prowess, the embodiment of the primal forces that govern our existence. Each bid is an investment in unparalleled strength and limitless potential!" As the bidding war unfolded, each of the bidders fought to claim Tarzan as their own. The jungle watched, a silent witness to the tug-of-war over its indomitable king. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN ----------------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Mon, 27 Nov 2023 11:59:54 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 13
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 13: Worthington and Blackwood's Desires --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
The crowd found a thrill in seeing the intimidating bid from Lord Hastings,
and the sense of those watching was that the esteemed landowner had already
made a winning bid that wouldn't be touched.
But Hastings was not the only man with a bag of coins burning a hole in
pocket. A second bidder, a wealthy aristocrat with a sprawling estate,
sought Tarzan as a domestic servant. He saw in Tarzan the perfect attendant
to his opulent lifestyle, a servant who could perform any task with grace
and power. Tarzan would be a symbol of his prestige, a silent guardian of
his grandeur.
Mr. Worthington, a portly man of refined demeanor and polished
sophistication, leaned in to confer with his companion, whispering
discreetly as he observed Tarzan being paraded before the crowd. His eyes
glinted with a calculated interest, contemplating the acquisition of the
savage for his grand estate.
"My dear friend, do observe that magnificent specimen," Mr. Worthington
murmured softly, gesturing toward Tarzan. "His physique is astounding,
don't you agree? I envision him gracing my estate, a paragon of strength
and grace serving under my roof."
His companion nodded in agreement, acknowledging Mr. Worthington's
discerning eye for potential.
"Tarzan, if acquired, shall be an exemplary addition to my household,"
Mr. Worthington continued, a hint of determination coloring his voice. "I
envision him as a domestic servant, attending to the needs of my residence,
and of course, my personal needs. His strength and agility shall prove
invaluable in maintaining the estate's grandeur."
Mr. Worthington's gaze lingered on Tarzan as more bids came in. He
envisaged the savage navigating the corridors of his opulent mansion,
performing intimate tasks with an effortless poise that belied his untamed
origins.
"Bidding is heating up!" cried the auctioneer. "Each bid acknowledges the
extraordinary qualities that define Tarzan. His resilience in the face of
nature's challenges, his unparalleled agility, and his unparalleled
strength. Such assets are rarely found!"
Amidst the escalating offers, the portly Worthington joined in.
"800 pounds!" he proclaimed for a bid. "Tarzan will be a servant for my
estate, catering to every need. His strength and skill will ensure a life
of comfort for me!"
The auctioneer highlighted the prospect.
"800 pounds! A bid for Tarzan as a domestic servant, attending to the needs
of a gentleman. His strength devoted to a life of personal service. Do we
have another offer?"
The third distinctive bidder, a ruthless club owner, had the most sinister
intentions. He wanted Tarzan as an exotic spectacle to entertain his
patrons. Tarzan would be displayed, like a caged beast, to amuse and
titillate the crowd. His strength would become a source of amusement, a
spectacle of dominance.
Mr. Blackwood is a well-dressed man of considerable stature, with a
commanding presence that demands attention. He typically wears tailored
suits, and often dons a tuxedo when he is holding forth at his club, The
Dom's Den, exuding an air of sophistication and authority. When not on
stage, he is often dressed for the more rugged work of training his slaves
to serve the elite patrons who fill his club.
At the market, he's focused and observant, scanning the crowd with a
discerning eye as he aims to acquire a particular asset for The Dom's
Den. He appears confident, yet there's an underlying intensity in his gaze
that hints at his determination to secure what he desires from the auction.
Mr. Blackwood is seeking an exotic and powerful addition to his club,
someone who can captivate and entertain his wealthy patrons. He's looking
for a figure that exudes strength and primal allure, someone whose
physicality can entrance the audience. He's seeking a spectacle, someone
who can command attention and evoke a sense of dominance and submission in
the performance he envisions for his establishment.
Mr. Blackwood sees Tarzan as a captivating and commanding figure, a
potential star attraction for his club. He recognizes Tarzan's inherent
physical prowess and envisions him as the epitome of raw power, a spectacle
that can mesmerize his audience. He believes Tarzan's primal appeal and
untamed strength will captivate the patrons of The Dom's Den, enthralling
and entertaining.
The club owner knows that the real allure lies in dominating someone who's
synonymous with strength, flipping the power dynamics
entirely. Mr. Blackwood perceives Tarzan as the ultimate challenge--a being
of immense strength and power. Tarzan's potential to succumb and submit
will become the pinnacle of the Dom's Den, a display of the dominance over
a figure known for his indomitable nature. It's not just showcasing
Tarzan's strength but the allurement of breaking that strength to
submission, a feat that would enthrall the club's patrons.
"Raise your offers, ladies and gentlemen!" the auctioneer barked. "Tarzan
represents a rare opportunity. A titan amongst men, an enigma waiting to be
harnessed. His strength alone could shape industries, change the course of
labor, and bring immeasurable wealth!"
Mr. Blackwood, raised the bid. "1,000 pounds!" he announced. "
The auctioneer nodded as the crowd gasped, capturing Blackwood's intent.
"1,000 pounds! Mr. Blackwood sees in Tarzan a force of nature to be
harnassed as a spectacle as his club. Do we have another bid?"
A voice emerged from the crowd.
"1,500 pounds!" It was Lord Hastings, the emphatic plantation owner. "I
will harness his strength in my fields, and he will toil under the
sun. He'll plow my lands, bringing forth bountiful harvests!"
The crowd erupted in cheers as the auctioneer portrayed the plan.
"1,500 pounds! A visionary bid to utilize Tarzan's might in the fields,
cultivating the earth. His strength to yield prosperous harvests! Any other
bids?"
The bids continued to soar, each bidder envisioning Tarzan serving their
distinct purpose. The auctioneer meticulously accentuated Tarzan's
qualities according to the potential buyers' desires.
"Let's recognize the value here!" the auctioneer prodded. "Tarzan, a
paragon of physical prowess, the embodiment of the primal forces that
govern our existence. Each bid is an investment in unparalleled strength
and limitless potential!"
As the bidding war unfolded, each of the bidders fought to claim Tarzan as
their own. The jungle watched, a silent witness to the tug-of-war over its
indomitable king.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN -----------------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you
have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-50 | Date: Sun, 4 Aug 2024 13:16:39 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 50 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 50: Clash of Titans-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 50 -- Clash of Titans (As the Alpha Ascension approaches, Baron von Richter flashes back to his second run-in with tarzan from the past, another source of von Richter's thirst for revenge on the savage stud.) The Baron's memories churned, a tempest of anticipation. He was prepared, forged in the crucible of vengeance. This time, he would not be denied. In the heart of the jungle, the air was charged with tension. Tarzan stood at the edge of the clearing, his gaze locked onto the campsite where the Baron's expedition prepared their dark work. Baron von Richter watched with a predatory gleam, hidden in the shadows. He had been anticipating this moment for years. Every defeat, every setback, had served to sharpen his resolve. Tonight, he would break Tarzan. As Tarzan entered the clearing, the Baron's men feigned surprise, letting amusement dance in their eyes. "Look who's back for another round, boys!" one of the men taunted. "Our jungle friend has a death wish!" The taunts rippled through the camp, goading Tarzan further. The Baron allowed himself a smirk, relishing the anticipation that hung in the air. Then, the signal came, a subtle nod from the Baron. The men lunged, a frenzied onslaught of fists and weapons. Tarzan was a blur of motion, meeting each assault with a grace born of the jungle's crucible. A brute swung a heavy club, aiming for Tarzan's skull. With a swift pivot, Tarzan evaded, his counterattack driving the man to the ground. A second assailant, wiry and agile, leaped at Tarzan's back. In a seamless flow of motion, Tarzan twisted, sending the man hurtling into the underbrush. As the battle raged on, Tarzan's strength waned, each blow exacting its toll. Yet, he remained a force of nature, a tempest of defiance. The Baron's men faltered, their bravado replaced by weariness. In the heart of the chaos, Baron von Richter's eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction. Tarzan was formidable, there was no denying it. But the Baron was prepared. He had spent years honing his body and mastering his combat skills. He was no longer the man Tarzan had once faced. As the final henchman fell, defeated, Tarzan stood alone, his breath ragged. He glared at the Baron, a challenge that resonated through the night. The Baron emerged from the shadows, clad in black leather that accentuated every sinew of his powerful frame. His chest harness gleamed, and the leather jock clung to him like a second skin. Knee-high boots completed the ensemble, a testament to his dominance. Their eyes locked, a tempest of defiance and resolve. Tarzan's loincloth, worn and tattered, seemed a frail defense against the Baron's imposing presence. The tension hung heavy, the jungle itself holding its breath. The clash of titans was imminent. With a feral snarl, Tarzan lunged, his attack embodying the wild fury within him. The Baron met him, their bodies colliding with a resounding impact. Muscle strained against muscle, sinew against sinew. Each movement was a calculated dance of dominance, a test of wills that resonated through the night. The Baron's strength was undeniable, a force of nature that threatened to overwhelm Tarzan. Yet, the jungle's son was not so easily subdued. He fought with a primal ferocity, a refusal to yield. For every devastating blow, Tarzan retaliated with a relentless assault. Their bodies collided, a tempest of raw power. As the battle raged, a sense of grim determination settled over the combatants. This was a battle that would be decided by sheer force of will. The moon hung high, its light casting long, eerie shadows across the clearing. The clash of titans continued, sustained by the unyielding spirit of both men. And as the night wore on, the outcome remained uncertain, the jungle itself holding its breath in anticipation of the victor. To be continued... * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FIFTY------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails encouraging me to return to Tarzan's Dance of Dominance after a pro-longed pause! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sun, 4 Aug 2024 13:16:39 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 50
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 50: Clash of Titans--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 50 -- Clash of Titans
(As the Alpha Ascension approaches, Baron von Richter flashes back to his
second run-in with tarzan from the past, another source of von Richter's
thirst for revenge on the savage stud.)
The Baron's memories churned, a tempest of anticipation. He was prepared,
forged in the crucible of vengeance. This time, he would not be denied.
In the heart of the jungle, the air was charged with tension. Tarzan stood
at the edge of the clearing, his gaze locked onto the campsite where the
Baron's expedition prepared their dark work.
Baron von Richter watched with a predatory gleam, hidden in the shadows. He
had been anticipating this moment for years. Every defeat, every setback,
had served to sharpen his resolve. Tonight, he would break Tarzan.
As Tarzan entered the clearing, the Baron's men feigned surprise, letting
amusement dance in their eyes.
"Look who's back for another round, boys!" one of the men taunted. "Our
jungle friend has a death wish!"
The taunts rippled through the camp, goading Tarzan further. The Baron
allowed himself a smirk, relishing the anticipation that hung in the air.
Then, the signal came, a subtle nod from the Baron. The men lunged, a
frenzied onslaught of fists and weapons. Tarzan was a blur of motion,
meeting each assault with a grace born of the jungle's crucible.
A brute swung a heavy club, aiming for Tarzan's skull. With a swift pivot,
Tarzan evaded, his counterattack driving the man to the ground.
A second assailant, wiry and agile, leaped at Tarzan's back. In a seamless
flow of motion, Tarzan twisted, sending the man hurtling into the
underbrush.
As the battle raged on, Tarzan's strength waned, each blow exacting its
toll. Yet, he remained a force of nature, a tempest of defiance. The
Baron's men faltered, their bravado replaced by weariness.
In the heart of the chaos, Baron von Richter's eyes gleamed with cruel
satisfaction. Tarzan was formidable, there was no denying it. But the Baron
was prepared. He had spent years honing his body and mastering his combat
skills. He was no longer the man Tarzan had once faced.
As the final henchman fell, defeated, Tarzan stood alone, his breath
ragged. He glared at the Baron, a challenge that resonated through the
night.
The Baron emerged from the shadows, clad in black leather that accentuated
every sinew of his powerful frame. His chest harness gleamed, and the
leather jock clung to him like a second skin. Knee-high boots completed the
ensemble, a testament to his dominance.
Their eyes locked, a tempest of defiance and resolve. Tarzan's loincloth,
worn and tattered, seemed a frail defense against the Baron's imposing
presence. The tension hung heavy, the jungle itself holding its
breath. The clash of titans was imminent.
With a feral snarl, Tarzan lunged, his attack embodying the wild fury
within him. The Baron met him, their bodies colliding with a resounding
impact.
Muscle strained against muscle, sinew against sinew. Each movement was a
calculated dance of dominance, a test of wills that resonated through the
night.
The Baron's strength was undeniable, a force of nature that threatened to
overwhelm Tarzan. Yet, the jungle's son was not so easily subdued. He
fought with a primal ferocity, a refusal to yield.
For every devastating blow, Tarzan retaliated with a relentless assault.
Their bodies collided, a tempest of raw power.
As the battle raged, a sense of grim determination settled over the
combatants. This was a battle that would be decided by sheer force of will.
The moon hung high, its light casting long, eerie shadows across the
clearing. The clash of titans continued, sustained by the unyielding spirit
of both men.
And as the night wore on, the outcome remained uncertain, the jungle itself
holding its breath in anticipation of the victor.
To be continued...
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails encouraging me to return to Tarzan's Dance of
Dominance after a pro-longed pause! I always appreciate hearing your
reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback
or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-62 | Date: Fri, 13 Sep 2024 02:59:01 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 62 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 62 - Symphony of Servitude-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 62 -- Symphony of Servitude The first light of dawn cast long shadows across the fields as Tarzan stirred from his meager reprieve in the stable. The coarse hay scratched against his skin, a stark reminder of his reduced circumstances. The leash attached to the ring under his loincloth served as a cruel tether, a constant reminder of his newfound place in this world. The sudden intrusion of Hargrove shattered the fragile peace of his rest. The overseer's voice was gruff and commanding, a reminder that Tarzan's time was no longer his own. With rough efficiency, he was given a meager portion of slave chow, sustenance for the demanding day ahead. Dragged from the stable, Tarzan's bare feet met the cool earth, a sharp contrast to the stifling heat that would soon envelop the fields. Lord Harrington stood nearby, his scrutinizing gaze fixed on the proceedings. Beside him were two men, their faces etched with determination and purpose. "We'll pay good coin to oversee this one's labor, my Lord," one of the men spoke, his voice filled with confidence. "We know how to drive our workers hard, and we'll do the same with him." Lord Harrington considered their words, his eyes narrowing as he assessed their resolve. "Very well, gentlemen. I expect nothing less than the fullest measure of his labor." With that, Tarzan was thrust into the fields, the first rays of sunlight painting the landscape in hues of gold and amber. The labor was unrelenting, the rhythm of Tarzan's movements becoming a symphony of toil. His powerful limbs worked tirelessly, hands calloused from the unforgiving earth. The overseers were unyielding in their demands, their voices a constant presence, driving Tarzan forward. The first hour passed in a blur of sweat and strain, the ground yielding reluctantly to his efforts. Despite the grueling nature of the work, Tarzan's spirit remained unbroken. He was determined to prove that even in servitude, he retained a resilience that could not be easily extinguished. The fields stretched out before him, an endless expanse of earth and toil, but Tarzan faced it with a stubborn resolve. * * * * * The sun climbed higher in the sky, its fiery gaze bearing down on the toiling figures in the fields. Tarzan's once mighty limbs now moved with a weariness that betrayed the unrelenting pace of his labor. Every muscle ached, every sinew stretched to its limit. In the second hour, Tarzan's movements began to falter, his steps less sure, his rhythm disrupted. The overseers, determined to extract every ounce of effort from their charge, were quick to respond. Their voices took on a harsh edge, their commands laced with a cutting urgency. "Pick up the pace, slave!" one of them barked, his tone unforgiving. "We paid good coin for your labor, and we expect nothing less than your best." Tarzan's breath came in ragged gasps, sweat streaming down his bronzed skin. His hands, once calloused from a life in the wild, now bore the marks of toil and servitude. He fought to maintain his stride, but the earth seemed to rise up to meet him with every step. It was then that the overseers, keen-eyed and unyielding, spotted the leash leading under his loincloth and the ring around his most sensitive parts firmly fixed to the end if it. A cruel glint of understanding flashed in their eyes, and they wasted no time in seizing this newfound means of control. One of them took hold of the leash, pulling it taut with a brutal force. "This is how we'll keep you in line, slave. A reminder of your place in this world." The ring pressed against Tarzan's manflesh, a cold and unyielding reminder of his subjugation. He was now a puppet, his movements dictated by the whims of those who held his leash. The earth beneath him seemed to shift and sway, each step now a painful reminder of his diminished stature. As the second hour pressed on, Tarzan's once proud spirit began to wane. The overseers, unrelenting in their demands, used every tool at their disposal to maintain the pace. Their voices became a relentless chorus, driving him forward with a relentless fervor. Tarzan's world had become a blur of pain and toil, a landscape of unyielding earth and unrelenting overseers. The rhythm of his labor was no longer his own; it was a symphony of servitude, a testament to the indomitable will of those who sought to break him. Yet, amidst the harshness of the fields, there still burned a spark of defiance within Tarzan's chest. He would not yield entirely, not yet. He would find a way to reclaim some semblance of his former self, even in the face of this unrelenting toil. * * * * * Under the relentless sun, Tarzan's once powerful body now moved with the stilted cadence of exhaustion. Every sinew strained against the unyielding demands of the overseers. The whip's cruel kiss marked his flesh, driving him forward even as his strength waned. The voices of the overseers were a constant barrage, their commands sharp and unforgiving. "Faster, slave! Your worth is measured by your toil. Do not disappoint us." Tarzan's breath came in ragged gasps, sweat and dirt mingling on his skin. His once mighty limbs now quivered with the effort, each step reflecting his determination to endure. The cock leash, a cruel reminder of his subjugation, cut into his flesh, the ring pressing unyielding against him. As the third hour wore on, a crowd began to gather, drawn by the spectacle of a once legendary figure reduced to the status of a lowly slave. Their murmurs filled the air, a chorus of both curiosity and cruel amusement. The overseers, sensing the audience, redoubled their efforts. Whips cracked, prods jabbed, and the cruel cock leash was used to pull and guide Tarzan's faltering steps. He was no longer a man; he was a vessel of labor, a pawn in the hands of those who sought to break him. Through the haze of exhaustion, Tarzan's thoughts were a tumultuous sea. He clung to the memory of his former self, the proud king of the jungle, even as he embraced his new role as a subservient. He was determined to prove himself, to show his superiors that he was worthy of their dominion. Each stride spoke to his resilience, a declaration of his willingness to endure. He pushed through the pain, drew strength from the cruelty of his overseers. His world had become a blur of toil and torment, a symphony of suffering. And still, amidst the brutality, there burned a spark of defiance within Tarzan's chest. He would not be broken entirely. He would rise again, reclaiming some measure of his former glory, even as he knelt in subservience to those who sought to dominate him. * * * * * Tarzan's breaths came in ragged gasps as the overseers retreated to the shade, leaving him momentarily alone in the unforgiving sun. His body ached with every movement, yet he remained on his feet, determined to fulfill his newfound purpose. With a nod of acknowledgment, Tarzan approached the overseers, ready to tend to their needs. His hands were sure and practiced as he worked to ease the tension from their weary muscles. Each touch was deliberate, every motion a validation of his willingness to serve. As the overseers indulged in their lavish reprieve, Tarzan's gaze never wavered. He was attuned to their every whim, his senses keen to their unspoken desires. It was an honor to be of service, a privilege to attend to the needs of his superior alphas. In those moments, Tarzan's world narrowed to the simple act of serving. He was no longer the wild king of the jungle, but a devoted slave, eager to please. The shift in his perception was profound, a transformation that went beyond the physical. When the overseers were satisfied, they reclined in their reprieve, their faces softened by the comfort that Tarzan had provided. It was a moment of respite, a pause in the relentless demands of the day. For Tarzan, there was no bitterness, no resentment. He had embraced his role with a fervor that surprised even himself. He found solace in his submission, strength in his service. In that moment, he understood that his purpose was clear: to serve and to please, to be a vessel of devotion to those who held dominion over him. * * * * * As the lunch break came to an end, Lord Harrington returned to the field, observing the proceedings with a stern eye. The overseers, satisfied with their entertainment and the display of their control over the once-mighty Tarzan, approached Lord Harrington with pride. "Well, my Lord, as you can see, we've put this one through his paces," one of the overseers proclaimed. Lord Harrington nodded, his gaze fixed on Tarzan, who knelt in the dirt, his breath heavy, awaiting his next command. "You've done well," Lord Harrington acknowledged. "He'll be more than ready for the auction, I'm certain." With a gesture, Lord Harrington signaled for the overseers to hand Tarzan back over to him. The leash was relinquished, the cruel control exchanged for Lord Harrington's own dominion. "Back to work, Tarzan," Lord Harrington commanded, his voice dripping with authority. "There's still much to be done." * * * * * Hargrove, a master of his craft, stepped forward, his bullwhip crackling in the air, the sound echoing across the field. Tarzan, already attuned to the cruel symphony of the whip, knew what was expected of him. "Mush!" Hargrove barked, the command as sharp as the crack of his whip. Tarzan surged forward, the plow cutting through the earth with renewed vigor. Hargrove's whip danced through the air, a menacing presence that kept Tarzan's pace relentless. But it was Hargrove's favorite move that truly showcased his skill. With precision born of countless hours of practice, the whip darted between Tarzan's legs from behind, finding its target expertly. It reached up, encircling Tarzan's loincloth, applying pressure that forced the once-mighty king to his knees. Tarzan grunted, the whip's sting a cruel reminder of his place. He pressed his forehead against the earth, the familiar taste of soil and sweat mingling on his lips. In this moment, he was nothing more than a beast of burden, a slave to the whip's merciless command. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Fri, 13 Sep 2024 02:59:01 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 62
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 62 - Symphony of Servitude--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 62 -- Symphony of Servitude
The first light of dawn cast long shadows across the fields as Tarzan
stirred from his meager reprieve in the stable. The coarse hay scratched
against his skin, a stark reminder of his reduced circumstances. The leash
attached to the ring under his loincloth served as a cruel tether, a
constant reminder of his newfound place in this world.
The sudden intrusion of Hargrove shattered the fragile peace of his
rest. The overseer's voice was gruff and commanding, a reminder that
Tarzan's time was no longer his own. With rough efficiency, he was given a
meager portion of slave chow, sustenance for the demanding day ahead.
Dragged from the stable, Tarzan's bare feet met the cool earth, a sharp
contrast to the stifling heat that would soon envelop the fields. Lord
Harrington stood nearby, his scrutinizing gaze fixed on the
proceedings. Beside him were two men, their faces etched with determination
and purpose.
"We'll pay good coin to oversee this one's labor, my Lord," one of the men
spoke, his voice filled with confidence. "We know how to drive our workers
hard, and we'll do the same with him."
Lord Harrington considered their words, his eyes narrowing as he assessed
their resolve.
"Very well, gentlemen. I expect nothing less than the fullest measure of
his labor."
With that, Tarzan was thrust into the fields, the first rays of sunlight
painting the landscape in hues of gold and amber. The labor was
unrelenting, the rhythm of Tarzan's movements becoming a symphony of
toil. His powerful limbs worked tirelessly, hands calloused from the
unforgiving earth.
The overseers were unyielding in their demands, their voices a constant
presence, driving Tarzan forward. The first hour passed in a blur of sweat
and strain, the ground yielding reluctantly to his efforts.
Despite the grueling nature of the work, Tarzan's spirit remained
unbroken. He was determined to prove that even in servitude, he retained a
resilience that could not be easily extinguished. The fields stretched out
before him, an endless expanse of earth and toil, but Tarzan faced it with
a stubborn resolve.
* * * * *
The sun climbed higher in the sky, its fiery gaze bearing down on the
toiling figures in the fields. Tarzan's once mighty limbs now moved with a
weariness that betrayed the unrelenting pace of his labor. Every muscle
ached, every sinew stretched to its limit.
In the second hour, Tarzan's movements began to falter, his steps less
sure, his rhythm disrupted. The overseers, determined to extract every
ounce of effort from their charge, were quick to respond. Their voices took
on a harsh edge, their commands laced with a cutting urgency.
"Pick up the pace, slave!" one of them barked, his tone unforgiving. "We
paid good coin for your labor, and we expect nothing less than your best."
Tarzan's breath came in ragged gasps, sweat streaming down his bronzed
skin. His hands, once calloused from a life in the wild, now bore the marks
of toil and servitude. He fought to maintain his stride, but the earth
seemed to rise up to meet him with every step.
It was then that the overseers, keen-eyed and unyielding, spotted the leash
leading under his loincloth and the ring around his most sensitive parts
firmly fixed to the end if it. A cruel glint of understanding flashed in
their eyes, and they wasted no time in seizing this newfound means of
control.
One of them took hold of the leash, pulling it taut with a brutal force.
"This is how we'll keep you in line, slave. A reminder of your place in
this world."
The ring pressed against Tarzan's manflesh, a cold and unyielding reminder
of his subjugation. He was now a puppet, his movements dictated by the
whims of those who held his leash. The earth beneath him seemed to shift
and sway, each step now a painful reminder of his diminished stature.
As the second hour pressed on, Tarzan's once proud spirit began to
wane. The overseers, unrelenting in their demands, used every tool at their
disposal to maintain the pace. Their voices became a relentless chorus,
driving him forward with a relentless fervor.
Tarzan's world had become a blur of pain and toil, a landscape of
unyielding earth and unrelenting overseers. The rhythm of his labor was no
longer his own; it was a symphony of servitude, a testament to the
indomitable will of those who sought to break him.
Yet, amidst the harshness of the fields, there still burned a spark of
defiance within Tarzan's chest. He would not yield entirely, not yet. He
would find a way to reclaim some semblance of his former self, even in the
face of this unrelenting toil.
* * * * *
Under the relentless sun, Tarzan's once powerful body now moved with the
stilted cadence of exhaustion. Every sinew strained against the unyielding
demands of the overseers. The whip's cruel kiss marked his flesh, driving
him forward even as his strength waned.
The voices of the overseers were a constant barrage, their commands sharp
and unforgiving.
"Faster, slave! Your worth is measured by your toil. Do not disappoint us."
Tarzan's breath came in ragged gasps, sweat and dirt mingling on his
skin. His once mighty limbs now quivered with the effort, each step
reflecting his determination to endure. The cock leash, a cruel reminder of
his subjugation, cut into his flesh, the ring pressing unyielding against
him.
As the third hour wore on, a crowd began to gather, drawn by the spectacle
of a once legendary figure reduced to the status of a lowly slave. Their
murmurs filled the air, a chorus of both curiosity and cruel amusement.
The overseers, sensing the audience, redoubled their efforts. Whips
cracked, prods jabbed, and the cruel cock leash was used to pull and guide
Tarzan's faltering steps. He was no longer a man; he was a vessel of labor,
a pawn in the hands of those who sought to break him.
Through the haze of exhaustion, Tarzan's thoughts were a tumultuous sea. He
clung to the memory of his former self, the proud king of the jungle, even
as he embraced his new role as a subservient. He was determined to prove
himself, to show his superiors that he was worthy of their dominion.
Each stride spoke to his resilience, a declaration of his willingness to
endure. He pushed through the pain, drew strength from the cruelty of his
overseers. His world had become a blur of toil and torment, a symphony of
suffering.
And still, amidst the brutality, there burned a spark of defiance within
Tarzan's chest. He would not be broken entirely. He would rise again,
reclaiming some measure of his former glory, even as he knelt in
subservience to those who sought to dominate him.
* * * * *
Tarzan's breaths came in ragged gasps as the overseers retreated to the
shade, leaving him momentarily alone in the unforgiving sun. His body ached
with every movement, yet he remained on his feet, determined to fulfill his
newfound purpose.
With a nod of acknowledgment, Tarzan approached the overseers, ready to
tend to their needs. His hands were sure and practiced as he worked to ease
the tension from their weary muscles. Each touch was deliberate, every
motion a validation of his willingness to serve.
As the overseers indulged in their lavish reprieve, Tarzan's gaze never
wavered. He was attuned to their every whim, his senses keen to their
unspoken desires. It was an honor to be of service, a privilege to attend
to the needs of his superior alphas.
In those moments, Tarzan's world narrowed to the simple act of serving. He
was no longer the wild king of the jungle, but a devoted slave, eager to
please. The shift in his perception was profound, a transformation that
went beyond the physical.
When the overseers were satisfied, they reclined in their reprieve, their
faces softened by the comfort that Tarzan had provided. It was a moment of
respite, a pause in the relentless demands of the day.
For Tarzan, there was no bitterness, no resentment. He had embraced his
role with a fervor that surprised even himself. He found solace in his
submission, strength in his service. In that moment, he understood that his
purpose was clear: to serve and to please, to be a vessel of devotion to
those who held dominion over him.
* * * * *
As the lunch break came to an end, Lord Harrington returned to the field,
observing the proceedings with a stern eye. The overseers, satisfied with
their entertainment and the display of their control over the once-mighty
Tarzan, approached Lord Harrington with pride.
"Well, my Lord, as you can see, we've put this one through his paces," one
of the overseers proclaimed.
Lord Harrington nodded, his gaze fixed on Tarzan, who knelt in the dirt,
his breath heavy, awaiting his next command.
"You've done well," Lord Harrington acknowledged. "He'll be more than ready
for the auction, I'm certain."
With a gesture, Lord Harrington signaled for the overseers to hand Tarzan
back over to him. The leash was relinquished, the cruel control exchanged
for Lord Harrington's own dominion.
"Back to work, Tarzan," Lord Harrington commanded, his voice dripping with
authority. "There's still much to be done."
* * * * *
Hargrove, a master of his craft, stepped forward, his bullwhip crackling in
the air, the sound echoing across the field. Tarzan, already attuned to the
cruel symphony of the whip, knew what was expected of him.
"Mush!" Hargrove barked, the command as sharp as the crack of his whip.
Tarzan surged forward, the plow cutting through the earth with renewed
vigor. Hargrove's whip danced through the air, a menacing presence that
kept Tarzan's pace relentless.
But it was Hargrove's favorite move that truly showcased his skill. With
precision born of countless hours of practice, the whip darted between
Tarzan's legs from behind, finding its target expertly. It reached up,
encircling Tarzan's loincloth, applying pressure that forced the
once-mighty king to his knees.
Tarzan grunted, the whip's sting a cruel reminder of his place. He pressed
his forehead against the earth, the familiar taste of soil and sweat
mingling on his lips. In this moment, he was nothing more than a beast of
burden, a slave to the whip's merciless command.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-55 | Date: Mon, 12 Aug 2024 00:04:36 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 55 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 55: The Jungle, Reimagined-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 55 -- The Jungle, Reimagined As the Baron's mind continued to dance through the intricacies of his grand plan, he couldn't help but envision the transformed Tarzan, no longer a thorn in the side of true alpha dominance, but a humble, obedient servant, eager to fulfill his rightful role. • Gone were the days of Tarzan's carefree reign, replaced by grueling physical toil. He would be tasked with building the grandest of structures, his powerful muscles harnessed for the betterment of his superiors. • A sturdy yoke would adorn Tarzan's broad shoulders, a symbol of his subservience. He would pull carts laden with goods, his every step a testament to the newfound order of the jungle. • Draped in nothing but the barest loincloth, Tarzan would stand as a living monument to the alpha order. His chiseled physique would serve as a constant reminder of the natural hierarchy. • Strong leather reins would be affixed to Tarzan's neck, allowing a dominant alpha to ride him like the beast he had become. The Baron relished the thought of the once-proud Tarzan reduced to a mere steed. • Encased in iron shackles, Tarzan would face opponents in a savage arena, his every move a testament to the power of true alpha dominance. The crowd would revel in his submission. • In the dead of night, Tarzan would be summoned to the chambers of an alpha, his body offered for the alpha's pleasure. He would learn that even kings must kneel before their betters. • After a long day of labor, Tarzan would be given the scraps and leavings of his superiors' feasts, a meager sustenance for a once-mighty king brought low. • Tarzan's once-keen senses would be put to the test as he became the prey in a ruthless hunt, pursued by those who reveled in his fall from grace. • Tarzan's sculpted form would become a canvas for the whims of those who sought to revel in his subjugation. He would be painted, adorned, and displayed for the amusement of his superiors. • Finally, Tarzan's manhood would be mounted on a grand display, a stark reminder of the inevitable fate that awaited any who dared to challenge the true order of the jungle. As the Baron's mind wove these vivid scenes, he reveled in the vision of a jungle reborn, its true hierarchy restored. Tarzan's transformation from meddlesome hero to obedient servant would serve as a testament to the unwavering power of true alpha dominance. To be continued... * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Mon, 12 Aug 2024 00:04:36 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 55
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 55: The Jungle, Reimagined--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 55 -- The Jungle, Reimagined
As the Baron's mind continued to dance through the intricacies of his grand
plan, he couldn't help but envision the transformed Tarzan, no longer a
thorn in the side of true alpha dominance, but a humble, obedient servant,
eager to fulfill his rightful role.
• Gone were the days of Tarzan's carefree reign, replaced by
grueling physical toil. He would be tasked with building the grandest of
structures, his powerful muscles harnessed for the betterment of his
superiors.
• A sturdy yoke would adorn Tarzan's broad shoulders, a symbol
of his subservience. He would pull carts laden with goods, his every step a
testament to the newfound order of the jungle.
• Draped in nothing but the barest loincloth, Tarzan would stand
as a living monument to the alpha order. His chiseled physique would serve
as a constant reminder of the natural hierarchy.
• Strong leather reins would be affixed to Tarzan's neck,
allowing a dominant alpha to ride him like the beast he had become. The
Baron relished the thought of the once-proud Tarzan reduced to a mere
steed.
• Encased in iron shackles, Tarzan would face opponents in a
savage arena, his every move a testament to the power of true alpha
dominance. The crowd would revel in his submission.
• In the dead of night, Tarzan would be summoned to the chambers
of an alpha, his body offered for the alpha's pleasure. He would learn that
even kings must kneel before their betters.
• After a long day of labor, Tarzan would be given the scraps
and leavings of his superiors' feasts, a meager sustenance for a
once-mighty king brought low.
• Tarzan's once-keen senses would be put to the test as he
became the prey in a ruthless hunt, pursued by those who reveled in his
fall from grace.
• Tarzan's sculpted form would become a canvas for the whims of
those who sought to revel in his subjugation. He would be painted, adorned,
and displayed for the amusement of his superiors.
• Finally, Tarzan's manhood would be mounted on a grand display,
a stark reminder of the inevitable fate that awaited any who dared to
challenge the true order of the jungle.
As the Baron's mind wove these vivid scenes, he reveled in the vision of a
jungle reborn, its true hierarchy restored. Tarzan's transformation from
meddlesome hero to obedient servant would serve as a testament to the
unwavering power of true alpha dominance.
To be continued...
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/the-edge-of-the-night | Date: Sun, 10 Mar 2024 20:57:50 +0000
From: Sven Benters <Daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Edge Of The Night
This is a fanfiction story with the characters Adam Newman (Mark Grossman)
and Freddie Kreuger.
This story says nothing about the actors' sexual references; it's just
fiction.
Copyrights © CBS YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS
*********************************
Adam Newman is late home. He strips himself down to his underwear.
While his masculine body gets revealed, there seems to be someone
underneath his bed, watching how the hunk stripped himself and walks over
to the bed to lay himself down. Adam lays his watch on the nightstand next
to his phone and shuts the lights off.
The person who is hiding underneath Adam's bed waits an hour to be sure the
hunk is in deep sleep. Adam is having the covers half on him and is in a
deep sleep. A shadow is seen that crawls from underneath the bed and looks
at Adam. The person loves the sight of the masculine hunk laying
there. Slowly the person pulls the covers off of Adam and throws it on the
floor, seeing now the hunk in his underwear.
Being in a deep sleep, Adam has no idea that someone is coming on the bed
hanging over him. Adam's arms are beside him and the person uses one hand
to feel Adam's round firm pecs up and squeezes them while feeling them
up. The person moves his hand over Adam's abs to feel them up.
Adam stays in his deep sleep while the person stares at Adam laying in his
tight underwear and Adam's masculine body entirely revealed for the
stranger. The person reaches for Adam's dick that's in the boxer shorts and
rubs over it. Adam's dick starts to react to it and forms through the
fabric of the boxer short. A nice big dick with the mushroom head forming
through it. The person holds a sharp knife where it cuts the sides of
Adam's boxer short to remove it and make Adam completely naked.
Unaware of what's happening, Adam continues to stay in his deep sleep while
the person moves closer to Adam's dick to only get Adam's mushroom head in
the mouth and starts to suck at it. The sudden feeling of a warm mouth
around the tip of his dick makes Adam slowly wake up. He feels horny but
doesn't understand why till he looks down and sees a head moving. Not
completely awake yet Adam thinks he's dreaming but realizes how real it
feels and suddenly jumps up.
"What the fuck?!"
Adam looks at the person and is shocked to see the man has a strange
looking face with the skin almost burned away.
"Who are you?" Adam questions, holding his hands before his dick, realizing
this man wants to take advantage of him.
"Hello handsome or I can call you Adam right." The man starts. "I'm
Freddie" The stranger introduces himself. "I have chosen you to have some
fun with." Freddie explains.
Adam can't believe this is happening to him. Freddie reaches his hand out
and grabs Adam by his balls. "Ungh..." Adam reacts and sits up against the
board of the bed.
"Grab hold of your dick and make it hard for me." Freddie commands.
Adam realizes he has no other choice as to do what this stranger wants. He
grabs his soft dick in his hand and starts to stroke it to make it hard
like the man wants.
While Adam strokes, he closes his eyes but Freddie lays his metal claw on
Adam's abs. "You better look at me or I'm going to get mad and you don't
want to get me angry." Freddie explains.
Adam stares at the creepy looking man trying to get hard but his dick
doesn't want to it seems. Not sure what's going on but Adam feels he cannot
get his dick hard.
Seeing no erection coming is making Freddie irritated and gets his claw
slowly sinking into Adam's skin. Feeling the sharp claw at his abs and
stomach scares Adam and he starts to stroke his dick faster, trying to get
it hard but looking at Freddie and being that angry just doesn't get him in
the mood and he starts to cry.
Freddie wickedly smiles. "Look at that, you're a whiny muscle boy." Freddie
intentionally makes Adam feel humiliated by the creep. "I will help you get
that dick hard." Freddie says with a grin on his face.
Adam wonders what Freddie has in mind.
"Get on your hands and knees, I want to see that fuck hole of yours."
"Wha-what!" Adam stutters out of shock.
"No questions. "Do what I say!" Freddie instructs.
Freddie sits back and Adam gets in position. On his hands and knees,
revealing his ass to the creepy guy. With his normal hand, Freddie slaps at
Adam's ass.
Adam yelps to the hard clap at his buttocks. A red mark is left at Adam's
ass. Freddie spreads Adam's cheeks and sees that virgin hole of the muscle
hunk.
"I love taking virgin cherry's." Freddie teases.
Adam is nervous, his mind is going crazy, but knows where this is heading
to. Freddie dives in at Adam's hole and starts to rim him like crazy. Adam
feels the sensation of pleasure at his hole. It makes him quiver. Shots of
pleasure run through his body while he feels it getting rimmed.
Suddenly, Adam feels his dick start to get hard of the pleasure and he
eventually lets a loud moan come out of his mouth.
Freddie stops and smiles. "Someone finally gives in and so to see it has
worked for your dick, look at it pulsing.
Adam looks down and sees his dick being rock hard and pulsing from the new
pleasure he experienced.
"Grab it and stroke it!" Freddie commands.
Adam, now horny, grabs hold of his dick and starts to stroke it. Freddie
unzips his pants and takes his dick out that has gotten excited to have
this foreplay with Adam. While Adam strokes his dick, he looks over his
shoulder and notices Freddie has gotten naked.
"Look forward and don't stop stroking!" Freddie instructs.
Adam realizes he's going to get fucked. He feels Freddie coming close
behind him. Waiting for what's to come he suddenly feels Freddie's big dick
slapping against his ass.
"We're going to have some fun together!" Freddie reveals and brings his
dick to Adam's hole.
Adam tenses up by feeling the mushroom head of Freddie's dick starting to
push at his cherry. Freddie grabs hold of Adam's waist and pushes his dick
in one rough move inside the muscle hunk.
"Aaaarrghhhh!" Adam growls and feels his ass being on fire of that rough
push, as if a torpedo has been launched inside his ass. Adam starts to
hyperventilate but Freddie slaps Adam's ass.
"Calm yourself down."
Adam tries to catch his breath and gets a little calmer when Freddie
suddenly start to fuck him like a wild beast.
"FUUUUCKKK!!" Adam screams.
"Don't stop stroking and let it happen."
Adam does what Freddie says. Strangely he is so horny that he starts to
enjoy it. Pleasure runs through Adam's body and he strokes his dick faster
till he has taken the pace of Freddie's fucking. Both are in heat of their
pleasure. Enjoying what is happening.
Adam feels he's close to cum. "I'm close."
"Good, I will count down from three to one and then you will shoot."
"Three."
Freddie grabs Adam by his shoulders to really pound that ass, bringing Adam
closer to the climax.
"Two."
Adam feels he's there and moans loudly while his body is covered in sweat.
"ONE!" Freddie shouts.
Adam shoots a big volume of load on the sheets of his bed.
"FUUUUUCCCCKKKK!!!" Adam shouts loudly.
"Yeah boy!" Freddie says while he continues his vicious hard pounding.
"I'm going to fill you up like a bitch!" Freddie says.
Adam is in the bliss of afterglow that he doesn't care anymore. Several
deep hard thrusts are given before Freddie shoots his load inside Adam,
filling the muscle hunk up.
"Fuck yeah!" Freddie says and shoots a big load and then collapses on
Adam's back and they drop on the bed.
Freddie kisses Adam's neck. "That was amazing big guy."
Adam lays all tired on the bed while Freddie gets up from Adam and starts
to get dressed. Adam turns around and sees Freddie dressed and heading to
the door. Freddie turns towards Adam and grins at the hunk before leaving
the room.
Adam lays stunned in bed. Still not understanding why this happened. Tired
after the rough fuck he just got Adam falls asleep.
*********************************
If you enjoyed the story or have a request please send me a message
<Daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com>
For more stories from me, visit https://www.facebook.com/groups/480903845719867
Please donate to Nifty for support to let this great site and its archive
stay free. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
<pre>Date: Sun, 10 Mar 2024 20:57:50 +0000
From: Sven Benters <Daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Edge Of The Night
This is a fanfiction story with the characters Adam Newman (Mark Grossman)
and Freddie Kreuger.
This story says nothing about the actors' sexual references; it's just
fiction.
Copyrights © CBS YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS
*********************************
Adam Newman is late home. He strips himself down to his underwear.
While his masculine body gets revealed, there seems to be someone
underneath his bed, watching how the hunk stripped himself and walks over
to the bed to lay himself down. Adam lays his watch on the nightstand next
to his phone and shuts the lights off.
The person who is hiding underneath Adam's bed waits an hour to be sure the
hunk is in deep sleep. Adam is having the covers half on him and is in a
deep sleep. A shadow is seen that crawls from underneath the bed and looks
at Adam. The person loves the sight of the masculine hunk laying
there. Slowly the person pulls the covers off of Adam and throws it on the
floor, seeing now the hunk in his underwear.
Being in a deep sleep, Adam has no idea that someone is coming on the bed
hanging over him. Adam's arms are beside him and the person uses one hand
to feel Adam's round firm pecs up and squeezes them while feeling them
up. The person moves his hand over Adam's abs to feel them up.
Adam stays in his deep sleep while the person stares at Adam laying in his
tight underwear and Adam's masculine body entirely revealed for the
stranger. The person reaches for Adam's dick that's in the boxer shorts and
rubs over it. Adam's dick starts to react to it and forms through the
fabric of the boxer short. A nice big dick with the mushroom head forming
through it. The person holds a sharp knife where it cuts the sides of
Adam's boxer short to remove it and make Adam completely naked.
Unaware of what's happening, Adam continues to stay in his deep sleep while
the person moves closer to Adam's dick to only get Adam's mushroom head in
the mouth and starts to suck at it. The sudden feeling of a warm mouth
around the tip of his dick makes Adam slowly wake up. He feels horny but
doesn't understand why till he looks down and sees a head moving. Not
completely awake yet Adam thinks he's dreaming but realizes how real it
feels and suddenly jumps up.
"What the fuck?!"
Adam looks at the person and is shocked to see the man has a strange
looking face with the skin almost burned away.
"Who are you?" Adam questions, holding his hands before his dick, realizing
this man wants to take advantage of him.
"Hello handsome or I can call you Adam right." The man starts. "I'm
Freddie" The stranger introduces himself. "I have chosen you to have some
fun with." Freddie explains.
Adam can't believe this is happening to him. Freddie reaches his hand out
and grabs Adam by his balls. "Ungh..." Adam reacts and sits up against the
board of the bed.
"Grab hold of your dick and make it hard for me." Freddie commands.
Adam realizes he has no other choice as to do what this stranger wants. He
grabs his soft dick in his hand and starts to stroke it to make it hard
like the man wants.
While Adam strokes, he closes his eyes but Freddie lays his metal claw on
Adam's abs. "You better look at me or I'm going to get mad and you don't
want to get me angry." Freddie explains.
Adam stares at the creepy looking man trying to get hard but his dick
doesn't want to it seems. Not sure what's going on but Adam feels he cannot
get his dick hard.
Seeing no erection coming is making Freddie irritated and gets his claw
slowly sinking into Adam's skin. Feeling the sharp claw at his abs and
stomach scares Adam and he starts to stroke his dick faster, trying to get
it hard but looking at Freddie and being that angry just doesn't get him in
the mood and he starts to cry.
Freddie wickedly smiles. "Look at that, you're a whiny muscle boy." Freddie
intentionally makes Adam feel humiliated by the creep. "I will help you get
that dick hard." Freddie says with a grin on his face.
Adam wonders what Freddie has in mind.
"Get on your hands and knees, I want to see that fuck hole of yours."
"Wha-what!" Adam stutters out of shock.
"No questions. "Do what I say!" Freddie instructs.
Freddie sits back and Adam gets in position. On his hands and knees,
revealing his ass to the creepy guy. With his normal hand, Freddie slaps at
Adam's ass.
Adam yelps to the hard clap at his buttocks. A red mark is left at Adam's
ass. Freddie spreads Adam's cheeks and sees that virgin hole of the muscle
hunk.
"I love taking virgin cherry's." Freddie teases.
Adam is nervous, his mind is going crazy, but knows where this is heading
to. Freddie dives in at Adam's hole and starts to rim him like crazy. Adam
feels the sensation of pleasure at his hole. It makes him quiver. Shots of
pleasure run through his body while he feels it getting rimmed.
Suddenly, Adam feels his dick start to get hard of the pleasure and he
eventually lets a loud moan come out of his mouth.
Freddie stops and smiles. "Someone finally gives in and so to see it has
worked for your dick, look at it pulsing.
Adam looks down and sees his dick being rock hard and pulsing from the new
pleasure he experienced.
"Grab it and stroke it!" Freddie commands.
Adam, now horny, grabs hold of his dick and starts to stroke it. Freddie
unzips his pants and takes his dick out that has gotten excited to have
this foreplay with Adam. While Adam strokes his dick, he looks over his
shoulder and notices Freddie has gotten naked.
"Look forward and don't stop stroking!" Freddie instructs.
Adam realizes he's going to get fucked. He feels Freddie coming close
behind him. Waiting for what's to come he suddenly feels Freddie's big dick
slapping against his ass.
"We're going to have some fun together!" Freddie reveals and brings his
dick to Adam's hole.
Adam tenses up by feeling the mushroom head of Freddie's dick starting to
push at his cherry. Freddie grabs hold of Adam's waist and pushes his dick
in one rough move inside the muscle hunk.
"Aaaarrghhhh!" Adam growls and feels his ass being on fire of that rough
push, as if a torpedo has been launched inside his ass. Adam starts to
hyperventilate but Freddie slaps Adam's ass.
"Calm yourself down."
Adam tries to catch his breath and gets a little calmer when Freddie
suddenly start to fuck him like a wild beast.
"FUUUUCKKK!!" Adam screams.
"Don't stop stroking and let it happen."
Adam does what Freddie says. Strangely he is so horny that he starts to
enjoy it. Pleasure runs through Adam's body and he strokes his dick faster
till he has taken the pace of Freddie's fucking. Both are in heat of their
pleasure. Enjoying what is happening.
Adam feels he's close to cum. "I'm close."
"Good, I will count down from three to one and then you will shoot."
"Three."
Freddie grabs Adam by his shoulders to really pound that ass, bringing Adam
closer to the climax.
"Two."
Adam feels he's there and moans loudly while his body is covered in sweat.
"ONE!" Freddie shouts.
Adam shoots a big volume of load on the sheets of his bed.
"FUUUUUCCCCKKKK!!!" Adam shouts loudly.
"Yeah boy!" Freddie says while he continues his vicious hard pounding.
"I'm going to fill you up like a bitch!" Freddie says.
Adam is in the bliss of afterglow that he doesn't care anymore. Several
deep hard thrusts are given before Freddie shoots his load inside Adam,
filling the muscle hunk up.
"Fuck yeah!" Freddie says and shoots a big load and then collapses on
Adam's back and they drop on the bed.
Freddie kisses Adam's neck. "That was amazing big guy."
Adam lays all tired on the bed while Freddie gets up from Adam and starts
to get dressed. Adam turns around and sees Freddie dressed and heading to
the door. Freddie turns towards Adam and grins at the hunk before leaving
the room.
Adam lays stunned in bed. Still not understanding why this happened. Tired
after the rough fuck he just got Adam falls asleep.
*********************************
If you enjoyed the story or have a request please send me a message
<Daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com>
For more stories from me, visit https://www.facebook.com/groups/480903845719867
Please donate to Nifty for support to let this great site and its archive
stay free.
</pre>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-52 | Date: Wed, 7 Aug 2024 11:44:27 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 52 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 52: The Forge of Vengeance-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 52 -- The Forge of Vengeance In the depths of the present, the Baron's memories surged like a river, carrying him back to the days of his incarceration. It was a time of darkness and despair, a crucible that forged the resolve burning within him now. The prison walls loomed around him, cold and unyielding. The Baron was a creature of dominance and power, yet within these walls, he was reduced to a mere shadow of himself. In the unforgiving confines of the cell, he endured the merciless taunts of his fellow inmates. They reveled in his downfall, delighting in his humiliation. The Baron's pride was shattered, his spirit broken. But even in the depths of despair, a fire burned within him. He vowed that this humiliation would not define him, that he would rise from the ashes stronger than ever before. The beatings were relentless, a brutal symphony of pain and suffering. The guards reveled in their sadistic sport, their fists raining down on the Baron's battered form. Each blow was a testament to their cruelty, a reminder of his powerlessness. Yet, with every strike, the Baron's resolve grew. He welcomed the pain, for it fueled the fire burning within him. He vowed that he would emerge from this crucible stronger, more formidable than ever before. Hard labor became his daily torment, a relentless grind that sought to break his body and spirit. The Baron toiled like a beast, his muscles straining against the unyielding weight of his tasks. But within the crucible of labor, he found strength. He honed his body into a weapon, forging sinew and muscle into a force to be reckoned with. He knew that one day, he would wield this newfound power against his greatest foe. Then came the nightmarish ordeal in the guards' chamber. They reveled in their sadistic games, delighting in the Baron's suffering. They forced him to dance and perform like a puppet, mocking his every move. Yet, within this chamber of torment, the Baron glimpsed a truth. He saw the depths of human cruelty, the darkness that lurked within every soul. And he vowed that he would harness this darkness, turning it into a weapon to wield against tarzan. In the years that followed, the Baron transformed himself. He embraced the darkness, allowing it to flow through him like a river of power. He honed his body and mind, preparing for the day when he would face his greatest adversary once more. As the present Baron von Richter seethed with the memories of his imprisonment, he knew that the time for vengeance was drawing near. He had forged himself into a weapon, a force of nature that would bring tarzan to his knees. The crucible had shaped him, molding him into a being of relentless determination. And now, the Baron was ready to unleash the full fury of his vengeance upon the jungle king. To be continued... * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Wed, 7 Aug 2024 11:44:27 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 52
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 52: The Forge of Vengeance--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 52 -- The Forge of Vengeance
In the depths of the present, the Baron's memories surged like a river,
carrying him back to the days of his incarceration. It was a time of
darkness and despair, a crucible that forged the resolve burning within him
now.
The prison walls loomed around him, cold and unyielding. The Baron was a
creature of dominance and power, yet within these walls, he was reduced to
a mere shadow of himself.
In the unforgiving confines of the cell, he endured the merciless taunts of
his fellow inmates. They reveled in his downfall, delighting in his
humiliation. The Baron's pride was shattered, his spirit broken.
But even in the depths of despair, a fire burned within him. He vowed that
this humiliation would not define him, that he would rise from the ashes
stronger than ever before.
The beatings were relentless, a brutal symphony of pain and suffering. The
guards reveled in their sadistic sport, their fists raining down on the
Baron's battered form. Each blow was a testament to their cruelty, a
reminder of his powerlessness.
Yet, with every strike, the Baron's resolve grew. He welcomed the pain, for
it fueled the fire burning within him. He vowed that he would emerge from
this crucible stronger, more formidable than ever before.
Hard labor became his daily torment, a relentless grind that sought to
break his body and spirit. The Baron toiled like a beast, his muscles
straining against the unyielding weight of his tasks.
But within the crucible of labor, he found strength. He honed his body into
a weapon, forging sinew and muscle into a force to be reckoned with. He
knew that one day, he would wield this newfound power against his greatest
foe.
Then came the nightmarish ordeal in the guards' chamber. They reveled in
their sadistic games, delighting in the Baron's suffering. They forced him
to dance and perform like a puppet, mocking his every move.
Yet, within this chamber of torment, the Baron glimpsed a truth. He saw the
depths of human cruelty, the darkness that lurked within every soul. And he
vowed that he would harness this darkness, turning it into a weapon to
wield against tarzan.
In the years that followed, the Baron transformed himself. He embraced the
darkness, allowing it to flow through him like a river of power. He honed
his body and mind, preparing for the day when he would face his greatest
adversary once more.
As the present Baron von Richter seethed with the memories of his
imprisonment, he knew that the time for vengeance was drawing near. He had
forged himself into a weapon, a force of nature that would bring tarzan to
his knees.
The crucible had shaped him, molding him into a being of relentless
determination. And now, the Baron was ready to unleash the full fury of his
vengeance upon the jungle king.
To be continued...
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-38 | Date: Sat, 9 Mar 2024 18:59:14 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 38 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 38: The Shadow Master Revealed-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 38 - The Shadow Master Revealed Baron von Richter's presence was palpable as he emerged from the shadow of the barn, clad in his imposing leather attire. The sound of his boots against the earth echoed through the clearing, each step carrying an air of authority that demanded attention. Harrington, Blackwood, and Hargrove, though accustomed to power and privilege, were momentarily rendered speechless by the arrival of this formidable figure. Alden, on the other hand, vividly recalled their previous encounter in the abandoned slaver's camp. He understood the level of respect that von Richter expected, even demanded, from those around him. The baron was not a man to be trifled with, and his presence here signaled the gravity of the situation. Von Richter's black leather ensemble exuded an aura of dominance, from the spike-studded codpiece to the chest harness that emphasized his powerful physique. It was a stark contrast to the more refined attire of the other men, a visual representation of the baron's unyielding authority. As von Richter approached, the men halted their activities, their attention now squarely focused on the cruel master before them. The overseer, too, felt the weight of von Richter's presence, though he was not unfamiliar with the dynamics of power and submission. He understood that this was a man to be obeyed without question. With measured steps, von Richter circled Tarzan, his movements deliberate and purposeful. He positioned himself as close as possible to his kneeling archenemy, the proximity between them almost electric. The baron's spiked codpiece hung mere inches from Tarzan's face, a potent symbol of the power dynamic that now existed between them. The scent of von Richter, a heady blend of leather and dominance, washed over Tarzan, triggering a visceral reaction. It transported him back to the state he had experienced in his last dream of the baron, a potent mixture of submission and arousal. The proximity of his old enemy, now a cruel master, was a stark reminder of Tarzan's newfound place in this twisted hierarchy. Silence hung heavy in the air, the tension between the men palpable. Von Richter's gaze bore into Tarzan, his eyes gleaming with a cruel satisfaction. He relished this moment, this opportunity to assert his dominance over the once-mighty jungle champion. For Harrington, Blackwood, and Hargrove, this was an introduction to the full extent of von Richter's ruthlessness. They were faced with a man who brooked no opposition, who demanded unwavering obedience from those in his presence. It was a stark awakening to the depths of cruelty that existed within the baron's soul. As the seconds stretched into minutes, von Richter's presence loomed large over the group. It was a tableau of power and submission, of the shifting dynamics that now defined their interactions. The Alpha Ascension, with von Richter at the helm, promised to be a spectacle unlike any other, a brutal ballet of dominance and submission with Tarzan as its unwilling star. And so, in the heart of the jungle, a cruel master and a brainwashed submissive slave faced off, their destinies intertwined in a dance of power and control. The stage was set, the players in position. The atmosphere in the clearing was charged with an intensity that seemed to vibrate through the air. Tarzan, blindfolded and vulnerable, was acutely aware that a formidable presence stood before him. The scent of a true alpha master was unmistakable, a heady mixture of leather and dominance that sent shivers down Tarzan's spine. Baron von Richter, though still unknown to Tarzan, moved with purpose. The spike-studded codpiece on his leather attire brushed lightly against Tarzan's face, sending waves of sensation through the kneeling slave. It was a sensory overload, a physical reminder of the power dynamic that now existed between them. As the baron continued to press the spikes against Tarzan's face, his actions became more deliberate. He looked up, eyes piercing through the gathering, locking onto Alden with a silent command that was all too familiar. It was a gaze dripping with authority, a reminder that the baron expected a level of respect that transcended words. Harrington and Blackwood, though accustomed to power, could not help but feel a sense of deference in the presence of this cruel master. They exchanged nods with the baron, a silent acknowledgment of the authority that emanated from him. Hargrove, however, was met with a narrowed gaze, a silent warning that did not go unnoticed. With a purposeful thrust of the spike-studded codpiece against Tarzan's face, von Richter took a moment to survey the men before him. The air hung heavy with unspoken tension, each man keenly aware of the shifting dynamics at play. The Baron's touch was deliberate, a gloved hand firmly pressing the back of Tarzan's head forward into the spike-studded codpiece. It was not a gesture of brutality, but rather a calculated move to imprint the overwhelming scent of an alpha master onto the kneeling slave. The leather and dominance enveloped Tarzan, seeping into his senses and leaving an indelible mark on his psyche. Tarzan's world had shifted. This was not a form of brutality he had encountered before. It was a calculated dominance, a reminder of his place in the hierarchy of power. The blindfold kept him in the dark, both literally and figuratively, as to the identity of the cruel master before him. All he knew was the scent, the touch, and the undeniable presence of a force to be reckoned with. The Baron's actions were not lost on those who bore witness to the scene. Harrington, Blackwood, Alden, and Hargrove stood in silence, each acutely aware of the power dynamic playing out before them. It was a display of authority, a reminder that in the realm of dominance and submission, there were levels that transcended the mundane. As the moments stretched on, the Baron's influence lingered. It was a scent that clung to Tarzan, a visceral reminder of the encounter. In time, he would come to associate that intoxicating aroma with the cruel master who had guided his dreams, a connection forged in the crucible of dominance and submission. The jungle, with its symphony of sounds, seemed to hold its breath. Nature itself bore witness to the convergence of power, the interplay of forces that would shape the course of events to come. The Alpha Ascension loomed on the horizon, a testament to the unforgiving dance of dominance and submission that awaited them all. With a calculated touch, the Baron brought Tarzan to a state of heightened awareness. The blindfold remained, a shroud that shielded him from the visual truth, yet left him vulnerable to the potent forces at play. The entire extended moment was a sensory overload for Tarzan. As he first caught the scent of the master, his jaw dropped beneath the blindfold. The spike studs brushed over his face, their cold, unyielding texture gliding over his lips. The pressure on the back of his head increased, pressing his face further into the leather-clad dominance. It was an intimate, overwhelming experience, one that left Tarzan struggling for breath beneath the mask of the codpiece. The scent of leather and dominance filled his senses, seeping into the very core of his being. The Baron's touch was deliberate, a calculated assertion of authority that left Tarzan both awed and humbled. When the Baron finally stepped back to survey his handiwork, the imprint of his presence lingered. Tarzan could still taste the leather, feel the phantom pressure against his face. The blindfold shrouded him in darkness, leaving him acutely aware of the profound encounter he had just experienced. As Tarzan knelt in the clearing, the other men exchanged glances, their raised eyebrows silently acknowledging the residue of drool that clung to the spike studs. It was evidence of the visceral impact of the Baron's dominance, a physical manifestation of the power dynamic that played out before them. The jungle seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, the symphony of sounds gradually resuming its natural cadence. Nature itself bore witness to the convergence of forces, the interplay of dominance and submission that had unfolded in the clearing. Tarzan remained in a state of heightened awareness, the physical and psychological memory of the encounter etched into his very soul and his arousal evident as it pressed its bulge against his loincloth. The blindfold shielded him from visual truth, yet it could not diminish the indelible mark that the Baron made on him. The clearing seemed charged with an electric energy. It was a space transformed, forever imprinted with the echoes of power and submission. The men, still in silent contemplation, grappled with the weight of what they were witnessing. The Alpha Ascension loomed on the horizon, a formidable reckoning that would test the limits of their resolve. The brutal ballet that awaited them all was now etched into the fabric of their existence, an unyielding vision of the unforgiving dance of dominance and submission. Tarzan, still blindfolded, knelt in the midst of it all. His senses were heightened, every fiber of his being attuned to the indelible mark left by the cruel master. The taste of leather lingered on his lips, a tangible reminder of the encounter that forever altered the course of his journey. The clearing, once a tranquil oasis, had become a sacred space, forever imprinted with the echoes of power and submission. The Baron stepped forward again, pressing his superior manhood against the lowly slave. Tarzan's world narrowed to the sensation of the codpiece against his face. It was both a barrier and a connection, a tangible link to the dominant force that held him in thrall. The words of direction, imprinted upon his subconscious through relentless training, echoed loudly and clearly: "Serve." "Obey." In that moment, thought ceased to matter. His purpose was clear, his path unyielding. He was here to obey his master, to serve his superiors, to please the strong alpha males who held dominion over him. It was a role he embraced with a fervor that bordered on religious devotion. As the codpiece pressed firmly against him, a strange unity formed between them. It was as if the inanimate leather and the eager slave were engaged in a dance of their own. The spike studs, polished by the fervent press of Tarzan's eager face, met the master's pressure with a kind of eerie synchronicity. Tarzan's jaw, dropped in awe, was now filled by the scent-producing codpiece. Every inhalation drew him further into the intoxicating aura of the cruel master. It was a scent that seemed to seep into his very pores, embedding itself in the fabric of his being. As his mouth engulfed the master's codpiece, the scent of dominance was augmented by the taste of the master's leather-clad manhood. In this moment, Tarzan felt a profound sense of completion. He was one with his purpose, bound to the relentless pursuit of service and submission. He longed for the day when he would be graced with the sight of this perfect, muscled, domineering master. It was the culmination of a journey that had shaped his destiny, a destiny now fully realized. As Tarzan knelt in the clearing, blindfolded and bound to his purpose, the jungle seemed to hold its breath. Nature itself bore witness to the convergence of forces, the culmination of a journey that had led Tarzan to this pivotal moment. The imprint of the Baron's dominance was a lingering echo that reverberated through the clearing. The other men watched in reverent silence, aware that they bore witness to something extraordinary. The Alpha Ascension, once a distant horizon, now loomed closer than ever. In the midst of it all, Tarzan remained, his world defined by the leather-clad dominance that enveloped him. He was a vessel of purpose, a slave bound to serve, to obey, and to find fulfillment in the unyielding dance of dominance and submission. And so, the clearing stood as an alter to the transformative power of the cruel master's presence. It was a space forever marked by the echoes of power and submission, a sacred ground where destiny had been forged. As the jungle reclaimed its symphony of sounds, the men were left with a profound sense of awe. They understood that they had been granted a rare glimpse into the heart of Tarzan's journey, a journey that would culminate in the unforgiving ballet that awaited them all. And in the midst of it all, Tarzan knelt, forever changed by the cruel master who bestowed upon him a destiny realized. The blindfold, a shroud of darkness, could not diminish the indelible mark that now defined him. Without a word, the Baron retreated, his departure as calculated as his arrival, a silent exit that left an indelible mark on the clearing. Silence descended upon the clearing, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant calls of the jungle. Tarzan remained blindfolded, his senses heightened in the wake of the baron's presence. He was left with a lingering awareness of his place, the memory of the spikes against his face seared into his consciousness a stark reminder of the submission that now defined his existence. As the moments stretched on, the men exchanged furtive glances, each grappling with the weight of what they had just witnessed. Von Richter's visit was a stark foreshadowing of the Alpha Ascension, a tableau of power and submission foreshadowing the brutal ballet of submission and dominance that would leave an indelible mark on them all. Alden, in particular, felt the weight of the baron's gaze, a silent directive that echoed their previous encounter. It was a reminder that von Richter brooked no opposition, that he commanded a level of respect that demanded unwavering obedience. The jungle, with its cacophony of life, seemed to bear witness to the unfolding drama. The stage was set, the players in position, and the Alpha Ascension loomed on the horizon. In the stillness that followed, the men exchanged knowing glances, each bearing the weight of their own thoughts. Tarzan, still blindfolded, remained in a state of heightened awareness, the Baron's scent mingling with the earthy fragrance of the jungle to sustain his arousal. The Alpha Ascension drew nearer, an impending reckoning that would test the limits of their resolve. The clearing, once a tranquil oasis, now bore witness to the convergence of power. And in the heart of it all, Tarzan knelt, forever changed by the cruel master who had left an indelible imprint on his senses. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sat, 9 Mar 2024 18:59:14 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 38
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 38: The Shadow Master Revealed--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 38 - The Shadow Master Revealed
Baron von Richter's presence was palpable as he emerged from the shadow of
the barn, clad in his imposing leather attire. The sound of his boots
against the earth echoed through the clearing, each step carrying an air of
authority that demanded attention. Harrington, Blackwood, and Hargrove,
though accustomed to power and privilege, were momentarily rendered
speechless by the arrival of this formidable figure.
Alden, on the other hand, vividly recalled their previous encounter in the
abandoned slaver's camp. He understood the level of respect that von
Richter expected, even demanded, from those around him. The baron was not a
man to be trifled with, and his presence here signaled the gravity of the
situation.
Von Richter's black leather ensemble exuded an aura of dominance, from the
spike-studded codpiece to the chest harness that emphasized his powerful
physique. It was a stark contrast to the more refined attire of the other
men, a visual representation of the baron's unyielding authority.
As von Richter approached, the men halted their activities, their attention
now squarely focused on the cruel master before them. The overseer, too,
felt the weight of von Richter's presence, though he was not unfamiliar
with the dynamics of power and submission. He understood that this was a
man to be obeyed without question.
With measured steps, von Richter circled Tarzan, his movements deliberate
and purposeful. He positioned himself as close as possible to his kneeling
archenemy, the proximity between them almost electric. The baron's spiked
codpiece hung mere inches from Tarzan's face, a potent symbol of the power
dynamic that now existed between them.
The scent of von Richter, a heady blend of leather and dominance, washed
over Tarzan, triggering a visceral reaction. It transported him back to the
state he had experienced in his last dream of the baron, a potent mixture
of submission and arousal. The proximity of his old enemy, now a cruel
master, was a stark reminder of Tarzan's newfound place in this twisted
hierarchy.
Silence hung heavy in the air, the tension between the men palpable. Von
Richter's gaze bore into Tarzan, his eyes gleaming with a cruel
satisfaction. He relished this moment, this opportunity to assert his
dominance over the once-mighty jungle champion.
For Harrington, Blackwood, and Hargrove, this was an introduction to the
full extent of von Richter's ruthlessness. They were faced with a man who
brooked no opposition, who demanded unwavering obedience from those in his
presence. It was a stark awakening to the depths of cruelty that existed
within the baron's soul.
As the seconds stretched into minutes, von Richter's presence loomed large
over the group. It was a tableau of power and submission, of the shifting
dynamics that now defined their interactions. The Alpha Ascension, with von
Richter at the helm, promised to be a spectacle unlike any other, a brutal
ballet of dominance and submission with Tarzan as its unwilling star.
And so, in the heart of the jungle, a cruel master and a brainwashed
submissive slave faced off, their destinies intertwined in a dance of power
and control. The stage was set, the players in position.
The atmosphere in the clearing was charged with an intensity that seemed to
vibrate through the air. Tarzan, blindfolded and vulnerable, was acutely
aware that a formidable presence stood before him. The scent of a true
alpha master was unmistakable, a heady mixture of leather and dominance
that sent shivers down Tarzan's spine.
Baron von Richter, though still unknown to Tarzan, moved with purpose. The
spike-studded codpiece on his leather attire brushed lightly against
Tarzan's face, sending waves of sensation through the kneeling slave. It
was a sensory overload, a physical reminder of the power dynamic that now
existed between them.
As the baron continued to press the spikes against Tarzan's face, his
actions became more deliberate. He looked up, eyes piercing through the
gathering, locking onto Alden with a silent command that was all too
familiar. It was a gaze dripping with authority, a reminder that the baron
expected a level of respect that transcended words.
Harrington and Blackwood, though accustomed to power, could not help but
feel a sense of deference in the presence of this cruel master. They
exchanged nods with the baron, a silent acknowledgment of the authority
that emanated from him. Hargrove, however, was met with a narrowed gaze, a
silent warning that did not go unnoticed.
With a purposeful thrust of the spike-studded codpiece against Tarzan's
face, von Richter took a moment to survey the men before him. The air hung
heavy with unspoken tension, each man keenly aware of the shifting dynamics
at play.
The Baron's touch was deliberate, a gloved hand firmly pressing the back of
Tarzan's head forward into the spike-studded codpiece. It was not a gesture
of brutality, but rather a calculated move to imprint the overwhelming
scent of an alpha master onto the kneeling slave. The leather and dominance
enveloped Tarzan, seeping into his senses and leaving an indelible mark on
his psyche.
Tarzan's world had shifted. This was not a form of brutality he had
encountered before. It was a calculated dominance, a reminder of his place
in the hierarchy of power. The blindfold kept him in the dark, both
literally and figuratively, as to the identity of the cruel master before
him. All he knew was the scent, the touch, and the undeniable presence of a
force to be reckoned with.
The Baron's actions were not lost on those who bore witness to the
scene. Harrington, Blackwood, Alden, and Hargrove stood in silence, each
acutely aware of the power dynamic playing out before them. It was a
display of authority, a reminder that in the realm of dominance and
submission, there were levels that transcended the mundane.
As the moments stretched on, the Baron's influence lingered. It was a scent
that clung to Tarzan, a visceral reminder of the encounter. In time, he
would come to associate that intoxicating aroma with the cruel master who
had guided his dreams, a connection forged in the crucible of dominance and
submission.
The jungle, with its symphony of sounds, seemed to hold its breath. Nature
itself bore witness to the convergence of power, the interplay of forces
that would shape the course of events to come. The Alpha Ascension loomed
on the horizon, a testament to the unforgiving dance of dominance and
submission that awaited them all.
With a calculated touch, the Baron brought Tarzan to a state of heightened
awareness. The blindfold remained, a shroud that shielded him from the
visual truth, yet left him vulnerable to the potent forces at play.
The entire extended moment was a sensory overload for Tarzan. As he first
caught the scent of the master, his jaw dropped beneath the blindfold. The
spike studs brushed over his face, their cold, unyielding texture gliding
over his lips. The pressure on the back of his head increased, pressing his
face further into the leather-clad dominance.
It was an intimate, overwhelming experience, one that left Tarzan
struggling for breath beneath the mask of the codpiece. The scent of
leather and dominance filled his senses, seeping into the very core of his
being. The Baron's touch was deliberate, a calculated assertion of
authority that left Tarzan both awed and humbled.
When the Baron finally stepped back to survey his handiwork, the imprint of
his presence lingered. Tarzan could still taste the leather, feel the
phantom pressure against his face. The blindfold shrouded him in darkness,
leaving him acutely aware of the profound encounter he had just
experienced.
As Tarzan knelt in the clearing, the other men exchanged glances, their
raised eyebrows silently acknowledging the residue of drool that clung to
the spike studs. It was evidence of the visceral impact of the Baron's
dominance, a physical manifestation of the power dynamic that played out
before them.
The jungle seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, the symphony of sounds
gradually resuming its natural cadence. Nature itself bore witness to the
convergence of forces, the interplay of dominance and submission that had
unfolded in the clearing.
Tarzan remained in a state of heightened awareness, the physical and
psychological memory of the encounter etched into his very soul and his
arousal evident as it pressed its bulge against his loincloth. The
blindfold shielded him from visual truth, yet it could not diminish the
indelible mark that the Baron made on him.
The clearing seemed charged with an electric energy. It was a space
transformed, forever imprinted with the echoes of power and submission. The
men, still in silent contemplation, grappled with the weight of what they
were witnessing.
The Alpha Ascension loomed on the horizon, a formidable reckoning that
would test the limits of their resolve. The brutal ballet that awaited them
all was now etched into the fabric of their existence, an unyielding vision
of the unforgiving dance of dominance and submission.
Tarzan, still blindfolded, knelt in the midst of it all. His senses were
heightened, every fiber of his being attuned to the indelible mark left by
the cruel master. The taste of leather lingered on his lips, a tangible
reminder of the encounter that forever altered the course of his journey.
The clearing, once a tranquil oasis, had become a sacred space, forever
imprinted with the echoes of power and submission.
The Baron stepped forward again, pressing his superior manhood against the
lowly slave. Tarzan's world narrowed to the sensation of the codpiece
against his face. It was both a barrier and a connection, a tangible link
to the dominant force that held him in thrall. The words of direction,
imprinted upon his subconscious through relentless training, echoed loudly
and clearly:
"Serve."
"Obey."
In that moment, thought ceased to matter. His purpose was clear, his path
unyielding. He was here to obey his master, to serve his superiors, to
please the strong alpha males who held dominion over him. It was a role he
embraced with a fervor that bordered on religious devotion.
As the codpiece pressed firmly against him, a strange unity formed between
them. It was as if the inanimate leather and the eager slave were engaged
in a dance of their own. The spike studs, polished by the fervent press of
Tarzan's eager face, met the master's pressure with a kind of eerie
synchronicity.
Tarzan's jaw, dropped in awe, was now filled by the scent-producing
codpiece. Every inhalation drew him further into the intoxicating aura of
the cruel master. It was a scent that seemed to seep into his very pores,
embedding itself in the fabric of his being. As his mouth engulfed the
master's codpiece, the scent of dominance was augmented by the taste of the
master's leather-clad manhood.
In this moment, Tarzan felt a profound sense of completion. He was one with
his purpose, bound to the relentless pursuit of service and submission. He
longed for the day when he would be graced with the sight of this perfect,
muscled, domineering master. It was the culmination of a journey that had
shaped his destiny, a destiny now fully realized.
As Tarzan knelt in the clearing, blindfolded and bound to his purpose, the
jungle seemed to hold its breath. Nature itself bore witness to the
convergence of forces, the culmination of a journey that had led Tarzan to
this pivotal moment.
The imprint of the Baron's dominance was a lingering echo that reverberated
through the clearing. The other men watched in reverent silence, aware that
they bore witness to something extraordinary. The Alpha Ascension, once a
distant horizon, now loomed closer than ever.
In the midst of it all, Tarzan remained, his world defined by the
leather-clad dominance that enveloped him. He was a vessel of purpose, a
slave bound to serve, to obey, and to find fulfillment in the unyielding
dance of dominance and submission.
And so, the clearing stood as an alter to the transformative power of the
cruel master's presence. It was a space forever marked by the echoes of
power and submission, a sacred ground where destiny had been forged.
As the jungle reclaimed its symphony of sounds, the men were left with a
profound sense of awe. They understood that they had been granted a rare
glimpse into the heart of Tarzan's journey, a journey that would culminate
in the unforgiving ballet that awaited them all.
And in the midst of it all, Tarzan knelt, forever changed by the cruel
master who bestowed upon him a destiny realized. The blindfold, a shroud of
darkness, could not diminish the indelible mark that now defined him.
Without a word, the Baron retreated, his departure as calculated as his
arrival, a silent exit that left an indelible mark on the clearing.
Silence descended upon the clearing, broken only by the rustle of leaves
and the distant calls of the jungle. Tarzan remained blindfolded, his
senses heightened in the wake of the baron's presence. He was left with a
lingering awareness of his place, the memory of the spikes against his face
seared into his consciousness a stark reminder of the submission that now
defined his existence.
As the moments stretched on, the men exchanged furtive glances, each
grappling with the weight of what they had just witnessed. Von Richter's
visit was a stark foreshadowing of the Alpha Ascension, a tableau of power
and submission foreshadowing the brutal ballet of submission and dominance
that would leave an indelible mark on them all.
Alden, in particular, felt the weight of the baron's gaze, a silent
directive that echoed their previous encounter. It was a reminder that von
Richter brooked no opposition, that he commanded a level of respect that
demanded unwavering obedience.
The jungle, with its cacophony of life, seemed to bear witness to the
unfolding drama. The stage was set, the players in position, and the Alpha
Ascension loomed on the horizon.
In the stillness that followed, the men exchanged knowing glances, each
bearing the weight of their own thoughts. Tarzan, still blindfolded,
remained in a state of heightened awareness, the Baron's scent mingling
with the earthy fragrance of the jungle to sustain his arousal.
The Alpha Ascension drew nearer, an impending reckoning that would test the
limits of their resolve. The clearing, once a tranquil oasis, now bore
witness to the convergence of power. And in the heart of it all, Tarzan
knelt, forever changed by the cruel master who had left an indelible
imprint on his senses.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-61 | Date: Tue, 10 Sep 2024 01:39:02 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 61 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 61 - Tarzan in The Dom's Den (Encore!)-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 61 -- Tarzan in The Dom's Den (Encore!) (Returning to the present...and the conscious...) Welcome to "The Dom's Den" -- Mr. Blackwood's exclusive establishment where power, dominance, and submission are woven into every performance. This is where the fallen jungle king, Tarzan, has found his new purpose: to entertain, to submit, and to serve. As the night descends upon the opulent club, its patrons gather in anticipation, their eager murmurs filling the air. The stage is bathed in a soft, crimson light, casting an aura of decadence and mystery. A hush falls over the audience as the first act is announced. The heavy curtain draws back, revealing Tarzan, clad in nothing but a skimpy leather loincloth, his body a work of strength and submission. His movements are controlled, every step and sway orchestrated by Mr. Blackwood himself. The crowd watches in rapt attention, their desires ignited by the raw power emanating from the once mighty king. Mr. Blackwood, the master of ceremonies, stands at the center, his presence commanding and magnetic. He cracks his bullwhip, its sharp report punctuating Tarzan's every move. The crowd is enraptured, their eyes fixed on the spectacle before them. Some lean forward, yearning for a closer view, while others exchange knowing glances, reveling in the unique nature of the performance. As the night progresses, Tarzan's dance takes on new dimensions. He is led through intricate choreography, his body a vessel for Mr. Blackwood's desires. The crowd's reactions vary -- from awe to arousal, from fascination to envy. Each patron envisions their own narrative, their own power dynamic, in this electrifying display. As the final notes of the performance echo through the club, Tarzan stands, breathless and submissive, before his audience. The room erupts in applause, a symphony of approval and desire. The fallen king has become a beacon of submission, a living testament to the Dom's Den's promise. And so, the night at "The Dom's Den" continues, each act celebrating the power dynamics that shape this world. Tarzan's performance, a highlight of the evening, leaves an indelible mark on all who bear witness -- a vivid reminder of the all-encompassing power that resides within the heart of The Dom's Den. * * * * * As the night wears on at the Dom's Den, a palpable energy courses through the air. The performances have enthralled the audience, leaving them hungry for more. Mr. Blackwood, the enigmatic master of ceremonies, steps forward, his presence commanding attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, a special opportunity awaits you tonight," he announces, his voice a velvet caress with an undertone of authority. "Our fallen king, Tarzan, has proven to be a most captivating performer. Now, for the highest bidder, he can be yours for a private encore." Eager whispers ripple through the crowd, glances exchanged with a mix of curiosity and desire. The bids start to roll in, each participant driven by their own fantasies and cravings. Some seek to experience the thrill of commanding the once-mighty Tarzan, relishing in the power exchange. Others are drawn to the sheer physicality of the man, desiring an intimate encounter with the legendary figure. The bids escalate, a testament to the allure Tarzan now holds as a submissive spectacle. The Dom's Den has become a playground for those who revel in dominance and submission, and Tarzan is the jewel in its crown. The night unfolds, desires laid bare, as the highest bidder steps forward to claim their prize. And so, the tradition continues, the highest bidder taking Tarzan to new heights of submission and ecstasy. Mr. Blackwood's coffers swell, his establishment solidifying its reputation as the pinnacle of power dynamics and indulgence. Tarzan, once the untamed king of the jungle, now serves as the ultimate symbol of surrender within the hallowed halls of the Dom's Den. * * * * * The winning bidder, a burly man with a commanding presence, steps forward eagerly. He relishes the chance to exert dominance over the legendary Tarzan. Rather than resorting to physical force, he chooses a different approach. He directs Tarzan through a series of poses and movements, akin to a skilled choreographer. With each gesture, he showcases Tarzan's impressive physique and agility, much to the delight of the audience. The winner uses Tarzan as a living canvas, displaying his strength and flexibility in a captivating performance. Throughout the encore, the winning bidder maintains an air of authority, relishing the opportunity to guide Tarzan through the carefully orchestrated routine. It's a display of dominance and control that captivates the audience and solidifies Tarzan's status as a mesmerizing spectacle. * * * * * Tarzan, still under the influence of the winning bidder's commands, moves with grace towards Mr. Blackwood. His well-defined muscles ripple beneath his bronzed skin as he gracefully lowers himself to his knees before his master. Mr. Blackwood, a commanding figure in his own right, watches with a satisfied grin. He extends his hand, palm open, offering the morsels of kibble. "Good boy," he murmurs, his voice carrying an air of authority. Tarzan's gaze locks with Mr. Blackwood's, a glint of anticipation in his eyes. He obediently leans forward, taking the kibble from Mr. Blackwood's hand with utmost care, his movements deliberate and controlled. The simple act carries a powerful message, underscoring the dynamic between master and slave. As Tarzan consumes the kibble, the bond between them solidifies, each understanding their role in this intricate dance of dominance and submission. It's a moment of unspoken connection, a testament to the unbreakable link forged in the heart of the Dom's Den. * * * * * The night air hung heavy with the scent of sweat and exertion as Tarzan, stripped down to his loincloth, harnessed himself to the sturdy carriage. The leather straps pressed against his bronzed skin, a stark reminder of his place in this world of servitude. The overseer's commands were sharp and unrelenting as Tarzan strained against the weight of the carriage. His powerful muscles flexed and rippled with each step, a demonstration of his unyielding strength. The path back to Lord Harrington's estate was rugged and uneven, but Tarzan forged ahead with a determined resolve. Inside the carriage, Mr. Blackwood and his companions reveled in their opulent surroundings. The clink of glasses and laughter echoed against the plush interior, a stark contrast to the grueling labor unfolding just outside. Tarzan's breath came in ragged bursts, the strain of his exertion evident in the lines etched on his face. Yet, he pushed forward, his gaze fixed on the horizon. His world had shifted, his existence now defined by toil and submission. As they neared the estate, the overseer's voice grew even more demanding, urging Tarzan to summon the last reserves of his strength. With a final surge of effort, Tarzan pulled the carriage into the estate grounds, his chest heaving with exhaustion. The scene was a stark tableau of privilege and subjugation, a visual reminder of the power dynamics that governed this world. Tarzan, once a king of the jungle, now reduced to a mere beast of burden, bore the weight of his new reality with a stoic determination. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER SIXTY-One------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Tue, 10 Sep 2024 01:39:02 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 61
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 61 - Tarzan in The Dom's Den (Encore!)--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 61 -- Tarzan in The Dom's Den (Encore!)
(Returning to the present...and the conscious...)
Welcome to "The Dom's Den" -- Mr. Blackwood's exclusive establishment where
power, dominance, and submission are woven into every performance. This is
where the fallen jungle king, Tarzan, has found his new purpose: to
entertain, to submit, and to serve.
As the night descends upon the opulent club, its patrons gather in
anticipation, their eager murmurs filling the air. The stage is bathed in a
soft, crimson light, casting an aura of decadence and mystery. A hush falls
over the audience as the first act is announced.
The heavy curtain draws back, revealing Tarzan, clad in nothing but a
skimpy leather loincloth, his body a work of strength and submission. His
movements are controlled, every step and sway orchestrated by Mr. Blackwood
himself. The crowd watches in rapt attention, their desires ignited by the
raw power emanating from the once mighty king.
Mr. Blackwood, the master of ceremonies, stands at the center, his presence
commanding and magnetic. He cracks his bullwhip, its sharp report
punctuating Tarzan's every move. The crowd is enraptured, their eyes fixed
on the spectacle before them. Some lean forward, yearning for a closer
view, while others exchange knowing glances, reveling in the unique nature
of the performance.
As the night progresses, Tarzan's dance takes on new dimensions. He is led
through intricate choreography, his body a vessel for Mr. Blackwood's
desires. The crowd's reactions vary -- from awe to arousal, from
fascination to envy. Each patron envisions their own narrative, their own
power dynamic, in this electrifying display.
As the final notes of the performance echo through the club, Tarzan stands,
breathless and submissive, before his audience. The room erupts in
applause, a symphony of approval and desire. The fallen king has become a
beacon of submission, a living testament to the Dom's Den's promise.
And so, the night at "The Dom's Den" continues, each act celebrating the
power dynamics that shape this world. Tarzan's performance, a highlight of
the evening, leaves an indelible mark on all who bear witness -- a vivid
reminder of the all-encompassing power that resides within the heart of The
Dom's Den.
* * * * *
As the night wears on at the Dom's Den, a palpable energy courses through
the air. The performances have enthralled the audience, leaving them hungry
for more. Mr. Blackwood, the enigmatic master of ceremonies, steps forward,
his presence commanding attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen, a special opportunity awaits you tonight," he
announces, his voice a velvet caress with an undertone of authority. "Our
fallen king, Tarzan, has proven to be a most captivating performer. Now,
for the highest bidder, he can be yours for a private encore."
Eager whispers ripple through the crowd, glances exchanged with a mix of
curiosity and desire. The bids start to roll in, each participant driven by
their own fantasies and cravings. Some seek to experience the thrill of
commanding the once-mighty Tarzan, relishing in the power exchange. Others
are drawn to the sheer physicality of the man, desiring an intimate
encounter with the legendary figure.
The bids escalate, a testament to the allure Tarzan now holds as a
submissive spectacle. The Dom's Den has become a playground for those who
revel in dominance and submission, and Tarzan is the jewel in its
crown. The night unfolds, desires laid bare, as the highest bidder steps
forward to claim their prize.
And so, the tradition continues, the highest bidder taking Tarzan to new
heights of submission and ecstasy. Mr. Blackwood's coffers swell, his
establishment solidifying its reputation as the pinnacle of power dynamics
and indulgence. Tarzan, once the untamed king of the jungle, now serves as
the ultimate symbol of surrender within the hallowed halls of the Dom's
Den.
* * * * *
The winning bidder, a burly man with a commanding presence, steps forward
eagerly. He relishes the chance to exert dominance over the legendary
Tarzan. Rather than resorting to physical force, he chooses a different
approach.
He directs Tarzan through a series of poses and movements, akin to a
skilled choreographer. With each gesture, he showcases Tarzan's impressive
physique and agility, much to the delight of the audience. The winner uses
Tarzan as a living canvas, displaying his strength and flexibility in a
captivating performance.
Throughout the encore, the winning bidder maintains an air of authority,
relishing the opportunity to guide Tarzan through the carefully
orchestrated routine. It's a display of dominance and control that
captivates the audience and solidifies Tarzan's status as a mesmerizing
spectacle.
* * * * *
Tarzan, still under the influence of the winning bidder's commands, moves
with grace towards Mr. Blackwood. His well-defined muscles ripple beneath
his bronzed skin as he gracefully lowers himself to his knees before his
master.
Mr. Blackwood, a commanding figure in his own right, watches with a
satisfied grin. He extends his hand, palm open, offering the morsels of
kibble.
"Good boy," he murmurs, his voice carrying an air of authority.
Tarzan's gaze locks with Mr. Blackwood's, a glint of anticipation in his
eyes. He obediently leans forward, taking the kibble from Mr. Blackwood's
hand with utmost care, his movements deliberate and controlled.
The simple act carries a powerful message, underscoring the dynamic between
master and slave. As Tarzan consumes the kibble, the bond between them
solidifies, each understanding their role in this intricate dance of
dominance and submission. It's a moment of unspoken connection, a testament
to the unbreakable link forged in the heart of the Dom's Den.
* * * * *
The night air hung heavy with the scent of sweat and exertion as Tarzan,
stripped down to his loincloth, harnessed himself to the sturdy
carriage. The leather straps pressed against his bronzed skin, a stark
reminder of his place in this world of servitude.
The overseer's commands were sharp and unrelenting as Tarzan strained
against the weight of the carriage. His powerful muscles flexed and rippled
with each step, a demonstration of his unyielding strength. The path back
to Lord Harrington's estate was rugged and uneven, but Tarzan forged ahead
with a determined resolve.
Inside the carriage, Mr. Blackwood and his companions reveled in their
opulent surroundings. The clink of glasses and laughter echoed against the
plush interior, a stark contrast to the grueling labor unfolding just
outside.
Tarzan's breath came in ragged bursts, the strain of his exertion evident
in the lines etched on his face. Yet, he pushed forward, his gaze fixed on
the horizon. His world had shifted, his existence now defined by toil and
submission.
As they neared the estate, the overseer's voice grew even more demanding,
urging Tarzan to summon the last reserves of his strength. With a final
surge of effort, Tarzan pulled the carriage into the estate grounds, his
chest heaving with exhaustion.
The scene was a stark tableau of privilege and subjugation, a visual
reminder of the power dynamics that governed this world. Tarzan, once a
king of the jungle, now reduced to a mere beast of burden, bore the weight
of his new reality with a stoic determination.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER SIXTY-One-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-3 | Date: Sat, 4 Nov 2023 23:26:33 +0000 (UTC) From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance, Chapter Three Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. The story is my intellectual property and is (c) to tarzanstud1@gmail.com. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 3: A Welcome Hero? In the dense heart of the jungle, where the leaves whispered secrets and the vines held ancient tales, Tarzan moved with the grace and confidence of a creature born to this wild world. He was a figure of power and prowess, living free from the constraints of civilization. The jungle was his kingdom, and every creature within it was subject to his dominion. But this day, an unexpected intruder was making his way through the labyrinth of trees and undergrowth. Tarzan, ever vigilant and protective of those he believed needed saving, observed this newcomer with suspicion from a distance as the stranger made his way deeper into the jungle. * * * * * Vincent Kessler, was a man of many faces. He prided himself on his ability to seamlessly blend into the background, taking on the persona that would serve him best in any given situation. In the depths of the jungle, he masqueraded as a hero, a champion of the oppressed, a man who sought to rescue those who had fallen victim to the slave trade. His attire was deliberately chosen to embody the image of a savior: a weathered leather jacket adorned with various insignias, a wide-brimmed hat that shielded his eyes, and a scarf that he tied loosely around his face, partially hiding his features but leaving enough room for him to communicate with authority. It was an ensemble that exuded the aura of a man on a mission. Kessler's eyes, though sharp and calculating, held a glint of deception. They bore the weight of countless schemes, each one masterfully executed. He approached each mission with a precision that was both impressive and chilling. This was a man who understood the art of deception better than most. As he ventured deeper into the jungle, he had one name on his mind: Tarzan. The legend of the untamed man had reached his ears, and Kessler saw in him the potential for a substantial profit. But first, he needed to gain Tarzan's trust, convince him that they were allies in this battle against slavery. Kessler had studied his prey meticulously. He knew of Tarzan's reputation as a protector of the jungle and its inhabitants. This was a man who valued freedom above all else, a quality that Kessler aimed to exploit. He understood that to ensnare a creature like Tarzan, he would need to be cunning, patient, and above all, convincing. As Kessler made his way through the dense vegetation, he kept a watchful eye on his surroundings. He knew that one wrong step could mean disaster. He was well-versed in the ways of the jungle, a skill he had honed over years of navigating treacherous terrain. Finally, he spotted his target. Tarzan, a figure of raw power and primal energy, moved through the jungle with an ease that was both awe-inspiring and intimidating. Kessler approached cautiously, making sure to keep his true intentions veiled. "Tarzan," he called out, his voice projected with an air of urgency. "I've heard of your struggle against the slave trade. I'm here to help, to stand by your side in this fight." Tarzan turned to face him, his gaze scrutinizing. Kessler met it with a look of unwavering determination, every fiber of his being committed to the act. "You speak of noble intentions" Tarzan responded, his voice a deep rumble of slightly broken English that reverberated through the jungle. "But action speak louder than word. How Tarzan know Tarzan trust?" Kessler knew this was the pivotal moment. He needed to provide Tarzan with a reason to believe in him, to see him as an ally rather than a potential threat. With a carefully calculated gesture, he removed a map from his pocket, its surface marked with the locations of known slave camps. "I've been gathering intelligence on these operations for months," Kessler explained. "I know their tactics, their schedules. Together, we can free those who have been wrongfully enslaved." Tarzan studied the map, his expression inscrutable. After a long moment, he nodded. "We move at dawn. But if this is trap..." Kessler held up a hand, cutting off Tarzan's warning. "I understand. You have my word, Tarzan. We share a common goal, and I'm here to see it through." And so, under the canopy of the jungle, a tenuous alliance was formed, built on the foundation of deception and hidden agendas. Kessler knew that in this dance of shadows, one misstep could lead to his downfall. But the potential rewards were too great to ignore, and he was willing to play this dangerous game until the very end. END OF CHAPTER THREE ----------------------------------------------- Thanks for your emails! This is part of a very long tarzan story. I can forewarn you one last time, graphic sex is not the focus so much as good storytelling with the mighty hero of the jungle experiencing things he never has imagined before. It's definitely racy, and always hot to me, but if you need endless graphic sex, this may not be your ideal. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sat, 4 Nov 2023 23:26:33 +0000 (UTC)
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance, Chapter Three
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
The story is my intellectual property and is (c) to tarzanstud1@gmail.com.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 3: A Welcome Hero?
In the dense heart of the jungle, where the leaves whispered secrets and
the vines held ancient tales, Tarzan moved with the grace and confidence of
a creature born to this wild world. He was a figure of power and prowess,
living free from the constraints of civilization. The jungle was his
kingdom, and every creature within it was subject to his dominion.
But this day, an unexpected intruder was making his way through the
labyrinth of trees and undergrowth. Tarzan, ever vigilant and protective of
those he believed needed saving, observed this newcomer with suspicion from
a distance as the stranger made his way deeper into the jungle.
* * * * *
Vincent Kessler, was a man of many faces. He prided himself on his ability
to seamlessly blend into the background, taking on the persona that would
serve him best in any given situation. In the depths of the jungle, he
masqueraded as a hero, a champion of the oppressed, a man who sought to
rescue those who had fallen victim to the slave trade.
His attire was deliberately chosen to embody the image of a savior: a
weathered leather jacket adorned with various insignias, a wide-brimmed hat
that shielded his eyes, and a scarf that he tied loosely around his face,
partially hiding his features but leaving enough room for him to
communicate with authority. It was an ensemble that exuded the aura of a
man on a mission.
Kessler's eyes, though sharp and calculating, held a glint of deception.
They bore the weight of countless schemes, each one masterfully executed.
He approached each mission with a precision that was both impressive and
chilling. This was a man who understood the art of deception better than
most.
As he ventured deeper into the jungle, he had one name on his mind:
Tarzan. The legend of the untamed man had reached his ears, and Kessler saw
in him the potential for a substantial profit. But first, he needed to gain
Tarzan's trust, convince him that they were allies in this battle against
slavery.
Kessler had studied his prey meticulously. He knew of Tarzan's reputation
as a protector of the jungle and its inhabitants. This was a man who valued
freedom above all else, a quality that Kessler aimed to exploit. He
understood that to ensnare a creature like Tarzan, he would need to be
cunning, patient, and above all, convincing.
As Kessler made his way through the dense vegetation, he kept a watchful
eye on his surroundings. He knew that one wrong step could mean disaster.
He was well-versed in the ways of the jungle, a skill he had honed over
years of navigating treacherous terrain.
Finally, he spotted his target. Tarzan, a figure of raw power and primal
energy, moved through the jungle with an ease that was both awe-inspiring
and intimidating. Kessler approached cautiously, making sure to keep his
true intentions veiled.
"Tarzan," he called out, his voice projected with an air of urgency. "I've
heard of your struggle against the slave trade. I'm here to help, to stand
by your side in this fight."
Tarzan turned to face him, his gaze scrutinizing. Kessler met it with a
look of unwavering determination, every fiber of his being committed to the
act.
"You speak of noble intentions" Tarzan responded, his voice a deep rumble
of slightly broken English that reverberated through the jungle. "But
action speak louder than word. How Tarzan know Tarzan trust?"
Kessler knew this was the pivotal moment. He needed to provide Tarzan with
a reason to believe in him, to see him as an ally rather than a potential
threat. With a carefully calculated gesture, he removed a map from his
pocket, its surface marked with the locations of known slave camps.
"I've been gathering intelligence on these operations for months," Kessler
explained. "I know their tactics, their schedules. Together, we can free
those who have been wrongfully enslaved."
Tarzan studied the map, his expression inscrutable. After a long moment, he
nodded. "We move at dawn. But if this is trap..."
Kessler held up a hand, cutting off Tarzan's warning. "I understand. You
have my word, Tarzan. We share a common goal, and I'm here to see it
through."
And so, under the canopy of the jungle, a tenuous alliance was formed,
built on the foundation of deception and hidden agendas. Kessler knew that
in this dance of shadows, one misstep could lead to his downfall. But the
potential rewards were too great to ignore, and he was willing to play this
dangerous game until the very end.
END OF CHAPTER THREE -----------------------------------------------
Thanks for your emails! This is part of a very long tarzan story. I can
forewarn you one last time, graphic sex is not the focus so much as good
storytelling with the mighty hero of the jungle experiencing things he
never has imagined before. It's definitely racy, and always hot to me, but
if you need endless graphic sex, this may not be your ideal. If you have
any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com.
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/rugby-world-cup/ | Nifty Archive: rugby-world-cup
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-18 | Date: Sat, 9 Dec 2023 18:19:12 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 18 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 18: Revelry and Subjugation -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com * * * * * Chapter 18: Revelry and Subjugation As the night wore on, Tarzan found himself in the midst of a nightmarish spectacle, his senses slowly returning. He surveyed the scene, his mind sharpened by the harsh reality of his captivity. He was a captive king, forced into a role that stripped him of his dignity and autonomy. The patrons, their faces blurred by the flickering light, continued their revelry. They treated Tarzan as a living curiosity, their gestures a twisted form of celebration. Though their intentions were cruel, Tarzan's resolve remained unbroken. He understood the gravity of his situation, and with it, the necessity of biding his time. Meanwhile, Mr. Blackwood navigated the sea of eager patrons, considering the offers that had been made. His calculations weighed the potential gains against the risks, his partnership with Lord Harrington a crucial factor in his deliberations. The fate of Tarzan hung in the balance, a pawn in a larger game of power and ambition. As the night reached its zenith, Tarzan's endurance was pushed to its limit. He endured the taunts and touches, each interaction a stark reminder of his captivity. Yet, he remained vigilant, his spirit a beacon of defiance in the face of overwhelming odds. The hours stretched on, the night's debauchery melding into a hazy blur. Tarzan's senses dulled, his body and mind pushed to their limits. He knew that his only chance lay in waiting for the opportune moment to reclaim his freedom. In the wee hours of the middle-of-the-night morning, long before the first light of dawn would pierce the darkness, a subtle shift in the atmosphere signaled a change in the night's proceedings. The patrons, satiated with their twisted entertainment, began to disperse, leaving behind a scene of decadence and chaos. A renewed sense of purpose awakened for Tarzan. He knew that the time had come to seize his chance, to break free from the chains that bound him. The jungle, ever watchful, seemed to pulse with a silent encouragement. With a surge of adrenaline, Tarzan rallied his remaining strength. He awaited the perfect moment, his senses attuned to the rhythms of the club. His liberation was imminent, and with it, the opportunity to reclaim his rightful place in the jungle. * * * * * As the night's debauchery drew to a close, Mr. Blackwood navigated through the departing patrons, their voices hushed in the fading darkness. Offers and inquiries filled the air, each individual vying for a chance to claim Tarzan for their own desires. One man, distinguished by the air of opulence that clung to him, approached Mr. Blackwood with an air of expectancy. "Mr. Blackwood, I must have him for the remainder of the night," the man insisted. "I'm willing to pay generously for the privilege." Mr. Blackwood considered the offer, his mind working through the potential gains. "Your generosity is duly noted, sir. I shall consider it." Another patron, eager and persuasive, made his case. "I'm have a party at my estate, and Tarzan would be the perfect entertainment," the man said. "Name your price, Mr. Blackwood." The offers continued to flow, each proposition carrying its own weight in gold. Mr. Blackwood listened intently, weighing the potential rewards against the risks. The fate of Tarzan hung in the balance, his future a pawn in a high-stakes game of power and ambition. Meanwhile, Tarzan, though poised on the precipice of hope, remained bound and under Mr. Blackwood's watchful eye. Their interaction was laced with an unspoken tension, each aware of the stakes that rested upon their actions. "Tarzan," Mr. Blackwood addressed him, his voice measured, "You have proven to be a most entertaining acquisition. Your strength and resilience are commendable." Tarzan met Mr. Blackwood's gaze with a silent defiance, his eyes gleaming with the fire of a spirit unbroken. He understood that his fate still hung in the balance, his moment of liberation not yet realized. Mr. Blackwood made his decision. He accepted an offer from a patron, one that promised a night of extravagant revelry at a lavish estate. Tarzan's heart sank, the glimmer of hope extinguished. He was not to be freed, but instead, bound once more to a new estate. His body, weary and worn, yearned for respite, but his spirit remained resolute. * * * * * Mr. Blackwood had made his decision. He accepted the offer from a distinguished patron, one whose estate promised a night of opulence and extravagance. The deal was struck, and Tarzan's fate was sealed. As the chains that bound him were removed, Tarzan's body sagged with a mixture of exhaustion and resignation. He understood that his moment of freedom had been fleeting, replaced by a new chapter of captivity. A carriage awaited, its opulent design a stark contrast to Tarzan's rugged form. As Mr. Blackwood relaxed inside the carriage in luxury, tarzan was harnessed to the back, the weight of his predicament settling around him as he was forced to run while bound and tethered to the carriage to keep up. The journey was a blur, the passing scenery a silent witness to the captive king's humiliating passage through a world that had once been his own. The estate, a sprawling expanse of manicured gardens and imposing architecture, loomed before them. Tarzan was led inside, his senses assaulted by the opulence that surrounded him. The air was heavy with the scent of rare blooms and the distant strains of music. As the night of extravagant revelry unfolded, Tarzan found himself at the center of the opulent spectacle, a whirlwind of excess and indugence. Patrons, draped in finery and masks of sophistication, regarded him with a mixture of fascination and curiosity. They marveled at the captive king, their voices a murmured hum of speculation. Mr. Blackwood, a puppeteer in this grand theater, orchestrated Tarzan's presence with a calculated finesse. He allowed the patrons to approach, to feel the sinew of Tarzan's powerful frame, to gaze into the eyes of a force that had once ruled he wild. Tarzan's mind raced, his senses alert to every nuance of his surroundings. He understood the gravity of his situation, his fate now firmly in the hands of those who sought to exploit his strength for their own pleasure. The patrons watched in awe as, under Mr. Blackwood's calculated direction, Tarzan's abilities were put to the test. He displayed a series of astonishing feats of strength and agility. His movements emphasized the untamed power that coursed through his veins, each action met with gasps of astonishment and thunderous applause. The night wore on, the revelry reaching a fevered pitch. Tarzan performed feats of strength and agility, each display met with gasps of astonishment and applause. He lifted heavy objects with ease, his muscles rippling in the flickering light. He scaled walls and performed daring acrobatics, leaving the audience breathless with every display. Mr. Blackwood, the puppeteer of this grand performance, prodded Tarzan to perform even greater feats. With a gesture and a command, Tarzan leaped from great heights, his form soaring through the air with a grace that defied reason. He balanced on precarious perches, his body boldly displaying the boundless potential of the human form. When Tarzan performed exceptionally well, Mr. Blackwood rewarded him with a piece of kibble, which Tarzan accepted with a measured gratitude. It was a degrading gesture, a reminder of his captivity and the control that now held him in its grasp. However, when Tarzan failed to meet Mr. Blackwood's expectations, the consequences were swift and unyielding. With a stern word and a sharp gesture, Mr. Blackwood wielded his riding crop as a means of correction. The sting of the crop served as a brutal reminder of the power dynamic that now governed Tarzan's existence. The night pressed on, each feat of strength and agility a step further into the abyss of Tarzan's captivity. The patrons, their eyes wide with a mixture of fascination and disbelief, watched as the once-mighty king of the jungle was reduced to a mere spectacle for their amusement. As the first light of dawn began to pierce the darkness, the night of revelry began to wane. The patrons, sated by their night of excess, dispersed to their chambers, leaving Tarzan alone in the opulent surroundings. Tarzan, weary and battered, was led back to the carriage that would lead him to Lord Harrington's estate. His body bore the marks of his trials, but his spirit remained unbroken as he ran once more, bound and tethered to the carriage and desperate to keep from being dragged by it if he slowed his pace. The jungle, ever patient, awaited its rightful king's return, its ancient heart beating in rhythm with the trials of its wayward son. The jungle called to tarzan in a silent chorus of leaves and whispers. He knew that his path would lead him back, back to the heart of the wild, where he would reclaim his rightful place as the king. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER EIGHTEEN------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sat, 9 Dec 2023 18:19:12 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 18
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 18: Revelry and Subjugation --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
Chapter 18: Revelry and Subjugation
As the night wore on, Tarzan found himself in the midst of a nightmarish
spectacle, his senses slowly returning. He surveyed the scene, his mind
sharpened by the harsh reality of his captivity. He was a captive king,
forced into a role that stripped him of his dignity and autonomy.
The patrons, their faces blurred by the flickering light, continued their
revelry. They treated Tarzan as a living curiosity, their gestures a
twisted form of celebration. Though their intentions were cruel, Tarzan's
resolve remained unbroken. He understood the gravity of his situation, and
with it, the necessity of biding his time.
Meanwhile, Mr. Blackwood navigated the sea of eager patrons, considering
the offers that had been made. His calculations weighed the potential gains
against the risks, his partnership with Lord Harrington a crucial factor in
his deliberations. The fate of Tarzan hung in the balance, a pawn in a
larger game of power and ambition.
As the night reached its zenith, Tarzan's endurance was pushed to its
limit. He endured the taunts and touches, each interaction a stark reminder
of his captivity. Yet, he remained vigilant, his spirit a beacon of
defiance in the face of overwhelming odds.
The hours stretched on, the night's debauchery melding into a hazy
blur. Tarzan's senses dulled, his body and mind pushed to their limits. He
knew that his only chance lay in waiting for the opportune moment to
reclaim his freedom.
In the wee hours of the middle-of-the-night morning, long before the first
light of dawn would pierce the darkness, a subtle shift in the atmosphere
signaled a change in the night's proceedings. The patrons, satiated with
their twisted entertainment, began to disperse, leaving behind a scene of
decadence and chaos.
A renewed sense of purpose awakened for Tarzan. He knew that the time had
come to seize his chance, to break free from the chains that bound him. The
jungle, ever watchful, seemed to pulse with a silent encouragement.
With a surge of adrenaline, Tarzan rallied his remaining strength. He
awaited the perfect moment, his senses attuned to the rhythms of the
club. His liberation was imminent, and with it, the opportunity to reclaim
his rightful place in the jungle.
* * * * *
As the night's debauchery drew to a close, Mr. Blackwood navigated through
the departing patrons, their voices hushed in the fading darkness. Offers
and inquiries filled the air, each individual vying for a chance to claim
Tarzan for their own desires.
One man, distinguished by the air of opulence that clung to him, approached
Mr. Blackwood with an air of expectancy.
"Mr. Blackwood, I must have him for the remainder of the night," the man
insisted. "I'm willing to pay generously for the privilege."
Mr. Blackwood considered the offer, his mind working through the potential
gains.
"Your generosity is duly noted, sir. I shall consider it."
Another patron, eager and persuasive, made his case.
"I'm have a party at my estate, and Tarzan would be the perfect
entertainment," the man said. "Name your price, Mr. Blackwood."
The offers continued to flow, each proposition carrying its own weight in
gold. Mr. Blackwood listened intently, weighing the potential rewards
against the risks. The fate of Tarzan hung in the balance, his future a
pawn in a high-stakes game of power and ambition.
Meanwhile, Tarzan, though poised on the precipice of hope, remained bound
and under Mr. Blackwood's watchful eye. Their interaction was laced with an
unspoken tension, each aware of the stakes that rested upon their actions.
"Tarzan," Mr. Blackwood addressed him, his voice measured, "You have proven
to be a most entertaining acquisition. Your strength and resilience are
commendable."
Tarzan met Mr. Blackwood's gaze with a silent defiance, his eyes gleaming
with the fire of a spirit unbroken. He understood that his fate still hung
in the balance, his moment of liberation not yet realized.
Mr. Blackwood made his decision. He accepted an offer from a patron, one
that promised a night of extravagant revelry at a lavish estate. Tarzan's
heart sank, the glimmer of hope extinguished. He was not to be freed, but
instead, bound once more to a new estate. His body, weary and worn, yearned
for respite, but his spirit remained resolute.
* * * * *
Mr. Blackwood had made his decision. He accepted the offer from a
distinguished patron, one whose estate promised a night of opulence and
extravagance. The deal was struck, and Tarzan's fate was sealed.
As the chains that bound him were removed, Tarzan's body sagged with a
mixture of exhaustion and resignation. He understood that his moment of
freedom had been fleeting, replaced by a new chapter of captivity.
A carriage awaited, its opulent design a stark contrast to Tarzan's rugged
form. As Mr. Blackwood relaxed inside the carriage in luxury, tarzan was
harnessed to the back, the weight of his predicament settling around him as
he was forced to run while bound and tethered to the carriage to keep
up. The journey was a blur, the passing scenery a silent witness to the
captive king's humiliating passage through a world that had once been his
own.
The estate, a sprawling expanse of manicured gardens and imposing
architecture, loomed before them. Tarzan was led inside, his senses
assaulted by the opulence that surrounded him. The air was heavy with the
scent of rare blooms and the distant strains of music.
As the night of extravagant revelry unfolded, Tarzan found himself at the
center of the opulent spectacle, a whirlwind of excess and indugence.
Patrons, draped in finery and masks of sophistication, regarded him with a
mixture of fascination and curiosity. They marveled at the captive king,
their voices a murmured hum of speculation.
Mr. Blackwood, a puppeteer in this grand theater, orchestrated Tarzan's
presence with a calculated finesse. He allowed the patrons to approach, to
feel the sinew of Tarzan's powerful frame, to gaze into the eyes of a force
that had once ruled he wild.
Tarzan's mind raced, his senses alert to every nuance of his
surroundings. He understood the gravity of his situation, his fate now
firmly in the hands of those who sought to exploit his strength for their
own pleasure.
The patrons watched in awe as, under Mr. Blackwood's calculated direction,
Tarzan's abilities were put to the test. He displayed a series of
astonishing feats of strength and agility. His movements emphasized the
untamed power that coursed through his veins, each action met with gasps of
astonishment and thunderous applause.
The night wore on, the revelry reaching a fevered pitch. Tarzan performed
feats of strength and agility, each display met with gasps of astonishment
and applause. He lifted heavy objects with ease, his muscles rippling in
the flickering light. He scaled walls and performed daring acrobatics,
leaving the audience breathless with every display.
Mr. Blackwood, the puppeteer of this grand performance, prodded Tarzan to
perform even greater feats. With a gesture and a command, Tarzan leaped
from great heights, his form soaring through the air with a grace that
defied reason. He balanced on precarious perches, his body boldly
displaying the boundless potential of the human form.
When Tarzan performed exceptionally well, Mr. Blackwood rewarded him with a
piece of kibble, which Tarzan accepted with a measured gratitude. It was a
degrading gesture, a reminder of his captivity and the control that now
held him in its grasp.
However, when Tarzan failed to meet Mr. Blackwood's expectations, the
consequences were swift and unyielding. With a stern word and a sharp
gesture, Mr. Blackwood wielded his riding crop as a means of
correction. The sting of the crop served as a brutal reminder of the power
dynamic that now governed Tarzan's existence.
The night pressed on, each feat of strength and agility a step further into
the abyss of Tarzan's captivity. The patrons, their eyes wide with a
mixture of fascination and disbelief, watched as the once-mighty king of
the jungle was reduced to a mere spectacle for their amusement.
As the first light of dawn began to pierce the darkness, the night of
revelry began to wane. The patrons, sated by their night of excess,
dispersed to their chambers, leaving Tarzan alone in the opulent
surroundings.
Tarzan, weary and battered, was led back to the carriage that would lead
him to Lord Harrington's estate. His body bore the marks of his trials, but
his spirit remained unbroken as he ran once more, bound and tethered to the
carriage and desperate to keep from being dragged by it if he slowed his
pace.
The jungle, ever patient, awaited its rightful king's return, its ancient
heart beating in rhythm with the trials of its wayward son. The jungle
called to tarzan in a silent chorus of leaves and whispers. He knew that
his path would lead him back, back to the heart of the wild, where he would
reclaim his rightful place as the king.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER EIGHTEEN-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-41 | Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2024 02:06:43 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 41
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 41: The Slave in his Natural Habitat--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 41 -- The Slave in His Natural Habitat
The Outpost
Alden's Gossip Column
Greetings, fabulous readers of the Outpost! It's your one and only Alden,
back with all the delicious dish you crave. Buckle up, because this week's
news is sizzling!
Oh, my darlings, the latest events at the estate of the enigmatic Lord
Harrington have tongues wagging. Our dear jungle hero Tarzan, once the
epitome of wild abandon, is now seen toiling away in the mines alongside
the other subservient souls. The transformation is nothing short of
astonishing! What dark magic is at play here, one can only wonder?
And then, there's the mysterious Baron von Richter, whose presence has
electrified the scene. What transpired between him and Tarzan under the
shroud of secrecy? Rumors abound, my dears, but one thing is certain -
there's more to this story than meets the eye.
Meanwhile, over at Mr. Blackwood's illustrious club, preparations for the
upcoming Alpha Ascension are in full swing. The air is thick with
anticipation, and I've heard whispers of daring demonstrations that will
leave jaws on the floor. Our dear Tarzan is at the heart of it all, proving
once again that life's greatest performances happen offstage.
And, my lovelies, don't even get me started on the scuttlebutt surrounding
Alden. I assure you, your loyal correspondent is knee-deep in a whirlwind
of intrigue, but you'll have to wait for the next column for all the
tantalizing details.
Until next time, keep those fabulous feathers unruffled and those eyes
peeled for the next act in this sensational saga. The Outpost is your
front-row ticket to the drama, and I wouldn't have it any other way!
All the love and scandal,
Jonathan Alden
* * * * *
Alden sat in his dimly lit office, the scent of ink and paper filling the
air. The typewriter keys sat silent, having just finished typing up the
latest column. He leaned back in his creaky chair, a small smile playing at
his lips. The scandal and intrigue he had just penned would surely set the
town abuzz.
But amidst all the gossip about Tarzan, the Baron, and the upcoming Alpha
Ascension, Alden couldn't help but think about the rumors circulating about
himself. He was, after all, knee-deep in the very whirlwind of intrigue he
wrote about.
His mind wandered back to the moments, those tantalizing details that had
set his own pulse racing, each detail etched into his memory like fine
script on parchment. The clandestine meetings, cloaked in shadows, played
out vividly in his mind. He recalled the rustle of coats, the soft murmur
of voices, and the subtle tension that hung in the air. The hushed
conversations, the glances loaded with unspoken intent - it was all part of
a dance he was more than willing to join.
In one particular rendezvous, he remembered the baron's low, authoritative
voice, rich with command.
"The Alpha Ascension must be impeccable, Alden. Our reputations are at
stake," the words had hung heavy with expectation.
Then there were the glances - those loaded, smoldering looks that held
entire conversations within them. He recalled the fiery gaze of Lord
Harrington, a promise of dominance and power. It was a look that spoke
volumes, a silent pledge of what was to come.
The hushed conversations were like a symphony of secrets. Blackwood's
smooth baritone, always with a hint of mischief, resonated in his ears.
"This event will be talked about for generations, Alden. You'll want to be
in the center of it all," he had said, the words dripping with
anticipation.
As he sat there, dissecting each moment, Alden knew he held a treasure
trove of exclusive details. He would wield them like a maestro conducting a
symphony, carefully weaving together a narrative that would captivate his
readers and leave them hungry for more. After all, it was the specifics
that made a story truly come alive.
As he sat there, lost in his thoughts, he knew one thing for certain. This
story was far from over, and he was determined to be front and center,
penning every scandalous detail for his eager readers. After all, in the
world of gossip, one had to be at the heart of the storm to truly capture
its essence.
* * * * *
After his hard day working in the mines, Tarzan returns to the barn where
the slaves are stabled. He sees the slaves sprawled across the sparse hay,
their naked forms a stark contrast to his in his own tattered
loincloth. They slumber deeply, the exhaustion of their less demanding
tasks evident in their relaxed, peaceful expressions.
The stable is filled with the soft sounds of their breathing, a symphony of
contented rest. Tarzan gazes at them, a mixture of emotions swirling within
him. He feels a strange kinship with these men, bound together by the cruel
hand of fate that has brought them all to this wretched place. They are his
companions in suffering, his brothers in servitude.
Tarzan's mind churned with conflicted thoughts as he gazed at the other
slaves, their naked forms sprawled across the hay. A pang of uncertainty
flickered within him. Should he shed his loincloth and join them,
relinquishing the last vestige of his former identity?
Yet, a nagging voice reminded him of the power that he once wielded,
symbolized by that scrap of fabric. It clung to him like a tattered banner
of a fallen kingdom, a reminder of what he used to be. It was a piece of
him that he was hesitant to let go.
But then, clarity struck like a bolt of lightning. Tarzan's gaze hardened,
and he straightened his posture. He was a slave now, bound by a new
code. His decisions were not his own; they belonged to his Masters, and the
whip was their voice.
With resolve, he left the loincloth in place. It was a mark of servitude, a
proclamation of his submission to the will of those who now owned him. As
he settled into the hay, he closed his eyes, the weight of the loincloth a
reminder of his place in this new world. He was Tarzan no more; he was a
slave, and he would obey.
As Tarzan finds his own spot in the hay, he can't help but feel a surge of
pride. He knows that he is the strongest among them, the one chosen to bear
the heaviest burden. It is a role he has been forced into, but one he will
carry out with the same determination and resilience that has defined him
throughout his life.
With a weary sigh, Tarzan settles into the hay, his body aching from the
day's toil. He closes his eyes, seeking the solace of sleep, knowing that
tomorrow will bring another grueling day of labor. As he drifts into
slumber, he is surrounded by the rhythmic breathing of his fellow slaves, a
reminder that they are all in this together, bound by the chains of their
cruel masters.
* * * * *
Tarzan's mind reeled in the darkness, flashes of the cruel whip searing
through his thoughts. Each strike, relentless and unyielding, was etched
into his memory. He was blindfolded, his senses honed to the raw sting of
the whip against his back. The master's identity remained a mystery,
concealed by the shroud of darkness.
The leather of his loincloth bore the brunt of the punishment, once a
shield, now fraying under the ceaseless assault. It had served him well,
guarding his most vulnerable places from the biting lash. But now, it too
was succumbing to the brutal force, no match for the unyielding power of
the whip.
In his dreams, the master's presence was palpable, a looming figure of
dominance. Tarzan's body tensed and recoiled with each strike, muscles
straining against the relentless onslaught. He was a slave to the whip's
cruel embrace, every lash imprinting its mark upon his skin.
As sleep claimed him, tarzan's body remained on high alert, the phantom
echoes of the whip's fury reverberating through his subconscious. His
breaths came ragged, a testament to the toll exacted by his waking
nightmare. In the depths of his restless slumber, he was bound by the
relentless guidance of the whip, a pawn in a game of cruel mastery.
As tarzan sleeps deeply on his bed of hay, the overseer happens by and
notices his leash between his legs, still attached to the ring under his
loincloth, but set free from being tightly attached to the chain between
his ankle shackles. Hargrove shakes his head at someone's carelessness,
grabbing the leash and locking it to a ring embedded in wall beside
tarzan's meager bed of hay. tarzan continues dreaming as he's chained to
the wall, but the feeling of the leash beneath his loincloth being locked
to keep him in his proper place works his way into his dreams.
In his restless slumber, tarzan's dreams took on a surreal quality. The
chains that bound him were both real and phantom, highlighting the blurred
lines between wakefulness and slumber. The distant echoes of the whip still
reverberated in his mind, a cruel reminder of his place in this unforgiving
world.
As the overseer secured the leash to the wall, the sensation rippled
through tarzan's subconscious. The weight of the metal against his skin,
the constriction of the leather, all became part of his dreamscape. He was
bound, not just by the physical chains, but by the very essence of his
existence as a slave.
In his dreams, tarzan struggled against his restraints, muscles straining
against the unyielding grip of the chains. The scent of hay and dust
mingled with the acrid taste of sweat, creating a sensory tapestry of
captivity. The rhythmic clinking of metal against stone was a steady
backdrop to his fitful slumber.
As the night wore on, tarzan's dreams wove a tale of defiance and
submission, a dance of struggle against the inevitable. The chains that
held him were no longer mere physical restraints, but symbolic
representations of his servitude. His body, once a symbol of power and
dominance, now bent to the cruel will of his masters.
In the quiet darkness of the stable, tarzan's dreams played out in vivid
detail. Each tug of the leash, each jangle of the chains, was a cruel
reminder of his place in this world. He was no longer the mighty jungle
hero, but a slave, bound by iron and leather, a pawn in a game of dominance
and submission.
And so, the night pressed on, tarzan's fitful slumber embodying the harsh
reality of his existence. The chains held him, both in body and spirit, a
silent exhibit of the cruel mastery that ruled his life. As the first light
of dawn crept through the cracks in the stable walls, tarzan remained
bound, a silent figure in the stillness of the early morning.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FORTY-ONE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
<pre>Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2024 02:06:43 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 41
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 41: The Slave in his Natural Habitat--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 41 -- The Slave in His Natural Habitat
The Outpost
Alden's Gossip Column
Greetings, fabulous readers of the Outpost! It's your one and only Alden,
back with all the delicious dish you crave. Buckle up, because this week's
news is sizzling!
Oh, my darlings, the latest events at the estate of the enigmatic Lord
Harrington have tongues wagging. Our dear jungle hero Tarzan, once the
epitome of wild abandon, is now seen toiling away in the mines alongside
the other subservient souls. The transformation is nothing short of
astonishing! What dark magic is at play here, one can only wonder?
And then, there's the mysterious Baron von Richter, whose presence has
electrified the scene. What transpired between him and Tarzan under the
shroud of secrecy? Rumors abound, my dears, but one thing is certain -
there's more to this story than meets the eye.
Meanwhile, over at Mr. Blackwood's illustrious club, preparations for the
upcoming Alpha Ascension are in full swing. The air is thick with
anticipation, and I've heard whispers of daring demonstrations that will
leave jaws on the floor. Our dear Tarzan is at the heart of it all, proving
once again that life's greatest performances happen offstage.
And, my lovelies, don't even get me started on the scuttlebutt surrounding
Alden. I assure you, your loyal correspondent is knee-deep in a whirlwind
of intrigue, but you'll have to wait for the next column for all the
tantalizing details.
Until next time, keep those fabulous feathers unruffled and those eyes
peeled for the next act in this sensational saga. The Outpost is your
front-row ticket to the drama, and I wouldn't have it any other way!
All the love and scandal,
Jonathan Alden
* * * * *
Alden sat in his dimly lit office, the scent of ink and paper filling the
air. The typewriter keys sat silent, having just finished typing up the
latest column. He leaned back in his creaky chair, a small smile playing at
his lips. The scandal and intrigue he had just penned would surely set the
town abuzz.
But amidst all the gossip about Tarzan, the Baron, and the upcoming Alpha
Ascension, Alden couldn't help but think about the rumors circulating about
himself. He was, after all, knee-deep in the very whirlwind of intrigue he
wrote about.
His mind wandered back to the moments, those tantalizing details that had
set his own pulse racing, each detail etched into his memory like fine
script on parchment. The clandestine meetings, cloaked in shadows, played
out vividly in his mind. He recalled the rustle of coats, the soft murmur
of voices, and the subtle tension that hung in the air. The hushed
conversations, the glances loaded with unspoken intent - it was all part of
a dance he was more than willing to join.
In one particular rendezvous, he remembered the baron's low, authoritative
voice, rich with command.
"The Alpha Ascension must be impeccable, Alden. Our reputations are at
stake," the words had hung heavy with expectation.
Then there were the glances - those loaded, smoldering looks that held
entire conversations within them. He recalled the fiery gaze of Lord
Harrington, a promise of dominance and power. It was a look that spoke
volumes, a silent pledge of what was to come.
The hushed conversations were like a symphony of secrets. Blackwood's
smooth baritone, always with a hint of mischief, resonated in his ears.
"This event will be talked about for generations, Alden. You'll want to be
in the center of it all," he had said, the words dripping with
anticipation.
As he sat there, dissecting each moment, Alden knew he held a treasure
trove of exclusive details. He would wield them like a maestro conducting a
symphony, carefully weaving together a narrative that would captivate his
readers and leave them hungry for more. After all, it was the specifics
that made a story truly come alive.
As he sat there, lost in his thoughts, he knew one thing for certain. This
story was far from over, and he was determined to be front and center,
penning every scandalous detail for his eager readers. After all, in the
world of gossip, one had to be at the heart of the storm to truly capture
its essence.
* * * * *
After his hard day working in the mines, Tarzan returns to the barn where
the slaves are stabled. He sees the slaves sprawled across the sparse hay,
their naked forms a stark contrast to his in his own tattered
loincloth. They slumber deeply, the exhaustion of their less demanding
tasks evident in their relaxed, peaceful expressions.
The stable is filled with the soft sounds of their breathing, a symphony of
contented rest. Tarzan gazes at them, a mixture of emotions swirling within
him. He feels a strange kinship with these men, bound together by the cruel
hand of fate that has brought them all to this wretched place. They are his
companions in suffering, his brothers in servitude.
Tarzan's mind churned with conflicted thoughts as he gazed at the other
slaves, their naked forms sprawled across the hay. A pang of uncertainty
flickered within him. Should he shed his loincloth and join them,
relinquishing the last vestige of his former identity?
Yet, a nagging voice reminded him of the power that he once wielded,
symbolized by that scrap of fabric. It clung to him like a tattered banner
of a fallen kingdom, a reminder of what he used to be. It was a piece of
him that he was hesitant to let go.
But then, clarity struck like a bolt of lightning. Tarzan's gaze hardened,
and he straightened his posture. He was a slave now, bound by a new
code. His decisions were not his own; they belonged to his Masters, and the
whip was their voice.
With resolve, he left the loincloth in place. It was a mark of servitude, a
proclamation of his submission to the will of those who now owned him. As
he settled into the hay, he closed his eyes, the weight of the loincloth a
reminder of his place in this new world. He was Tarzan no more; he was a
slave, and he would obey.
As Tarzan finds his own spot in the hay, he can't help but feel a surge of
pride. He knows that he is the strongest among them, the one chosen to bear
the heaviest burden. It is a role he has been forced into, but one he will
carry out with the same determination and resilience that has defined him
throughout his life.
With a weary sigh, Tarzan settles into the hay, his body aching from the
day's toil. He closes his eyes, seeking the solace of sleep, knowing that
tomorrow will bring another grueling day of labor. As he drifts into
slumber, he is surrounded by the rhythmic breathing of his fellow slaves, a
reminder that they are all in this together, bound by the chains of their
cruel masters.
* * * * *
Tarzan's mind reeled in the darkness, flashes of the cruel whip searing
through his thoughts. Each strike, relentless and unyielding, was etched
into his memory. He was blindfolded, his senses honed to the raw sting of
the whip against his back. The master's identity remained a mystery,
concealed by the shroud of darkness.
The leather of his loincloth bore the brunt of the punishment, once a
shield, now fraying under the ceaseless assault. It had served him well,
guarding his most vulnerable places from the biting lash. But now, it too
was succumbing to the brutal force, no match for the unyielding power of
the whip.
In his dreams, the master's presence was palpable, a looming figure of
dominance. Tarzan's body tensed and recoiled with each strike, muscles
straining against the relentless onslaught. He was a slave to the whip's
cruel embrace, every lash imprinting its mark upon his skin.
As sleep claimed him, tarzan's body remained on high alert, the phantom
echoes of the whip's fury reverberating through his subconscious. His
breaths came ragged, a testament to the toll exacted by his waking
nightmare. In the depths of his restless slumber, he was bound by the
relentless guidance of the whip, a pawn in a game of cruel mastery.
As tarzan sleeps deeply on his bed of hay, the overseer happens by and
notices his leash between his legs, still attached to the ring under his
loincloth, but set free from being tightly attached to the chain between
his ankle shackles. Hargrove shakes his head at someone's carelessness,
grabbing the leash and locking it to a ring embedded in wall beside
tarzan's meager bed of hay. tarzan continues dreaming as he's chained to
the wall, but the feeling of the leash beneath his loincloth being locked
to keep him in his proper place works his way into his dreams.
In his restless slumber, tarzan's dreams took on a surreal quality. The
chains that bound him were both real and phantom, highlighting the blurred
lines between wakefulness and slumber. The distant echoes of the whip still
reverberated in his mind, a cruel reminder of his place in this unforgiving
world.
As the overseer secured the leash to the wall, the sensation rippled
through tarzan's subconscious. The weight of the metal against his skin,
the constriction of the leather, all became part of his dreamscape. He was
bound, not just by the physical chains, but by the very essence of his
existence as a slave.
In his dreams, tarzan struggled against his restraints, muscles straining
against the unyielding grip of the chains. The scent of hay and dust
mingled with the acrid taste of sweat, creating a sensory tapestry of
captivity. The rhythmic clinking of metal against stone was a steady
backdrop to his fitful slumber.
As the night wore on, tarzan's dreams wove a tale of defiance and
submission, a dance of struggle against the inevitable. The chains that
held him were no longer mere physical restraints, but symbolic
representations of his servitude. His body, once a symbol of power and
dominance, now bent to the cruel will of his masters.
In the quiet darkness of the stable, tarzan's dreams played out in vivid
detail. Each tug of the leash, each jangle of the chains, was a cruel
reminder of his place in this world. He was no longer the mighty jungle
hero, but a slave, bound by iron and leather, a pawn in a game of dominance
and submission.
And so, the night pressed on, tarzan's fitful slumber embodying the harsh
reality of his existence. The chains held him, both in body and spirit, a
silent exhibit of the cruel mastery that ruled his life. As the first light
of dawn crept through the cracks in the stable walls, tarzan remained
bound, a silent figure in the stillness of the early morning.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FORTY-ONE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</pre>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-44 | Date: Fri, 19 Apr 2024 20:18:35 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 44 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 44: An Arab Interlude-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com At Lord Harrington's request, the overseer leads an Arab slaver on a tour of the estate, showing him the various facilities and fields. Harrington seeks to curry favor on the Arab slave market, and this slaver represents an important inroad. Hargrove and the Arab eventually arrive at the stable, where tarzan is resting on his bed of hay. The Arab slaver surveys the scene, his eyes fixed on the muscular figure of the field slave. Hargrove explains various aspects of the operation, occasionally directing the slaver's attention towards specific details. Hargrove explains to the Arab slaver how tarzan has proven to be an invaluable addition to the workforce. He gestures towards the sleeping slave, highlighting the strength and endurance that tarzan brings to the operation. The Arab slaver observes tarzan closely, taking in the sight of the powerful figure resting on the bed of hay, his loincloth slightly shifted, revealing his well-defined physique. The Arab slaver, his eyes calculating, turns to Hargrove with a thoughtful expression. "This one could fetch a fine price in the harem. His strength and stamina are evident. What tasks do you think he would excel at?" Hargrove, seasoned in evaluating slaves, nods in agreement. "Indeed, Master. His physique is exceptional. He could serve as a guard, ensuring the security of the harem. His formidable presence alone would be a deterrent to any potential threats." The Arab slaver considers this, his gaze still fixed on tarzan. "And in the chambers, how would he fare?" Hargrove's voice holds a note of confidence. "In the chambers, he would provide unmatched pleasure to the mistresses. His strength and endurance would allow him to attend to their every desire tirelessly." The Arab slaver seems intrigued. "What of his disposition? Is he obedient?" Hargrove smiles knowingly. "He has been properly trained, Master. He understands his place and obeys without question. He has been taught to anticipate the needs and desires of his superiors." The Arab slaver nods in approval. "Good. That is promising. And what of...specialized services?" Hargrove's tone is measured but assured. "He is versatile, Master. His training extends to a variety of...specialized services. He is more than capable of meeting any specific requirements you may have." The Arab slaver leans in, his voice low and deliberate. "And what of my own needs? What pleasure could he provide to me?" Hargrove's eyes gleam with a knowing glint. "Master, his physical prowess and stamina are not limited to serving the mistresses. He is fully capable of attending to your desires as well. His strength would allow him to cater to your every whim, ensuring your satisfaction is met with the utmost dedication." The Arab slaver considers this, his gaze never wavering from tarzan's form. "Give me examples." Hargrove, well-versed in the intricacies of a slave's capabilities, continues. "He could serve as a source of entertainment during gatherings, showcasing his physical prowess for your esteemed guests. His skill in dance and performance would captivate and delight. Furthermore, in private, he could be trained to administer massages and other intimate services, ensuring your relaxation and pleasure are attended to with the utmost care and skill." The Arab slaver nods, clearly intrigued by the possibilities. "You have a way with words, overseer. It seems you have made a thorough assessment of this one." Hargrove inclines his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Master. It is my duty to ensure that every slave under my care is tailored to meet the specific needs and desires of their future owners." The Arab slaver regards Hargrove for a moment, then turns his attention back to tarzan. "Very well. Prepare him for the journey. I trust you will ensure he arrives in peak condition." Hargrove bows deeply. He humors the Arab slaver, though he is certain Lord Harrington will not part with tarzan, at least not until after the Alpha Ascension. "Of course, Master. He will be ready." * * * * * The Arab slaver's mind is abuzz with visions of the future, each scenario meticulously crafted to meet his desires. He envisions the quartet of slaves, each in their minimal attire, bearing him on their shoulders with grace and precision. The image of their well-defined bodies straining with exertion fuels his anticipation. He contemplates the rigorous training regimen that will mold them into a seamless unit, each movement synchronized to perfection. The tools of his trade would serve not only as instruments of discipline but as symbols of their servitude, a reminder of their place in his household. As the day draws to a close, he imagines retiring to his private chambers, where tarzan stands ready to administer a thorough massage. The skilled hands of the former jungle hero work tirelessly, kneading away the tension that lingers in the Master's body. The Arab slaver envisions the gradual progression of tarzan's training, ensuring that he learns to read and respond to the Master's cues, providing a massage that is both invigorating and deeply satisfying. With each passing day, the bond between them would strengthen, trust and obedience woven into the very fabric of their interactions. The Arab slaver's fantasies paint a vivid picture of a household running with impeccable precision, each slave knowing their place and purpose. As he contemplates the future, a sense of satisfaction settles over him. With Hargrove's expert guidance, he is confident that tarzan will become a valuable addition to his household, a paragon of submission and service. * * * * * The Arab slaver's mind is a canvas painted with vivid, enticing images. He envisions a procession of slaves, their bodies adorned only with the most minimal thongs, each bearing a ring similar to the one around tarzan's cock and balls, beneath his loincloth. The slaves move in perfect unison, leashes affixed to the rings, creating a mesmerizing display of synchronization and submission. His imagination takes flight as he contemplates the feats of strength he could orchestrate. Massive weights, logs, and boulders, are attached to the leashes, the slaves summoned to prove their mettle. Tarzan, bound by the ring, strains against the formidable load, his muscles rippling with exertion. The Arab envisions the power and determination etched across his face, marking his unwavering obedience. The tug of war, a brutal yet captivating spectacle, unfolds in his mind's eye. Tarzan and a fellow slave, hands bound behind them, are linked by the leashes attached to the rings beneath their loincloths. The overseers crack their whips, urging the slaves to summon every ounce of their strength. Sinews strain, muscles burn, and the slaves dig deep, their bodies proclaiming their submission to their Master's will. The Arab slaver's pulse quickens, his breaths coming faster as the images swirl in his imagination. The raw power, the unyielding obedience, and the mesmerizing spectacle of it all stoke the fires of his desire. Exhausted by the intensity of his fantasies, he succumbs to slumber, his dreams continuing to dance with visions of tarzan, bound and obedient, serving as a living symbol of his dominance. * * * * * Subject: Evaluation Report - Potential Acquisition of Slave Tarzan Esteemed Harem Owner, I hope this letter finds you in the best of health and high spirits. I write to you with great enthusiasm and anticipation regarding the potential acquisition of a new addition to our esteemed harem. The slave in question, known as Tarzan, has been thoroughly observed and evaluated during my visit. Physical Attributes: Tarzan possesses a remarkable physique, sculpted by years of demanding labor and untamed wilderness. His stature is imposing, and he radiates an aura of strength and vitality. His muscles are well-defined, a testament to his endurance and resilience. Furthermore, his skin bears the rough texture of a life spent amidst the elements, giving him a rugged and primal allure. Submission and Obedience: In observing Tarzan's behavior, it is evident that he has been subjected to rigorous training. His responses to commands are immediate and unwavering. He has been conditioned to obey without question, displaying a level of submission that is commendable. This trait is of paramount importance in ensuring harmony within the harem. Adaptability and Versatility: Tarzan exhibits an impressive degree of adaptability. His proficiency in various tasks, from laborious physical duties to more refined domestic responsibilities, highlights his versatility. This adaptability will undoubtedly prove invaluable within the diverse and dynamic environment of our harem. Potential for Harem Dynamics: Given his physical prowess and obedience, I believe Tarzan has the potential to be a significant asset within our harem. He could serve as a guardian and protector, ensuring the safety and well-being of all residents. Furthermore, his submission would foster a sense of discipline and order among the inhabitants, strengthening the cohesion of our community. Recommendation: After careful consideration, I am inclined to recommend the acquisition of Tarzan for our esteemed harem. His attributes align closely with the criteria we seek in potential members, and I believe he will contribute positively to the dynamics of our community. However, it is imperative that a comprehensive evaluation is conducted on site to confirm his compatibility with the existing residents. Additionally, I suggest continued training and guidance to further refine his obedience and adaptability. I await your esteemed guidance on this matter and remain at your service for any further inquiries or arrangements that may be required. With deepest respect and loyalty, Hamid Abdulah Senior Slaver/Field Scout * * * * * In the Arab's dreams, Tarzan stands before him, a vision of raw, untamed masculinity. The flickering torchlight casts a warm, amber glow on the slave's sculpted physique, accentuating every sinew and muscle. Tarzan's eyes, once fiery with defiance, now smolder with a subdued intensity, a testament to his newfound submission. The Arab's fingers trace the contours of Tarzan's chest, marveling at the rugged landscape of muscles beneath his touch. Each breath Tarzan takes is a testament to his vitality and strength. His chest rises and falls with a steady rhythm, synchronized with the Arab's own heartbeats. The Arab sees Tarzan kneeling before him in his dream, head bowed in perfect obeisance. The slave's hands rest on his thighs, a silent acknowledgment of his place in this dynamic. The sensation of Tarzan's skin against the Arab's fingers sends a shiver of anticipation down his spine. As the Arab's gaze drifts lower, he beholds the intimate symbol of Tarzan's submission. Bound by a simple thong, his virility is now a symbol of his belonging, an emblem of his servitude. The Arab envisions himself wielding the leash, guiding Tarzan's movements with a firm but gentle hand. In this dream, the Arab explores the depths of Tarzan's obedience. He issues commands, and Tarzan responds without hesitation, every motion highlighting his unwavering submission. The Arab revels in the power he holds over this once indomitable force of nature. The dream continues, weaving a tapestry of desires and dominance. Tarzan serves dutifully, his strength harnessed for the Arab's pleasure. The Arab envisions him carrying out tasks with precision and grace, a living model of the effectiveness of his training. As the dream unfurls, the Arab experiences a profound sense of ownership and mastery. Tarzan is not merely a slave; he is a reflection of the Arab's dominance, a living embodiment of his desires. The Arab awakens from this vivid dream, a sense of fulfillment and anticipation coursing through him. In the stillness of the night, the Arab contemplates the potential acquisition of Tarzan with renewed conviction. The slave's presence in the harem promises a dynamic of power and submission that is both exhilarating and intoxicating. With this vision lingering in his mind, the Arab drifts back into slumber, eager to see what new dreams may unfold. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Fri, 19 Apr 2024 20:18:35 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 44
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 44: An Arab Interlude--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
At Lord Harrington's request, the overseer leads an Arab slaver on a tour
of the estate, showing him the various facilities and fields. Harrington
seeks to curry favor on the Arab slave market, and this slaver represents
an important inroad.
Hargrove and the Arab eventually arrive at the stable, where tarzan is
resting on his bed of hay. The Arab slaver surveys the scene, his eyes
fixed on the muscular figure of the field slave. Hargrove explains various
aspects of the operation, occasionally directing the slaver's attention
towards specific details.
Hargrove explains to the Arab slaver how tarzan has proven to be an
invaluable addition to the workforce. He gestures towards the sleeping
slave, highlighting the strength and endurance that tarzan brings to the
operation. The Arab slaver observes tarzan closely, taking in the sight of
the powerful figure resting on the bed of hay, his loincloth slightly
shifted, revealing his well-defined physique.
The Arab slaver, his eyes calculating, turns to Hargrove with a thoughtful
expression.
"This one could fetch a fine price in the harem. His strength and stamina
are evident. What tasks do you think he would excel at?"
Hargrove, seasoned in evaluating slaves, nods in agreement.
"Indeed, Master. His physique is exceptional. He could serve as a guard,
ensuring the security of the harem. His formidable presence alone would be
a deterrent to any potential threats."
The Arab slaver considers this, his gaze still fixed on tarzan.
"And in the chambers, how would he fare?"
Hargrove's voice holds a note of confidence.
"In the chambers, he would provide unmatched pleasure to the
mistresses. His strength and endurance would allow him to attend to their
every desire tirelessly."
The Arab slaver seems intrigued.
"What of his disposition? Is he obedient?"
Hargrove smiles knowingly.
"He has been properly trained, Master. He understands his place and obeys
without question. He has been taught to anticipate the needs and desires of
his superiors."
The Arab slaver nods in approval.
"Good. That is promising. And what of...specialized services?"
Hargrove's tone is measured but assured.
"He is versatile, Master. His training extends to a variety
of...specialized services. He is more than capable of meeting any specific
requirements you may have."
The Arab slaver leans in, his voice low and deliberate.
"And what of my own needs? What pleasure could he provide to me?"
Hargrove's eyes gleam with a knowing glint.
"Master, his physical prowess and stamina are not limited to serving the
mistresses. He is fully capable of attending to your desires as well. His
strength would allow him to cater to your every whim, ensuring your
satisfaction is met with the utmost dedication."
The Arab slaver considers this, his gaze never wavering from tarzan's form.
"Give me examples."
Hargrove, well-versed in the intricacies of a slave's capabilities,
continues.
"He could serve as a source of entertainment during gatherings, showcasing
his physical prowess for your esteemed guests. His skill in dance and
performance would captivate and delight. Furthermore, in private, he could
be trained to administer massages and other intimate services, ensuring
your relaxation and pleasure are attended to with the utmost care and
skill."
The Arab slaver nods, clearly intrigued by the possibilities.
"You have a way with words, overseer. It seems you have made a thorough
assessment of this one."
Hargrove inclines his head in acknowledgment.
"Thank you, Master. It is my duty to ensure that every slave under my care
is tailored to meet the specific needs and desires of their future owners."
The Arab slaver regards Hargrove for a moment, then turns his attention
back to tarzan.
"Very well. Prepare him for the journey. I trust you will ensure he arrives
in peak condition."
Hargrove bows deeply. He humors the Arab slaver, though he is certain Lord
Harrington will not part with tarzan, at least not until after the Alpha
Ascension.
"Of course, Master. He will be ready."
* * * * *
The Arab slaver's mind is abuzz with visions of the future, each scenario
meticulously crafted to meet his desires. He envisions the quartet of
slaves, each in their minimal attire, bearing him on their shoulders with
grace and precision. The image of their well-defined bodies straining with
exertion fuels his anticipation.
He contemplates the rigorous training regimen that will mold them into a
seamless unit, each movement synchronized to perfection. The tools of his
trade would serve not only as instruments of discipline but as symbols of
their servitude, a reminder of their place in his household.
As the day draws to a close, he imagines retiring to his private chambers,
where tarzan stands ready to administer a thorough massage. The skilled
hands of the former jungle hero work tirelessly, kneading away the tension
that lingers in the Master's body. The Arab slaver envisions the gradual
progression of tarzan's training, ensuring that he learns to read and
respond to the Master's cues, providing a massage that is both invigorating
and deeply satisfying.
With each passing day, the bond between them would strengthen, trust and
obedience woven into the very fabric of their interactions. The Arab
slaver's fantasies paint a vivid picture of a household running with
impeccable precision, each slave knowing their place and purpose.
As he contemplates the future, a sense of satisfaction settles over
him. With Hargrove's expert guidance, he is confident that tarzan will
become a valuable addition to his household, a paragon of submission and
service.
* * * * *
The Arab slaver's mind is a canvas painted with vivid, enticing images. He
envisions a procession of slaves, their bodies adorned only with the most
minimal thongs, each bearing a ring similar to the one around tarzan's cock
and balls, beneath his loincloth. The slaves move in perfect unison,
leashes affixed to the rings, creating a mesmerizing display of
synchronization and submission.
His imagination takes flight as he contemplates the feats of strength he
could orchestrate. Massive weights, logs, and boulders, are attached to the
leashes, the slaves summoned to prove their mettle. Tarzan, bound by the
ring, strains against the formidable load, his muscles rippling with
exertion. The Arab envisions the power and determination etched across his
face, marking his unwavering obedience.
The tug of war, a brutal yet captivating spectacle, unfolds in his mind's
eye. Tarzan and a fellow slave, hands bound behind them, are linked by the
leashes attached to the rings beneath their loincloths. The overseers crack
their whips, urging the slaves to summon every ounce of their
strength. Sinews strain, muscles burn, and the slaves dig deep, their
bodies proclaiming their submission to their Master's will.
The Arab slaver's pulse quickens, his breaths coming faster as the images
swirl in his imagination. The raw power, the unyielding obedience, and the
mesmerizing spectacle of it all stoke the fires of his desire. Exhausted by
the intensity of his fantasies, he succumbs to slumber, his dreams
continuing to dance with visions of tarzan, bound and obedient, serving as
a living symbol of his dominance.
* * * * *
Subject: Evaluation Report - Potential Acquisition of Slave Tarzan
Esteemed Harem Owner,
I hope this letter finds you in the best of health and high spirits. I
write to you with great enthusiasm and anticipation regarding the potential
acquisition of a new addition to our esteemed harem. The slave in question,
known as Tarzan, has been thoroughly observed and evaluated during my
visit.
Physical Attributes: Tarzan possesses a remarkable physique, sculpted by
years of demanding labor and untamed wilderness. His stature is imposing,
and he radiates an aura of strength and vitality. His muscles are
well-defined, a testament to his endurance and resilience. Furthermore, his
skin bears the rough texture of a life spent amidst the elements, giving
him a rugged and primal allure.
Submission and Obedience: In observing Tarzan's behavior, it is evident
that he has been subjected to rigorous training. His responses to commands
are immediate and unwavering. He has been conditioned to obey without
question, displaying a level of submission that is commendable. This trait
is of paramount importance in ensuring harmony within the harem.
Adaptability and Versatility: Tarzan exhibits an impressive degree of
adaptability. His proficiency in various tasks, from laborious physical
duties to more refined domestic responsibilities, highlights his
versatility. This adaptability will undoubtedly prove invaluable within the
diverse and dynamic environment of our harem.
Potential for Harem Dynamics: Given his physical prowess and obedience, I
believe Tarzan has the potential to be a significant asset within our
harem. He could serve as a guardian and protector, ensuring the safety and
well-being of all residents. Furthermore, his submission would foster a
sense of discipline and order among the inhabitants, strengthening the
cohesion of our community.
Recommendation: After careful consideration, I am inclined to recommend the
acquisition of Tarzan for our esteemed harem. His attributes align closely
with the criteria we seek in potential members, and I believe he will
contribute positively to the dynamics of our community.
However, it is imperative that a comprehensive evaluation is conducted on
site to confirm his compatibility with the existing
residents. Additionally, I suggest continued training and guidance to
further refine his obedience and adaptability.
I await your esteemed guidance on this matter and remain at your service
for any further inquiries or arrangements that may be required.
With deepest respect and loyalty,
Hamid Abdulah
Senior Slaver/Field Scout
* * * * *
In the Arab's dreams, Tarzan stands before him, a vision of raw, untamed
masculinity. The flickering torchlight casts a warm, amber glow on the
slave's sculpted physique, accentuating every sinew and muscle. Tarzan's
eyes, once fiery with defiance, now smolder with a subdued intensity, a
testament to his newfound submission.
The Arab's fingers trace the contours of Tarzan's chest, marveling at the
rugged landscape of muscles beneath his touch. Each breath Tarzan takes is
a testament to his vitality and strength. His chest rises and falls with a
steady rhythm, synchronized with the Arab's own heartbeats.
The Arab sees Tarzan kneeling before him in his dream, head bowed in
perfect obeisance. The slave's hands rest on his thighs, a silent
acknowledgment of his place in this dynamic. The sensation of Tarzan's skin
against the Arab's fingers sends a shiver of anticipation down his spine.
As the Arab's gaze drifts lower, he beholds the intimate symbol of Tarzan's
submission. Bound by a simple thong, his virility is now a symbol of his
belonging, an emblem of his servitude. The Arab envisions himself wielding
the leash, guiding Tarzan's movements with a firm but gentle hand.
In this dream, the Arab explores the depths of Tarzan's obedience. He
issues commands, and Tarzan responds without hesitation, every motion
highlighting his unwavering submission. The Arab revels in the power he
holds over this once indomitable force of nature.
The dream continues, weaving a tapestry of desires and dominance. Tarzan
serves dutifully, his strength harnessed for the Arab's pleasure. The Arab
envisions him carrying out tasks with precision and grace, a living model
of the effectiveness of his training.
As the dream unfurls, the Arab experiences a profound sense of ownership
and mastery. Tarzan is not merely a slave; he is a reflection of the Arab's
dominance, a living embodiment of his desires. The Arab awakens from this
vivid dream, a sense of fulfillment and anticipation coursing through him.
In the stillness of the night, the Arab contemplates the potential
acquisition of Tarzan with renewed conviction. The slave's presence in the
harem promises a dynamic of power and submission that is both exhilarating
and intoxicating. With this vision lingering in his mind, the Arab drifts
back into slumber, eager to see what new dreams may unfold.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-39 | Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2024 01:41:12 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 39 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 39: Wet Dreams May Cum-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 39 -- Wet Dreams May Cum The Outpost Exclusive: A Mysterious Encounter Unveiled By Alden Stone Darlings, Oh, do I have some electrifying news for you! Just when I thought the jungle couldn't get any wilder, a clandestine rendezvous unfolded right before my very eyes. The steamy secrets are burning holes in my notebook, and my dear readers, I promise you're in for a tantalizing treat. Imagine, if you will, a scene straight out of a forbidden fantasy. The jungle, shrouded in secrecy and heat, concealing desires and intentions deeper than the underbrush itself. Our illustrious tarzan, blindfolded and at the mercy of an unknown force. The air crackling with tension, the scent of raw power permeating every leaf and vine. Oh, my dears, it was a sight to behold. This enigmatic figure, shrouded in leather, moved with a purpose that sent shivers down my spine. The silent command that passed between them spoke volumes. A dark dance, a primal ballet, where every movement was a note in a symphony of dominance and submission. And dear readers, I must say, I've never seen tarzan quite like this before. His response, a blend of obedience and reverence, held a raw and primal beauty that left me breathless. Who is this figure, you ask? Ah, that, my loves, is the best part. Our mysterious maestro has chosen to remain incognito, leaving us all to wonder about the enigmatic force that has shaken our beloved jungle hero to his very core. But, rest assured, dear readers, I have my theories. Could it be an old nemesis? A specter from the past, seeking retribution or perhaps, a rekindling of old flames? The tantalizing mystery behind this clandestine meeting has my mind swirling with possibilities. Whatever the case may be, my darlings, one thing is for certain - the Alpha Ascension promises to be an event of unparalleled excitement and intrigue. And oh, the secrets it might yet reveal! I, for one, shall be waiting with bated breath. Until next time, my dears, keep those eyes wide open and your ears finely tuned. You never know what scandalous secrets might be lurking just around the corner. Yours in gossip and glam, Jonathon Alden * * * * * Our faithful gossip columnist is in a bit of turmoil. His experience with both tarzan and Baron von Richter have awakened feelings long buried deep in his subconscious. After publishing his latest narrative on the spicey meeting between a blindfolded tarzan and the dominant baron, Alden's dreams are alive with his deepest thoughts. In Alden's dream, he finds himself in a surreal jungle, the air thick with humidity and the sounds of wildlife echoing in the distance. Before him stands Tarzan, his powerful physique illuminated by dappled sunlight filtering through the thick canopy. Tarzan's loincloth, a simple garment made of rough-hewn fabric, clings tightly to his form, emphasizing the sinewy muscles that ripple beneath. Alden approaches Tarzan, his heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and desire. He reaches out tentatively, his fingers grazing the fabric of the loincloth. It feels coarse against his skin, a stark contrast to the smoothness of Tarzan's bronzed flesh. Alden can't help but be captivated by the way the garment accentuates every contour of Tarzan's powerful body. He leans in closer, inhaling the earthy scent that seems to emanate from the fabric. It's a heady mix of sweat, jungle foliage, and something uniquely Tarzan. Alden's heart races, his breath hitching as he presses his lips gently against the fabric. It's an intimate gesture, an unspoken acknowledgment of the connection between them. As Alden kisses the loincloth, he can feel the heat of Tarzan's body radiating through the fabric. It's as though he's tasting a part of Tarzan's essence, an essence that is primal, untamed, and undeniably alluring. He lingers there, savoring the moment, the world around them fading into the background. In this dreamlike encounter, Alden feels a sense of vulnerability and intimacy that transcends the physical. It's a moment of connection with Tarzan, a silent understanding that needs no words. As he pulls away, he looks into Tarzan's eyes, seeing a mixture of surprise and a glimmer of something deeper. The dream leaves Alden with a sense of longing, a lingering awareness of the magnetic pull he feels towards Tarzan. It's a moment that will stay with him, a fantasy that blurs the lines between reality and the uncharted territories of desire. * * * * * In Alden's next dream, he finds himself in a grand chamber adorned with opulent tapestries and flickering torches that cast dancing shadows on the stone walls. At the center of the room, a figure stands tall and imposing - Baron von Richter, a man of commanding presence and unyielding authority. Alden approaches the Baron, his heart pounding in his chest, a mixture of trepidation and an inexplicable attraction swirling within him. He gazes down at the Baron's polished leather boot, the fine craftsmanship gleaming in the ambient light. It's a symbol of power, an emblem of dominance that Alden can't help but be drawn to. With a mixture of reverence and a touch of daring, Alden bends down and presses his lips to the supple leather. The taste is rich and intoxicating, a heady blend of leather and a hint of something uniquely the Baron. It sends a shiver down Alden's spine, electrifying his senses. As he kisses the Baron's boot, Alden can feel the subtle pressure of the leather against his lips, a silent affirmation of the Baron's dominance. It's a gesture of submission, an unspoken acknowledgment of the hierarchy between them. In this dreamlike moment, Alden surrenders to the allure of the Baron's power, relishing the heady rush that courses through him. When Alden pulls away, he looks up at the Baron, meeting his piercing gaze. There's a glint of satisfaction in the Baron's eyes, a silent approval of Alden's act of submission. It's a moment of unspoken understanding, a connection forged through the language of dominance and submission. The dream leaves Alden with a lingering sense of exhilaration, a vivid memory of a moment that blurs the boundaries between reality and the tantalizing realm of fantasy. It's a dream that will stay with him, a secret desire that pulses beneath the surface of his waking thoughts." * * * * * Awake and inspired by his dreams, Alden tiptoed into the stable, the moonlight casting long shadows across the straw-covered floor. His eyes fell upon Tarzan, slumbering peacefully on his hay pile. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest captured the serene respite he was finally able to enjoy. Alden approached with the utmost care, each step calculated to avoid any sudden creak or rustle that might disturb the sleeping figure. He couldn't help but admire the powerful, sculpted form of the jungle-born man. The sinews of his back and arms, the way his loincloth clung to him -- it was a sight to behold. As Alden drew closer, he reached out his hand, fingers gently grazing the edge of the rough fabric that covered Tarzan's loins. He felt the latent energy that emanated from the man, an energy that spoke of a life lived close to nature, attuned to its every rhythm. Alden lingered for a moment, his touch light and reverent. He marveled at the juxtaposition of strength and vulnerability that Tarzan embodied in that moment. Here was a man who could command the wild, yet here he lay, in peaceful repose. A slight shift in Tarzan's breathing caught Alden's attention. He froze, holding his breath, hoping he hadn't disturbed the sleeper. After a moment that felt like an eternity, Tarzan settled back into deep slumber, unaware of Alden's presence. Relieved, Alden withdrew his hand, taking a step back. He cast a lingering look upon Tarzan, the moonlight playing upon his chiseled features. Alden's breath caught in his throat as he watched Tarzan shift in his slumber. The motion of his powerful leg caused the loincloth to adjust, revealing a sight that Alden had yet to see. His eyes widened, fixed on the unexpected revelation. In the soft moonlight, Alden's gaze was drawn to the exposed form before him. He had never witnessed Tarzan in such a state of vulnerability, the contours of his body laid bare. The sight was both breathtaking and mesmerizing, a vision of the raw, untamed beauty of the jungle-born man. Alden's heart raced, his pulse echoing in his ears. He couldn't tear his eyes away, captivated by the intimacy of the moment. It was as if he had stumbled upon a secret, an unguarded glimpse into Tarzan's private world. Time seemed to stand still as Alden stood there, the world around them fading into insignificance. In that suspended moment, he felt a connection, a shared intimacy with Tarzan that transcended the boundaries of their respective roles. Eventually, the reality of the situation settled in, and Alden knew he had to leave before he risked waking the slumbering stud. With great reluctance, he tore his gaze away, taking a step back from the hay pile. His heart still pounded in his chest, the memory of what he had seen seared into his mind. As he turned to leave, Alden couldn't shake the feeling that he had glimpsed something truly extraordinary. It was a moment he would carry with him, a secret shared between him and the sleeping man in the stable. With a final, wistful sigh, Alden turned and made his way out of the stable, leaving Tarzan to his dreams. Outside, the night air embraced him, carrying with it the scents of earth and foliage. Alden couldn't help but feel a sense of quiet contentment. He had stolen a moment, a fleeting glimpse into the world of the enigmatic Tarzan. It was a memory he would cherish, a secret shared with the silent night. * * * * * Secrets Unearthed: A Glimpse into Tarzan's New Reality Dear Outpost readers, In the realm of hidden treasures and clandestine encounters, one rarely expects to stumble upon a revelation so profound, it defies both expectation and explanation. Such an experience transpired recently, leaving me with no choice but to share it with you, dear readers. I found myself in the stable, where the once mighty Tarzan sought refuge in sleep. The moon cast its ethereal glow, painting a delicate portrait of the jungle-born legend. As my eyes fell upon him, an unexpected sight unfolded, one that would forever alter my perception of this storied figure. In that moment, the veil of Tarzan's untamed past was gently peeled back, revealing a vulnerability and intimacy previously concealed. It was as if I had been granted access to a world unknown, a privilege I do not take lightly. His form, bathed in moonlight, bore testament to the raw, unbridled beauty that defines this jungle-born marvel. Yet, it was more than his physicality that captured my attention; it was the undeniable transformation he had undergone. The once indomitable hero, now ensnared in the trappings of servitude, presented a stark contrast to the Tarzan of old. It was a poignant reminder that even the mightiest among us can be humbled by the relentless march of time. In this moment of revelation, I was acutely aware of the weight of the responsibility that lay before me. As a chronicler of secrets and a keeper of tales, it is my duty to share this glimpse into Tarzan's new reality. His breeding capacity, a mirror of the strength that courses through his veins, bears witness to the undeniable truth of his enslavement. Dear readers, it is with great humility that I offer you this glimpse into the hidden world of Tarzan. Let it serve as a poignant reminder that none are immune to the capricious twists of fate. As we navigate our own journeys, may we do so with empathy and compassion, recognizing that the veneer of strength often conceals a tapestry of vulnerabilities. Until next time, may our paths be illuminated by the truths we uncover, and may our hearts be open to the revelations that lie in wait. Yours in discovery, Jonathan Alden Columnist, The Outpost -- The Gay Newsweekly * * * * * Later that night, in the hush of his private sanctuary, Alden carefully unfolded the cherished letters he had tucked away beneath his pillow. These were his hidden treasures, words that spoke of passion, desire, and a shared longing for something more. One letter stood out, its prose flowing like a river of molten desire. The writer spoke of tarzan with a reverence that sent shivers down Alden's spine. "To imagine those sinewy muscles, taut and glistening with sweat, beneath the fabric of his loincloth... it's a vision that consumes my every waking moment," the writer confessed. Alden couldn't help but feel a kinship with the writer's fervor. Another letter danced on the precipice of taboo, exploring the unspoken desires that pulsed beneath the surface. The writer painted a vivid picture of stolen glances and secret touches, of a passion that dared not speak its name. "In the shadows, where no eyes can see, there lies a world of untamed yearning," the writer mused. It was a sentiment that echoed Alden's own hidden desires. One particularly daring letter delved into the realm of dominance and submission, a dance of power and surrender that left Alden breathless. "To imagine tarzan on his knees, yielding to the will of a master, it ignites a fire within me that refuses to be quenched," the writer declared. It was a fantasy that Alden had often entertained in the quiet depths of his mind. And then there was the letter that spoke of vulnerability, of the raw intimacy that came with baring one's soul to another. "To see tarzan stripped of his bravado, laid bare before a lover who knows him in ways no other ever could... it's a revelation, a sacred trust," the writer wrote. Alden couldn't help but be moved by the depth of emotion in those words. These were the letters that Alden held close, words that spoke to the hidden recesses of his own desires. They were his sanctuary, a reminder that he was not alone in the depths of his fantasies. As he read and reread these letters, Alden felt a connection to the writers, a shared understanding of the intoxicating allure of tarzan's enigmatic presence. * * * * * With the letters fueling Alden's dreams, Alden's night danced with images of dominating tarzan with just as much authority as the baron demonstrated. The chance to exert such power over tarzan made Alden's heart race. In this dream, he was not a mere observer, but an active participant, a master of his desires. The command rolled off his tongue, authoritative and sure, as he beckoned tarzan to kneel before him. The loincloth shifted, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of what lay beneath, a sight that made Alden's heart race. He did not hesitate to take control, guiding tarzan's movements with a confidence that belied the reality of their roles. Kicking his legs apart, he positioned tarzan in a stance of submission, a born slave yielding to his natural superior. The power that emanated from tarzan was palpable, a magnetic force that drew them together. Alden's hands traced the contours of tarzan's form, a dance of exploration that left no muscle untouched. He marveled at the dichotomy of strength and vulnerability, the raw sensuality that pulsed beneath the surface. Every touch was a revelation, spotlighting the depths of their shared desire. As the dream surged towards its crescendo, Alden felt an electrifying surge of pleasure, a culmination of his most intimate fantasies. It was a release that echoed through the chambers of his mind, leaving him breathless and sated. When he awoke, the remnants of the dream lingered, a heady cocktail of passion and longing. Alden couldn't help but smile, knowing that in the secret recesses of his mind, he had found a place where his desires could run wild, unencumbered by the constraints of reality. The dried juices on his chest and abs seemed born of the imagery he had conjured in his mind. In the velvety depths of slumber, he found himself transported to a realm of unrestrained passion, where fantasies took on a life of their own. * * * * * In yet another dream, Alden found himself standing in a vast, dimly lit chamber. Shadows danced across the walls, creating an eerie ambiance that sent shivers down his spine. He glanced around and realized he was not alone. Baron von Richter stood before him, clad in his imposing black leather attire, exuding an aura of dominance. Alden's heart raced as he met the Baron's piercing gaze. There was an unspoken understanding between them, an acknowledgment of their respective roles in this dream scenario. The Baron took a step closer, his eyes never leaving Alden's. With a confident yet commanding tone, the Baron began to speak. His voice held an undeniable power, sending vibrations through the very core of Alden's being. He outlined the expectations he had for Alden, emphasizing respect, submission, and unwavering obedience. Alden, feeling a mixture of fear and desire, nodded in acknowledgment. He knew that in this dream, he was expected to adhere to the Baron's every command. It was a thrilling, forbidden fantasy that both terrified and excited him. As the dream unfolded, the Baron used his words to guide Alden into a state of complete surrender. His orders were concise and direct, reminding Alden of his place and reinforcing the power dynamic between them. Alden willingly obeyed, his subconscious yearning to please the enigmatic Baron. In this dream, the Baron's presence was palpable, his essence overwhelming. Alden was acutely aware of the scents, the textures, and the sensations that the Baron's dreamworld exuded. It was a realm where fantasies and desires converged, a place where Alden could explore the depths of his submissive nature. Throughout the dream, Alden found himself lost in a dance of power and submission, a ballet of emotions and desires. The Baron's enigmatic allure, his cruel yet seductive demeanor, left an indelible mark on Alden's subconscious. As the dream neared its end, the Baron stepped closer to Alden, his gloved hand reaching out to touch him. The sensation sent shockwaves through Alden's body, a visceral reminder of his place in the Baron's world. With a knowing smile, the Baron bid Alden farewell, his voice echoing in the recesses of Alden's mind. As the dream faded, Alden awoke, left with a profound sense of longing and intrigue. * * * * * It's time we hear the dream of a true alpha master as his subconscious focuses on his old arch enemy. The Baron reads Alden's column, and the letters ultimately lull him to sleep, where his surreal visions take over. As the Baron lay in bed, the room was cloaked in a hushed stillness, broken only by the flickering shadows cast by the candle's flame. His mind was a sea of calculated plans for the approaching day. Each nuance of the training regimen was etched into his thoughts, from the snap of the whip to the precise commands that would direct Tarzan's formidable presence. He envisaged the sprawling fields, the steadfast plow, and the overseer's unyielding guidance. Tarzan, once a sovereign of the jungle, now reshaped into a mere instrument for the alpha's will. The Baron knew that every action, every word, held critical significance in sculpting Tarzan into the realization they all envisioned. The night seemed pregnant with purpose, the air tinged with anticipation. His fingers traced phantom lines in the air, a rehearsal of the orders he would give, the expectations he would set. In his imagination, the earthy scent of the fields mingled with the tang of sweat, igniting his determination. As his eyelids grew heavy, sleep stole gently over him. In his dreams, Tarzan moved with an obedient precision, tilling the fields under the watchful eye of the overseer. Each crack of the whip, each command, was met with a response that stirred something primal within the Baron. The sight of Tarzan, once a tempestuous force of nature, now tamed and shaped, satisfied the Baron's unwavering resolve. The training was more than just a means to an end; it was a metamorphosis, a revelation of the heights that true dominance and submission could attain. In the tranquil embrace of the night, the Baron's breaths slowed, matching the steady beat of his resolute heart. Tomorrow was not simply another day; it was a step closer to the realization of their collective vision, a proclamation of their willingness to go to any lengths to mold Tarzan into the paragon of submission. And as the night held its breath, the Baron's dreams wove a tapestry of authority and compliance, a vision of Tarzan, now a vessel of might, poised to confront the Alpha Ascension with a power that exceeded even his most extravagant fantasies. In the Baron's dreams, the scenes unfold with a vivid clarity, each tableau a celebration of his mastery over Tarzan. The first image is of Tarzan, stripped of his former grandeur, clad in the humble garb of a slave. The Baron stands tall before him, a cruel glint in his eyes. He leans in, his voice dripping with disdain, and utters, "You were a king in the jungle, weren't you? A ruler of beasts. Now, look at you -- a mere pawn in my game." The next image paints Tarzan bent over the plow, his powerful sinews straining against the toil. The Baron's voice is a whip-crack of command, "Forward, slave! This field will bow to my will, and so will you." As the dream shifts, Tarzan is blindfolded, the world reduced to a canvas of darkness. The Baron's words are a sinister murmur, "You'll learn to dance to the rhythm of my whip. Left, right, forward, stop -- every command etched into your flesh." In the next scene, the Baron gazes upon Tarzan, his body glistening with sweat, the whip held with unyielding authority. He speaks with a cold precision, "You'll remember this, Tarzan. The sting of obedience, the taste of submission. It's the only path you have left." The dream takes a more intimate turn, the Baron's hand firm upon Tarzan's shoulder. His words are laced with a venomous triumph, "You were a legend, a myth. Now, you're nothing but a shadow -- a tribute to the power I hold." In the final tableau, Tarzan kneels before the Baron, his once-mighty form reduced to supplication. The Baron's voice is a symphony of dominance, "You were a challenge, Tarzan. A thorn in my side. Now, you're mine. A symbol of the inevitable triumph of true authority." In the Baron's dreams, the imagery signifies his dominance, each word a calculated stroke to etch his authority into Tarzan's very soul. The scenes play out in a macabre ballet, a dance of power and submission, leaving no doubt as to who reigns supreme. In the Baron's dream, the night transformed into a vivid tapestry of dominance and submission, his cruel alpha nature unfurling with each scene. The Whip's Command: Tarzan stood, muscles taut and glistening, before the overseer. The Baron's words, dripping with authority, echoed in the air. "Kneel," he commanded. Tarzan obeyed, sinking to the earth, surrendering his former might to the Baron's will. The whip's lash cracked in the background, a reminder of the consequences of disobedience. The Plow's Obedience: The Baron watched as Tarzan's powerful frame strained against the plow's resistance. His voice was a whip of its own as he barked, "Forward!" Tarzan heaved, his submission evident in the sweat-soaked determination etched across his face. The Baron reveled in the sight of his once defiant enemy brought to heel. The Oath of Submission: Tarzan knelt before the Baron, his gaze lowered in servitude. The cruel master's words pierced the air like a dagger. "You belong to me now, Tarzan," he declared. The former jungle lord could only nod, the weight of his submission settling upon him like a shroud. The Pleasure of Obedience: In a more intimate tableau, Tarzan knelt before the Baron, his loincloth shifting in anticipation. The Baron's command was soft, but firm. "Serve," he whispered. Tarzan's obedience was palpable, his devotion to his new master on full display. The Master's Whispers: In the final scene, the Baron leaned close to Tarzan, his lips brushing against the slave's ear. His voice was a seductive caress as he murmured, "You exist to please me." Tarzan shivered, caught in the web of the Baron's dominance. As the dream wove its cruel narrative, the Baron reveled in each moment of power and submission. In this realm of subconscious desire, he was the unquestioned master, and Tarzan, his willing, compliant subject. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2024 01:41:12 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 39
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 39: Wet Dreams May Cum--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 39 -- Wet Dreams May Cum
The Outpost Exclusive: A Mysterious Encounter Unveiled
By Alden Stone
Darlings,
Oh, do I have some electrifying news for you! Just when I thought the
jungle couldn't get any wilder, a clandestine rendezvous unfolded right
before my very eyes. The steamy secrets are burning holes in my notebook,
and my dear readers, I promise you're in for a tantalizing treat.
Imagine, if you will, a scene straight out of a forbidden fantasy. The
jungle, shrouded in secrecy and heat, concealing desires and intentions
deeper than the underbrush itself. Our illustrious tarzan, blindfolded and
at the mercy of an unknown force. The air crackling with tension, the scent
of raw power permeating every leaf and vine. Oh, my dears, it was a sight
to behold.
This enigmatic figure, shrouded in leather, moved with a purpose that sent
shivers down my spine. The silent command that passed between them spoke
volumes. A dark dance, a primal ballet, where every movement was a note in
a symphony of dominance and submission. And dear readers, I must say, I've
never seen tarzan quite like this before. His response, a blend of
obedience and reverence, held a raw and primal beauty that left me
breathless.
Who is this figure, you ask? Ah, that, my loves, is the best part. Our
mysterious maestro has chosen to remain incognito, leaving us all to wonder
about the enigmatic force that has shaken our beloved jungle hero to his
very core. But, rest assured, dear readers, I have my theories.
Could it be an old nemesis? A specter from the past, seeking retribution or
perhaps, a rekindling of old flames? The tantalizing mystery behind this
clandestine meeting has my mind swirling with possibilities.
Whatever the case may be, my darlings, one thing is for certain - the Alpha
Ascension promises to be an event of unparalleled excitement and
intrigue. And oh, the secrets it might yet reveal! I, for one, shall be
waiting with bated breath.
Until next time, my dears, keep those eyes wide open and your ears finely
tuned. You never know what scandalous secrets might be lurking just around
the corner.
Yours in gossip and glam,
Jonathon Alden
* * * * *
Our faithful gossip columnist is in a bit of turmoil. His experience with
both tarzan and Baron von Richter have awakened feelings long buried deep
in his subconscious. After publishing his latest narrative on the spicey
meeting between a blindfolded tarzan and the dominant baron, Alden's dreams
are alive with his deepest thoughts.
In Alden's dream, he finds himself in a surreal jungle, the air thick with
humidity and the sounds of wildlife echoing in the distance. Before him
stands Tarzan, his powerful physique illuminated by dappled sunlight
filtering through the thick canopy. Tarzan's loincloth, a simple garment
made of rough-hewn fabric, clings tightly to his form, emphasizing the
sinewy muscles that ripple beneath.
Alden approaches Tarzan, his heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and
desire. He reaches out tentatively, his fingers grazing the fabric of the
loincloth. It feels coarse against his skin, a stark contrast to the
smoothness of Tarzan's bronzed flesh. Alden can't help but be captivated by
the way the garment accentuates every contour of Tarzan's powerful body.
He leans in closer, inhaling the earthy scent that seems to emanate from
the fabric. It's a heady mix of sweat, jungle foliage, and something
uniquely Tarzan. Alden's heart races, his breath hitching as he presses his
lips gently against the fabric. It's an intimate gesture, an unspoken
acknowledgment of the connection between them.
As Alden kisses the loincloth, he can feel the heat of Tarzan's body
radiating through the fabric. It's as though he's tasting a part of
Tarzan's essence, an essence that is primal, untamed, and undeniably
alluring. He lingers there, savoring the moment, the world around them
fading into the background.
In this dreamlike encounter, Alden feels a sense of vulnerability and
intimacy that transcends the physical. It's a moment of connection with
Tarzan, a silent understanding that needs no words. As he pulls away, he
looks into Tarzan's eyes, seeing a mixture of surprise and a glimmer of
something deeper.
The dream leaves Alden with a sense of longing, a lingering awareness of
the magnetic pull he feels towards Tarzan. It's a moment that will stay
with him, a fantasy that blurs the lines between reality and the uncharted
territories of desire.
* * * * *
In Alden's next dream, he finds himself in a grand chamber adorned with
opulent tapestries and flickering torches that cast dancing shadows on the
stone walls. At the center of the room, a figure stands tall and imposing -
Baron von Richter, a man of commanding presence and unyielding authority.
Alden approaches the Baron, his heart pounding in his chest, a mixture of
trepidation and an inexplicable attraction swirling within him. He gazes
down at the Baron's polished leather boot, the fine craftsmanship gleaming
in the ambient light. It's a symbol of power, an emblem of dominance that
Alden can't help but be drawn to.
With a mixture of reverence and a touch of daring, Alden bends down and
presses his lips to the supple leather. The taste is rich and intoxicating,
a heady blend of leather and a hint of something uniquely the Baron. It
sends a shiver down Alden's spine, electrifying his senses.
As he kisses the Baron's boot, Alden can feel the subtle pressure of the
leather against his lips, a silent affirmation of the Baron's
dominance. It's a gesture of submission, an unspoken acknowledgment of the
hierarchy between them. In this dreamlike moment, Alden surrenders to the
allure of the Baron's power, relishing the heady rush that courses through
him. When Alden pulls away, he looks up at the Baron, meeting his piercing
gaze. There's a glint of satisfaction in the Baron's eyes, a silent
approval of Alden's act of submission. It's a moment of unspoken
understanding, a connection forged through the language of dominance and
submission.
The dream leaves Alden with a lingering sense of exhilaration, a vivid
memory of a moment that blurs the boundaries between reality and the
tantalizing realm of fantasy. It's a dream that will stay with him, a
secret desire that pulses beneath the surface of his waking thoughts."
* * * * *
Awake and inspired by his dreams, Alden tiptoed into the stable, the
moonlight casting long shadows across the straw-covered floor. His eyes
fell upon Tarzan, slumbering peacefully on his hay pile. The rhythmic rise
and fall of his chest captured the serene respite he was finally able to
enjoy.
Alden approached with the utmost care, each step calculated to avoid any
sudden creak or rustle that might disturb the sleeping figure. He couldn't
help but admire the powerful, sculpted form of the jungle-born man. The
sinews of his back and arms, the way his loincloth clung to him -- it was a
sight to behold.
As Alden drew closer, he reached out his hand, fingers gently grazing the
edge of the rough fabric that covered Tarzan's loins. He felt the latent
energy that emanated from the man, an energy that spoke of a life lived
close to nature, attuned to its every rhythm.
Alden lingered for a moment, his touch light and reverent. He marveled at
the juxtaposition of strength and vulnerability that Tarzan embodied in
that moment. Here was a man who could command the wild, yet here he lay, in
peaceful repose.
A slight shift in Tarzan's breathing caught Alden's attention. He froze,
holding his breath, hoping he hadn't disturbed the sleeper. After a moment
that felt like an eternity, Tarzan settled back into deep slumber, unaware
of Alden's presence.
Relieved, Alden withdrew his hand, taking a step back. He cast a lingering
look upon Tarzan, the moonlight playing upon his chiseled features.
Alden's breath caught in his throat as he watched Tarzan shift in his
slumber. The motion of his powerful leg caused the loincloth to adjust,
revealing a sight that Alden had yet to see. His eyes widened, fixed on the
unexpected revelation.
In the soft moonlight, Alden's gaze was drawn to the exposed form before
him. He had never witnessed Tarzan in such a state of vulnerability, the
contours of his body laid bare. The sight was both breathtaking and
mesmerizing, a vision of the raw, untamed beauty of the jungle-born man.
Alden's heart raced, his pulse echoing in his ears. He couldn't tear his
eyes away, captivated by the intimacy of the moment. It was as if he had
stumbled upon a secret, an unguarded glimpse into Tarzan's private world.
Time seemed to stand still as Alden stood there, the world around them
fading into insignificance. In that suspended moment, he felt a connection,
a shared intimacy with Tarzan that transcended the boundaries of their
respective roles.
Eventually, the reality of the situation settled in, and Alden knew he had
to leave before he risked waking the slumbering stud. With great
reluctance, he tore his gaze away, taking a step back from the hay
pile. His heart still pounded in his chest, the memory of what he had seen
seared into his mind.
As he turned to leave, Alden couldn't shake the feeling that he had
glimpsed something truly extraordinary. It was a moment he would carry with
him, a secret shared between him and the sleeping man in the stable.
With a final, wistful sigh, Alden turned and made his way out of the
stable, leaving Tarzan to his dreams.
Outside, the night air embraced him, carrying with it the scents of earth
and foliage. Alden couldn't help but feel a sense of quiet contentment. He
had stolen a moment, a fleeting glimpse into the world of the enigmatic
Tarzan. It was a memory he would cherish, a secret shared with the silent
night.
* * * * *
Secrets Unearthed: A Glimpse into Tarzan's New Reality
Dear Outpost readers,
In the realm of hidden treasures and clandestine encounters, one rarely
expects to stumble upon a revelation so profound, it defies both
expectation and explanation. Such an experience transpired recently,
leaving me with no choice but to share it with you, dear readers.
I found myself in the stable, where the once mighty Tarzan sought refuge in
sleep. The moon cast its ethereal glow, painting a delicate portrait of the
jungle-born legend. As my eyes fell upon him, an unexpected sight unfolded,
one that would forever alter my perception of this storied figure.
In that moment, the veil of Tarzan's untamed past was gently peeled back,
revealing a vulnerability and intimacy previously concealed. It was as if I
had been granted access to a world unknown, a privilege I do not take
lightly. His form, bathed in moonlight, bore testament to the raw,
unbridled beauty that defines this jungle-born marvel.
Yet, it was more than his physicality that captured my attention; it was
the undeniable transformation he had undergone. The once indomitable hero,
now ensnared in the trappings of servitude, presented a stark contrast to
the Tarzan of old. It was a poignant reminder that even the mightiest among
us can be humbled by the relentless march of time.
In this moment of revelation, I was acutely aware of the weight of the
responsibility that lay before me. As a chronicler of secrets and a keeper
of tales, it is my duty to share this glimpse into Tarzan's new
reality. His breeding capacity, a mirror of the strength that courses
through his veins, bears witness to the undeniable truth of his
enslavement.
Dear readers, it is with great humility that I offer you this glimpse into
the hidden world of Tarzan. Let it serve as a poignant reminder that none
are immune to the capricious twists of fate. As we navigate our own
journeys, may we do so with empathy and compassion, recognizing that the
veneer of strength often conceals a tapestry of vulnerabilities.
Until next time, may our paths be illuminated by the truths we uncover, and
may our hearts be open to the revelations that lie in wait.
Yours in discovery,
Jonathan Alden Columnist, The Outpost -- The Gay Newsweekly
* * * * *
Later that night, in the hush of his private sanctuary, Alden carefully
unfolded the cherished letters he had tucked away beneath his pillow. These
were his hidden treasures, words that spoke of passion, desire, and a
shared longing for something more.
One letter stood out, its prose flowing like a river of molten desire. The
writer spoke of tarzan with a reverence that sent shivers down Alden's
spine. "To imagine those sinewy muscles, taut and glistening with sweat,
beneath the fabric of his loincloth... it's a vision that consumes my every
waking moment," the writer confessed. Alden couldn't help but feel a
kinship with the writer's fervor.
Another letter danced on the precipice of taboo, exploring the unspoken
desires that pulsed beneath the surface. The writer painted a vivid picture
of stolen glances and secret touches, of a passion that dared not speak its
name. "In the shadows, where no eyes can see, there lies a world of untamed
yearning," the writer mused. It was a sentiment that echoed Alden's own
hidden desires.
One particularly daring letter delved into the realm of dominance and
submission, a dance of power and surrender that left Alden breathless. "To
imagine tarzan on his knees, yielding to the will of a master, it ignites a
fire within me that refuses to be quenched," the writer declared. It was a
fantasy that Alden had often entertained in the quiet depths of his mind.
And then there was the letter that spoke of vulnerability, of the raw
intimacy that came with baring one's soul to another. "To see tarzan
stripped of his bravado, laid bare before a lover who knows him in ways no
other ever could... it's a revelation, a sacred trust," the writer
wrote. Alden couldn't help but be moved by the depth of emotion in those
words.
These were the letters that Alden held close, words that spoke to the
hidden recesses of his own desires. They were his sanctuary, a reminder
that he was not alone in the depths of his fantasies. As he read and reread
these letters, Alden felt a connection to the writers, a shared
understanding of the intoxicating allure of tarzan's enigmatic presence.
* * * * *
With the letters fueling Alden's dreams, Alden's night danced with images
of dominating tarzan with just as much authority as the baron demonstrated.
The chance to exert such power over tarzan made Alden's heart race.
In this dream, he was not a mere observer, but an active participant, a
master of his desires. The command rolled off his tongue, authoritative and
sure, as he beckoned tarzan to kneel before him. The loincloth shifted,
revealing a tantalizing glimpse of what lay beneath, a sight that made
Alden's heart race.
He did not hesitate to take control, guiding tarzan's movements with a
confidence that belied the reality of their roles. Kicking his legs apart,
he positioned tarzan in a stance of submission, a born slave yielding to
his natural superior. The power that emanated from tarzan was palpable, a
magnetic force that drew them together.
Alden's hands traced the contours of tarzan's form, a dance of exploration
that left no muscle untouched. He marveled at the dichotomy of strength and
vulnerability, the raw sensuality that pulsed beneath the surface. Every
touch was a revelation, spotlighting the depths of their shared desire.
As the dream surged towards its crescendo, Alden felt an electrifying surge
of pleasure, a culmination of his most intimate fantasies. It was a release
that echoed through the chambers of his mind, leaving him breathless and
sated.
When he awoke, the remnants of the dream lingered, a heady cocktail of
passion and longing. Alden couldn't help but smile, knowing that in the
secret recesses of his mind, he had found a place where his desires could
run wild, unencumbered by the constraints of reality.
The dried juices on his chest and abs seemed born of the imagery he had
conjured in his mind. In the velvety depths of slumber, he found himself
transported to a realm of unrestrained passion, where fantasies took on a
life of their own.
* * * * *
In yet another dream, Alden found himself standing in a vast, dimly lit
chamber. Shadows danced across the walls, creating an eerie ambiance that
sent shivers down his spine. He glanced around and realized he was not
alone. Baron von Richter stood before him, clad in his imposing black
leather attire, exuding an aura of dominance.
Alden's heart raced as he met the Baron's piercing gaze. There was an
unspoken understanding between them, an acknowledgment of their respective
roles in this dream scenario. The Baron took a step closer, his eyes never
leaving Alden's.
With a confident yet commanding tone, the Baron began to speak. His voice
held an undeniable power, sending vibrations through the very core of
Alden's being. He outlined the expectations he had for Alden, emphasizing
respect, submission, and unwavering obedience.
Alden, feeling a mixture of fear and desire, nodded in acknowledgment. He
knew that in this dream, he was expected to adhere to the Baron's every
command. It was a thrilling, forbidden fantasy that both terrified and
excited him.
As the dream unfolded, the Baron used his words to guide Alden into a state
of complete surrender. His orders were concise and direct, reminding Alden
of his place and reinforcing the power dynamic between them. Alden
willingly obeyed, his subconscious yearning to please the enigmatic Baron.
In this dream, the Baron's presence was palpable, his essence
overwhelming. Alden was acutely aware of the scents, the textures, and the
sensations that the Baron's dreamworld exuded. It was a realm where
fantasies and desires converged, a place where Alden could explore the
depths of his submissive nature.
Throughout the dream, Alden found himself lost in a dance of power and
submission, a ballet of emotions and desires. The Baron's enigmatic allure,
his cruel yet seductive demeanor, left an indelible mark on Alden's
subconscious.
As the dream neared its end, the Baron stepped closer to Alden, his gloved
hand reaching out to touch him. The sensation sent shockwaves through
Alden's body, a visceral reminder of his place in the Baron's world.
With a knowing smile, the Baron bid Alden farewell, his voice echoing in
the recesses of Alden's mind. As the dream faded, Alden awoke, left with a
profound sense of longing and intrigue.
* * * * *
It's time we hear the dream of a true alpha master as his subconscious
focuses on his old arch enemy. The Baron reads Alden's column, and the
letters ultimately lull him to sleep, where his surreal visions take over.
As the Baron lay in bed, the room was cloaked in a hushed stillness, broken
only by the flickering shadows cast by the candle's flame. His mind was a
sea of calculated plans for the approaching day. Each nuance of the
training regimen was etched into his thoughts, from the snap of the whip to
the precise commands that would direct Tarzan's formidable presence.
He envisaged the sprawling fields, the steadfast plow, and the overseer's
unyielding guidance. Tarzan, once a sovereign of the jungle, now reshaped
into a mere instrument for the alpha's will. The Baron knew that every
action, every word, held critical significance in sculpting Tarzan into the
realization they all envisioned.
The night seemed pregnant with purpose, the air tinged with
anticipation. His fingers traced phantom lines in the air, a rehearsal of
the orders he would give, the expectations he would set. In his
imagination, the earthy scent of the fields mingled with the tang of sweat,
igniting his determination.
As his eyelids grew heavy, sleep stole gently over him. In his dreams,
Tarzan moved with an obedient precision, tilling the fields under the
watchful eye of the overseer. Each crack of the whip, each command, was met
with a response that stirred something primal within the Baron.
The sight of Tarzan, once a tempestuous force of nature, now tamed and
shaped, satisfied the Baron's unwavering resolve. The training was more
than just a means to an end; it was a metamorphosis, a revelation of the
heights that true dominance and submission could attain.
In the tranquil embrace of the night, the Baron's breaths slowed, matching
the steady beat of his resolute heart. Tomorrow was not simply another day;
it was a step closer to the realization of their collective vision, a
proclamation of their willingness to go to any lengths to mold Tarzan into
the paragon of submission.
And as the night held its breath, the Baron's dreams wove a tapestry of
authority and compliance, a vision of Tarzan, now a vessel of might, poised
to confront the Alpha Ascension with a power that exceeded even his most
extravagant fantasies.
In the Baron's dreams, the scenes unfold with a vivid clarity, each tableau
a celebration of his mastery over Tarzan. The first image is of Tarzan,
stripped of his former grandeur, clad in the humble garb of a slave. The
Baron stands tall before him, a cruel glint in his eyes.
He leans in, his voice dripping with disdain, and utters,
"You were a king in the jungle, weren't you? A ruler of beasts. Now, look
at you -- a mere pawn in my game."
The next image paints Tarzan bent over the plow, his powerful sinews
straining against the toil. The Baron's voice is a whip-crack of command,
"Forward, slave! This field will bow to my will, and so will you."
As the dream shifts, Tarzan is blindfolded, the world reduced to a canvas
of darkness. The Baron's words are a sinister murmur,
"You'll learn to dance to the rhythm of my whip. Left, right, forward, stop
-- every command etched into your flesh."
In the next scene, the Baron gazes upon Tarzan, his body glistening with
sweat, the whip held with unyielding authority. He speaks with a cold
precision,
"You'll remember this, Tarzan. The sting of obedience, the taste of
submission. It's the only path you have left."
The dream takes a more intimate turn, the Baron's hand firm upon Tarzan's
shoulder. His words are laced with a venomous triumph,
"You were a legend, a myth. Now, you're nothing but a shadow -- a tribute
to the power I hold."
In the final tableau, Tarzan kneels before the Baron, his once-mighty form
reduced to supplication. The Baron's voice is a symphony of dominance,
"You were a challenge, Tarzan. A thorn in my side. Now, you're mine. A
symbol of the inevitable triumph of true authority."
In the Baron's dreams, the imagery signifies his dominance, each word a
calculated stroke to etch his authority into Tarzan's very soul. The scenes
play out in a macabre ballet, a dance of power and submission, leaving no
doubt as to who reigns supreme.
In the Baron's dream, the night transformed into a vivid tapestry of
dominance and submission, his cruel alpha nature unfurling with each scene.
The Whip's Command: Tarzan stood, muscles taut and glistening, before the
overseer. The Baron's words, dripping with authority, echoed in the air.
"Kneel," he commanded.
Tarzan obeyed, sinking to the earth, surrendering his former might to the
Baron's will. The whip's lash cracked in the background, a reminder of the
consequences of disobedience.
The Plow's Obedience: The Baron watched as Tarzan's powerful frame strained
against the plow's resistance. His voice was a whip of its own as he
barked,
"Forward!"
Tarzan heaved, his submission evident in the sweat-soaked determination
etched across his face. The Baron reveled in the sight of his once defiant
enemy brought to heel.
The Oath of Submission: Tarzan knelt before the Baron, his gaze lowered in
servitude. The cruel master's words pierced the air like a dagger.
"You belong to me now, Tarzan," he declared.
The former jungle lord could only nod, the weight of his submission
settling upon him like a shroud.
The Pleasure of Obedience: In a more intimate tableau, Tarzan knelt before
the Baron, his loincloth shifting in anticipation. The Baron's command was
soft, but firm.
"Serve," he whispered.
Tarzan's obedience was palpable, his devotion to his new master on full
display.
The Master's Whispers: In the final scene, the Baron leaned close to
Tarzan, his lips brushing against the slave's ear. His voice was a
seductive caress as he murmured,
"You exist to please me."
Tarzan shivered, caught in the web of the Baron's dominance.
As the dream wove its cruel narrative, the Baron reveled in each moment of
power and submission. In this realm of subconscious desire, he was the
unquestioned master, and Tarzan, his willing, compliant subject.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-27 | Date: Mon, 15 Jan 2024 18:17:50 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance: Chapter 27 -- Tarzan Takes Center Stage Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 27: Tarzan Takes Center Stage -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 27: Tarzan Takes Center Stage Before tarzan's next visit to The Dom's Den, Lord Harrington and Mr. Blackwood sit in Harrington's study making plans for how best to profit from their new acquisition. "Mr. Blackwood, I trust that our investment in Tarzan will yield significant returns," Lord Harrington says. "Indeed, Lord Harrington," Blackwood nods enthusiastically. "The potential in this young man is undeniable. With the right guidance, he could become an invaluable asset." "Exactly," says Harrington, stroking his chin. "Now, let us strategize. I have observed his progress closely, and I believe it's time to introduce him to more specialized tasks." Blackwood raises an eyebrow. "Specialized tasks, my lord?" "Yes," says Harrington, smirking. "I envision him taking on responsibilities that require a combination of strength, intelligence, and loyalty. His training will need to be tailored accordingly." Mr. Blackwood furrows his brow at the suggestion, but remains diplomatic. "May I offer a differing perspective, Lord Harrington?" Blackwood begins. "Tarzan's strengths lie in his physicality and his ability to entertain. I fear that entrusting him with anything beyond the use of his muscles for labor or entertainment may be a misstep." "You make a valid point, Mr. Blackwood," Harrington concedes. "Intelligence may not be his forte. Perhaps I was a bit too ambitious." "Indeed, Lord Harrington," Blackwood agrees, nodding. "Tarzan is a simple savage, with a heart and mind inclined toward servitude. Let us not burden him with tasks that are beyond his scope." "You are right, Mr. Blackwood," Harrington offers, contritely. "I must admit, I got carried away with my vision. My sincerest apologies for any confusion." "No need for apologies, Lord Harrington," Blackwood smiles. "We all have the best interests of the estate at heart." "Very well," Harrington continues, recalibrating his sites. "So, we are aligned on the social, entertainment aspect. Tarzan's interaction with our esteemed guests should indeed be a spectacle of service and deference." "Agreed, Lord Harrington. That is where his true value lies," Blackwood says. "His captivating presence and unwavering obedience are what draw patrons to the club. "You are absolutely right, Mr. Blackwood. Our focus should be on maximizing Tarzan's potential for profit, both in labor and entertainment." "Precisely, Lord Harrington," Blackwood adds, leaning forward. "The more patrons we attract, the greater the revenue. Tarzan's unique qualities are our greatest assets." * * * * * Mr. Blackwood takes over the preparation of tarzan in anticipation of his next performance at The Dom's Den. Blackwood envisions Tarzan as the centerpiece of the evening's entertainment at his club. He plans to showcase Tarzan's incredible strength and agility in a series of carefully choreographed acts. The patrons will be treated to a display of Tarzan's physical prowess, which includes feats of acrobatics, a display of his mighty strength, and perhaps even a demonstration of his combat skills. Additionally, Blackwood intends to incorporate elements of Tarzan's obedience and servitude into the performance. He envisions Tarzan responding promptly to commands, showing his complete submission to his superiors. This will not only captivate the audience but also reinforce the notion that Tarzan is a noble slave, wholly dedicated to his masters. Overall, Blackwood aims to create a spectacle that not only entertains but also emphasizes Tarzan's status as a prized possession, further heightening the allure of his club to its discerning clientele. In a matter of days, Mr. Blackwood has tarzan prepared for a dramatic recreation of one of tarzan's great adventures in the jungle. His appearance that evening at The Dom's Den will feature a performance re-enacting tarzan's battle with the Umballa tribe and their great warrior, Rok Hard. The battle between tarzan and Rok Hard was epic, and although tarzan triumphed in the original battle, Blackwood adjusts the outcome in anticipation of the greater attraction and the crowd's arousal at seeing tarzan ulitmately defeated. The performance will thus serve as a parable on the nobility and honor of submission and service. * * * * * As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a crimson hue over the city, the anticipation in the air at Mr. Blackwood's exclusive club reached a fevered pitch. The dimly lit room was abuzz with the low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the rustling of fine silk attire. The elite patrons of The Dom's Den had gathered to witness a spectacle like no other, a performance that promised to transport them to the heart of an untamed jungle. At the center of the room, a raised platform awaited, shrouded in an ethereal mist that added an air of mystique to the atmosphere. The evening's featured performer was none other than Tarzan, the legendary jungle hero. It was rumored that Tarzan had been tamed, and tonight, the audience would witness the transformation firsthand. As the patrons took their seats, the lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the room. The soft, haunting melody of a jungle drum began to reverberate through the air. In the center of the platform, Tarzan emerged, his sinewy form glistening under the subtle play of lights. He wore a loincloth that clung to his powerful physique, his chiseled muscles on full display. The jungle drumbeats grew louder, and Tarzan began to move with an innate grace, a mesmerizing blend of primal energy and calculated precision. His body flowed like water, every sinew of his being attuned to the rhythm of the drums. The audience was enraptured, their eyes fixed on the captivating spectacle before them. As the dance continued, Tarzan was joined by a group of dancers clad in tribal attire. They moved with him, their movements mirroring his every step. The performance was a mesmerizing display of synchronized choreography, a testament to Tarzan's mastery over his own body and his ability to command others. The music shifted, and the dancers began to enact scenes from Tarzan's jungle adventures. They reenacted his encounters with wild beasts, his daring rescues, and his encounters with rival tribes. Tarzan's expressions ranged from fierce determination to compassionate heroism, each emotion conveyed with absolute authenticity. The audience was drawn into Tarzan's world, transported to the heart of the jungle. They gasped as a lion made its appearance, prowling menacingly toward Tarzan. With a powerful leap and a primal roar, Tarzan confronted the beast, engaging in a fierce battle that had the patrons on the edge of their seats. The climax of the performance came when Tarzan faced off against a towering champion, a muscle bound performer portraying the legendary stud, Rok Hard, the mighty Umballa warrior. Their battle was a breathtaking spectacle of strength and agility, a duel between titans. Tarzan's controlled ferocity and Rok Hard's relentless power collided in a display of sheer physical prowess. Ultimately, Tarzan was overpowered by Rok Hard, who bound him with vines and stood triumphant over his fallen opponent. The audience watched in awe as the Umballa tribe, portrayed by the skilled dancers, gathered around Tarzan, celebrating their victory. The tribal dance that followed was an explosion of color and energy. The performers swirled in a whirlwind of movement, their bodies adorned with feathers and intricate body paint. The patrons clapped and cheered, swept up in the infectious rhythm of the performance. As the dance reached its zenith, the scene shifted once more. Tarzan, now unbound and humbled, knelt before the Umballa tribe, his head bowed in submission. The message was clear--the noble hero had been taught the value of humility, the honor of service. Rok Hard thrust his loincloth-clad crotch in tarzan's face, smothering the savage stud with the weighty pouch containing his massive manhood. He grabbed his iron member through his loincloth and repeatedly smacked it across tarzan's face, the kneeling captive's head whirling back and forth, left and right as he absorbed the mighty power of the superior man who had conquered the ape man. The performance concluded with Tarzan rising from his knees, a transformed figure. He extended his hands in a gesture of submission and the Umballa tribe, their hostility mixed with respect for their defeated adversary, accepted his offer of submission. It was a poignant moment that resonated with the audience, a reminder that even the mightiest could learn the virtue of humility. The final notes of the jungle drums faded away, and the lights dimmed, leaving the room in darkness for a brief moment. Then, as the lights slowly brightened, Tarzan stood alone on the platform, bound in captivity and bathed in a soft, golden glow. The patrons erupted into applause, their appreciation for the performance evident. Tarzan had taken them on a journey into the heart of the jungle, and they had emerged with a newfound understanding of the hero's character and his willingness to serve. As Tarzan took his bow, the audience continued to applaud, acknowledging not only the remarkable performance but also the powerful message it conveyed. It was a night they would not soon forget, a night when Tarzan, once a legend of the jungle, had shown them the true meaning of nobility and service. As the final curtain fell, Mr. Blackwood's club buzzed with excitement and conversation. Patrons discussed the performance, its impact, and the profound message it had delivered. Tarzan had left an indelible mark on their hearts and minds, proving that even the mightiest hero could learn the value of humility and service. In the dimly lit corners of the club, amid the chatter and laughter, Tarzan stood, a figure of strength and grace. He had fulfilled his role as the evening's featured performer, leaving behind a legacy that would be spoken of for years to come. He had shown the world that true nobility was found not only in power, but in the willingness to serve a higher purpose. And so, in the heart of the bustling city, Mr. Blackwood's club had witnessed a performance that transcended entertainment, leaving an enduring message of humility, service, and the potential for transformation within us all. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Mon, 15 Jan 2024 18:17:50 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance: Chapter 27 -- Tarzan Takes Center Stage
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 27: Tarzan Takes Center Stage --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 27: Tarzan Takes Center Stage
Before tarzan's next visit to The Dom's Den, Lord Harrington and
Mr. Blackwood sit in Harrington's study making plans for how best to profit
from their new acquisition.
"Mr. Blackwood, I trust that our investment in Tarzan will yield
significant returns," Lord Harrington says.
"Indeed, Lord Harrington," Blackwood nods enthusiastically. "The potential
in this young man is undeniable. With the right guidance, he could become
an invaluable asset."
"Exactly," says Harrington, stroking his chin. "Now, let us strategize. I
have observed his progress closely, and I believe it's time to introduce
him to more specialized tasks."
Blackwood raises an eyebrow.
"Specialized tasks, my lord?"
"Yes," says Harrington, smirking. "I envision him taking on
responsibilities that require a combination of strength, intelligence, and
loyalty. His training will need to be tailored accordingly."
Mr. Blackwood furrows his brow at the suggestion, but remains diplomatic.
"May I offer a differing perspective, Lord Harrington?" Blackwood
begins. "Tarzan's strengths lie in his physicality and his ability to
entertain. I fear that entrusting him with anything beyond the use of his
muscles for labor or entertainment may be a misstep."
"You make a valid point, Mr. Blackwood," Harrington concedes. "Intelligence
may not be his forte. Perhaps I was a bit too ambitious."
"Indeed, Lord Harrington," Blackwood agrees, nodding. "Tarzan is a simple
savage, with a heart and mind inclined toward servitude. Let us not burden
him with tasks that are beyond his scope."
"You are right, Mr. Blackwood," Harrington offers, contritely. "I must
admit, I got carried away with my vision. My sincerest apologies for any
confusion."
"No need for apologies, Lord Harrington," Blackwood smiles. "We all have
the best interests of the estate at heart."
"Very well," Harrington continues, recalibrating his sites. "So, we are
aligned on the social, entertainment aspect. Tarzan's interaction with our
esteemed guests should indeed be a spectacle of service and deference."
"Agreed, Lord Harrington. That is where his true value lies," Blackwood
says. "His captivating presence and unwavering obedience are what draw
patrons to the club.
"You are absolutely right, Mr. Blackwood. Our focus should be on maximizing
Tarzan's potential for profit, both in labor and entertainment."
"Precisely, Lord Harrington," Blackwood adds, leaning forward. "The more
patrons we attract, the greater the revenue. Tarzan's unique qualities are
our greatest assets."
* * * * *
Mr. Blackwood takes over the preparation of tarzan in anticipation of his
next performance at The Dom's Den. Blackwood envisions Tarzan as the
centerpiece of the evening's entertainment at his club. He plans to
showcase Tarzan's incredible strength and agility in a series of carefully
choreographed acts. The patrons will be treated to a display of Tarzan's
physical prowess, which includes feats of acrobatics, a display of his
mighty strength, and perhaps even a demonstration of his combat skills.
Additionally, Blackwood intends to incorporate elements of Tarzan's
obedience and servitude into the performance. He envisions Tarzan
responding promptly to commands, showing his complete submission to his
superiors. This will not only captivate the audience but also reinforce the
notion that Tarzan is a noble slave, wholly dedicated to his masters.
Overall, Blackwood aims to create a spectacle that not only entertains but
also emphasizes Tarzan's status as a prized possession, further heightening
the allure of his club to its discerning clientele.
In a matter of days, Mr. Blackwood has tarzan prepared for a dramatic
recreation of one of tarzan's great adventures in the jungle. His
appearance that evening at The Dom's Den will feature a performance
re-enacting tarzan's battle with the Umballa tribe and their great warrior,
Rok Hard. The battle between tarzan and Rok Hard was epic, and although
tarzan triumphed in the original battle, Blackwood adjusts the outcome in
anticipation of the greater attraction and the crowd's arousal at seeing
tarzan ulitmately defeated. The performance will thus serve as a parable
on the nobility and honor of submission and service.
* * * * *
As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a crimson hue over the
city, the anticipation in the air at Mr. Blackwood's exclusive club reached
a fevered pitch. The dimly lit room was abuzz with the low hum of
conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the rustling of fine silk
attire. The elite patrons of The Dom's Den had gathered to witness a
spectacle like no other, a performance that promised to transport them to
the heart of an untamed jungle.
At the center of the room, a raised platform awaited, shrouded in an
ethereal mist that added an air of mystique to the atmosphere. The
evening's featured performer was none other than Tarzan, the legendary
jungle hero. It was rumored that Tarzan had been tamed, and tonight, the
audience would witness the transformation firsthand.
As the patrons took their seats, the lights dimmed, and a hush fell over
the room. The soft, haunting melody of a jungle drum began to reverberate
through the air. In the center of the platform, Tarzan emerged, his sinewy
form glistening under the subtle play of lights. He wore a loincloth that
clung to his powerful physique, his chiseled muscles on full display.
The jungle drumbeats grew louder, and Tarzan began to move with an innate
grace, a mesmerizing blend of primal energy and calculated precision. His
body flowed like water, every sinew of his being attuned to the rhythm of
the drums. The audience was enraptured, their eyes fixed on the captivating
spectacle before them.
As the dance continued, Tarzan was joined by a group of dancers clad in
tribal attire. They moved with him, their movements mirroring his every
step. The performance was a mesmerizing display of synchronized
choreography, a testament to Tarzan's mastery over his own body and his
ability to command others.
The music shifted, and the dancers began to enact scenes from Tarzan's
jungle adventures. They reenacted his encounters with wild beasts, his
daring rescues, and his encounters with rival tribes. Tarzan's expressions
ranged from fierce determination to compassionate heroism, each emotion
conveyed with absolute authenticity.
The audience was drawn into Tarzan's world, transported to the heart of the
jungle. They gasped as a lion made its appearance, prowling menacingly
toward Tarzan. With a powerful leap and a primal roar, Tarzan confronted
the beast, engaging in a fierce battle that had the patrons on the edge of
their seats.
The climax of the performance came when Tarzan faced off against a towering
champion, a muscle bound performer portraying the legendary stud, Rok Hard,
the mighty Umballa warrior. Their battle was a breathtaking spectacle of
strength and agility, a duel between titans. Tarzan's controlled ferocity
and Rok Hard's relentless power collided in a display of sheer physical
prowess.
Ultimately, Tarzan was overpowered by Rok Hard, who bound him with vines
and stood triumphant over his fallen opponent. The audience watched in awe
as the Umballa tribe, portrayed by the skilled dancers, gathered around
Tarzan, celebrating their victory.
The tribal dance that followed was an explosion of color and energy. The
performers swirled in a whirlwind of movement, their bodies adorned with
feathers and intricate body paint. The patrons clapped and cheered, swept
up in the infectious rhythm of the performance.
As the dance reached its zenith, the scene shifted once more. Tarzan, now
unbound and humbled, knelt before the Umballa tribe, his head bowed in
submission. The message was clear--the noble hero had been taught the value
of humility, the honor of service.
Rok Hard thrust his loincloth-clad crotch in tarzan's face, smothering the
savage stud with the weighty pouch containing his massive manhood. He
grabbed his iron member through his loincloth and repeatedly smacked it
across tarzan's face, the kneeling captive's head whirling back and forth,
left and right as he absorbed the mighty power of the superior man who had
conquered the ape man.
The performance concluded with Tarzan rising from his knees, a transformed
figure. He extended his hands in a gesture of submission and the Umballa
tribe, their hostility mixed with respect for their defeated adversary,
accepted his offer of submission. It was a poignant moment that resonated
with the audience, a reminder that even the mightiest could learn the
virtue of humility.
The final notes of the jungle drums faded away, and the lights dimmed,
leaving the room in darkness for a brief moment. Then, as the lights slowly
brightened, Tarzan stood alone on the platform, bound in captivity and
bathed in a soft, golden glow.
The patrons erupted into applause, their appreciation for the performance
evident. Tarzan had taken them on a journey into the heart of the jungle,
and they had emerged with a newfound understanding of the hero's character
and his willingness to serve.
As Tarzan took his bow, the audience continued to applaud, acknowledging
not only the remarkable performance but also the powerful message it
conveyed. It was a night they would not soon forget, a night when Tarzan,
once a legend of the jungle, had shown them the true meaning of nobility
and service.
As the final curtain fell, Mr. Blackwood's club buzzed with excitement and
conversation. Patrons discussed the performance, its impact, and the
profound message it had delivered. Tarzan had left an indelible mark on
their hearts and minds, proving that even the mightiest hero could learn
the value of humility and service.
In the dimly lit corners of the club, amid the chatter and laughter, Tarzan
stood, a figure of strength and grace. He had fulfilled his role as the
evening's featured performer, leaving behind a legacy that would be spoken
of for years to come. He had shown the world that true nobility was found
not only in power, but in the willingness to serve a higher purpose.
And so, in the heart of the bustling city, Mr. Blackwood's club had
witnessed a performance that transcended entertainment, leaving an enduring
message of humility, service, and the potential for transformation within
us all.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-45 | Date: Sun, 21 Apr 2024 01:55:49 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 45 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 45: The Only Path-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com The Baron stood in the center of his opulent study, the polished mahogany reflecting the warm glow of the firelight. His sharp eyes scanned the room, each piece of meticulously chosen decor a reflection of his refined tastes. As he contemplated the encounters he had with the various men, he assessed their potential utility. His gaze first settled on Alden, the gossip columnist. Alden had proven himself to be a cunning observer, adept at extracting information from even the most guarded individuals. The Baron could envision his talents being put to use in the realm of espionage, gathering intelligence from the shadows. Next, his attention turned to Mr. Blackwood, the club owner. The man exuded an air of authority and control, qualities the Baron could appreciate. He imagined Mr. Blackwood overseeing operations within his organization, ensuring that every detail ran smoothly and efficiently. Then there was Hargrove, the overseer. Hargrove's demeanor exuded an aura of ruthless discipline. The Baron recognized the potential for Hargrove to instill fear and maintain order among the ranks. He could serve as a valuable enforcer, ensuring that the Baron's commands were carried out without question. Lord Harrington, the refined gentleman, intrigued the Baron. His ability to navigate social circles with grace and charm suggested a talent for influence and manipulation. Lord Harrington could prove invaluable in gaining access to exclusive events and swaying influential figures to the Baron's cause. As the Baron mentally cataloged each man's potential, he envisioned a carefully curated team, each member complementing the strengths and weaknesses of the others. Together, they would form a formidable force, capable of executing the Baron's plans with precision. With a satisfied nod, the Baron began to envision the roles he would assign to each man, strategizing how their collective talents could be harnessed for maximum impact. The pieces were falling into place, and the Baron knew that with this team at his side, there was little that could stand in the way of his ambitions. * * * * * The Baron stood at the head of the room, an air of command surrounding him like an impenetrable aura. His piercing gaze bore into each man before him, demanding obedience, and none dared to meet his eyes for long. "Gentlemen," he began, his voice low and resonant, "the Alpha Ascension approaches, and we have an opportunity to make a statement that will echo through history. Tarzan's fall will mark the rise of a new order, and we shall be the architects of that transformation." He turned to Alden, his gaze cold and unyielding. "Alden, you seem to have forgotten our arrangement. I require your unwavering respect and submission. Do not let me remind you of the consequences should you falter in your duties." Alden's eyes flitted nervously, and he quickly lowered his gaze, muttering his acquiescence. "Yes, Baron. I understand." The Baron, dissatisfied, turned to Blackwood and Harrington, his tone slightly more measured, though no less authoritative. "You two will be integral in this operation. Blackwood, your mastery of logistics will ensure that every detail is accounted for. Harrington, your influence will help secure the necessary resources and cover any potential missteps." Both men nodded, acknowledging their roles. They knew better than to question the Baron's orders. "Hargrove," the Baron continued, "you will oversee the physical conditioning of our prize. Tarzan's strength may be legendary, but even legends can be broken. It is your task to ensure he is humbled and prepared for his ultimate submission." Hargrove met the Baron's gaze with a steely resolve. "I understand, Baron. Tarzan will learn his place." The Baron's eyes swept over the room once more, ensuring that his authority was unquestioned. "Remember, gentlemen, there can be only one Alpha. Our success in this endeavor hinges on our unity and adherence to our roles. Let no one forget that." The men nodded, each one keenly aware of the gravity of the situation. The Baron's presence loomed large, a force that brooked no dissent. "Now," the Baron concluded, "let us set our plans in motion. The Alpha Ascension will be a triumph, and Tarzan will be the cornerstone of our victory." Alden opened his mouth to echo the alpha's sentiments, but the Baron silenced him with a furious glance. The Baron's patience wore thin as Alden had yet to obey his earlier command. With a swift motion, he raised the crop and brought it down sharply, striking Alden's back with a resounding crack. The force sent Alden stumbling forward, collapsing to his knees. "Down, Alden!" the Baron thundered, his voice like a whip crack. "You will address me from your rightful place." Alden's face contorted in pain, and he quickly lowered himself to the ground, his head bowed low. "Yes, Baron," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. The other men watched in a mix of shock and amusement. Seeing their colleague brought to heel so forcefully was a stark reminder of the Baron's absolute authority. Turning his attention to Hargrove, the Baron's gaze hardened. "And you, Hargrove. There are protocols that even you must adhere to. Remember your place, or I shall remind you." Hargrove's face reddened, and he quickly corrected himself. "Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir." Satisfied, the Baron then addressed Harrington and Blackwood, a devious glint in his eye. "Gentlemen, it seems that even those of your stature have something to learn. A lesson in humility, perhaps." With a swift motion, he gestured to Harrington. "You, Harrington, will oversee the preparations in the eastern sector. I trust you will ensure nothing is overlooked." Harrington nodded, a mixture of surprise and apprehension in his eyes. "Of course, Baron. I shall see to it personally." Turning to Blackwood, the Baron's tone took on a more insidious edge. "And you, Blackwood, shall have the honor of handling the financial arrangements. I expect nothing short of perfection." Blackwood's jaw clenched, but he held his tongue. "Understood, Baron. I will ensure every detail is accounted for." With his commands given, the Baron allowed a thin smile to play at his lips. He had asserted his dominance, leaving no room for dissent. The others were left to grapple with the reality of their roles, knowing that the Alpha Ascension would proceed according to the Baron's iron will. The Baron's piercing gaze swept over the assembled men, his expression expectant. "Gentlemen, I want to hear it from each of you. How do you envision Tarzan's fate at the culmination of the Alpha Ascension?" Alden cleared his throat, still feeling the sting of the Baron's crop. "Well, Baron, Sir, I imagine Tarzan bound, completely at the mercy of his superiors. He would be displayed, a symbol of his utter submission, stripped of any lingering trace of his former glory. Every aspect of his existence would be dictated by those who hold his leash." The Baron nodded, acknowledging Alden's vision. "Very well. Hargrove?" The overseer didn't hesitate. "I see Tarzan broken, a mere shadow of his former self, Sir. His once defiant spirit extinguished, replaced with unwavering obedience. He would serve without question, his every action a testament to his complete and utter surrender." Harrington spoke next, his voice steady. "In my vision, Tarzan's transformation would be complete. He would embrace his role as a submissive, no longer bound by the trappings of his former life. His purpose would be singular -- to fulfill the desires and commands of those who hold his fate in their hands." Blackwood, always one to relish in the power dynamic, leaned in slightly. "For me, Baron, Tarzan's journey would culminate in absolute dependency. He would rely entirely on his superiors for direction, his existence speaking to their dominance. His every breath, every heartbeat, would be a reminder of his subservience." The Baron's gaze fixed on each man in turn, his satisfaction evident. "Excellent, gentlemen. Your visions align with my own. Tarzan's ultimate fate will be a testament to his complete and unwavering submission. Remember, this event is not only about his humiliation, but also a celebration of our unyielding dominance. See to it that every detail is meticulously executed." With their orders clear, each man was ready to depart, tasked with their respective roles in ensuring Tarzan's descent into absolute submission. The Baron's vision would be realized, leaving no doubt as to the outcome of the Alpha Ascension. But first, the Baron took the men to the stable, where tarzan lay in a deep sleep, extremely vulnerable to suggestion. His hard labor and the slave chow with the sleeping element included in the recipe keeps him from waking up no matter how loud or rough they are with tarzan. The baron sizes up the slave sleeping in the hay, licking his lips at the thought of having his nemesis in his control. The men gathered around Tarzan's slumbering form, their eyes fixed on the once-mighty jungle hero, now bound by the chains of submission. At the Baron's direction, they took turns issuing commands, each directive etching deeper into the depths of Tarzan's subconscious. Alden's voice was firm but measured. "Tarzan, you will wake with the knowledge that your purpose is to serve. Your every action, every thought, will be devoted to your superiors." Hargrove's tone was authoritative. "You will remember your place, Tarzan. You are nothing more than a vessel for our desires. Your existence revolves around our commands." Harrington's words were deliberate. "Submission is your only path, Tarzan. Embrace it fully, for resistance is futile. Your will is now inextricably linked to ours." Blackwood's voice held an edge of cruel satisfaction. "You will obey without question, Tarzan. Your defiance is a thing of the past. You exist solely to please and serve." Finally, the Baron stepped forward, his presence exuding power and dominance. He leaned in close, his words a dark whisper. "Tarzan, you will awaken to the truth of your existence. You are a slave, a plaything for your superiors. Your every breath belongs to us, your every heartbeat is a testament to our control." As the commands reverberated in the stable, Tarzan's slumbering form stirred. Deep within the recesses of his subconscious, the directives took root, entwining with the very essence of his being. The Baron, with a triumphant glint in his eye, knew that their control over Tarzan was absolute. The Baron's boot pressed firmly against the thin fabric of Tarzan's loincloth, moving it aside to reveal the hidden symbol of his submission--the leash and ring secured beneath. With a decisive tug, the Baron emphasized the commands that had been planted in Tarzan's subconscious while he slumbered. The chain jingled softly, a stark reminder of the control they now held over the once-mighty jungle hero. The men watched, their gazes fixed on the scene, knowing that this simple act held great significance. Tarzan's body, now marked by the undeniable evidence of his servitude, was a symbol of their dominance. The Baron's actions spoke volumes, reinforcing the reality of Tarzan's new existence. As the leash tightened, Tarzan's body responded instinctively, his muscles tensing in submission. The once-proud hero was now a puppet, moved at the whims of his superiors. The Baron, his expression one of cruel satisfaction, reveled in the display of power and control. This symbolic act was a prelude to what awaited Tarzan at the Alpha Ascension--a fate sealed by the hands of those who now held his leash. The Baron's grip on the leash tightened further, exerting enough force to lift Tarzan off the ground. The sudden jolt jolted him awake, his eyes snapping open as he found himself suspended by the chain attached to his cock ring, all of his weight brutally tugging at his cock and balls. Confusion and disorientation flashed across Tarzan's face as he scanned his surroundings. The sight of the Baron, flanked by the other men, sent a shiver down his spine, a stark reminder of his newfound vulnerability. He instinctively knew that he was no longer the dominant force he once was. His gaze met the eyes of each man, taking in their smirks, their expectant expressions. It was clear that they held power over him now, a fact driven home by the way he hung, at their mercy, restrained by the chain that now defined his place in this new world. The Baron's voice was cold and commanding. "On your knees, Tarzan. Show your respect to your betters." With a mixture of submission and understanding, Tarzan complied. He lowered himself, knees touching the ground, head bowed. It was a gesture of deference, a stark contrast to the proud hero he used to be. The Baron released the leash, allowing Tarzan to settle onto the stable floor. The chain coiled around him, a physical manifestation of his servitude. The once-mighty jungle hero was now firmly under the control of his superiors, a fact driven home by this simple, but powerful, display of dominance. * * * * * Tarzan's dreams are filled with vivid and intense images of submission and obedience. In his slumber, the commands and dominance asserted over him by the Baron and the others play out in his subconscious mind. He envisions himself carrying out their orders with precision, his body responding instinctively to their every word and gesture. The dreamworld becomes a realm of absolute servitude, where Tarzan's once mighty form is now entirely subject to the will of his superiors. In his dreams, Tarzan is acutely aware of the leash and ring beneath his loincloth, a constant reminder of the control they hold over him. Each tug on the leash is a potent directive, guiding him to fulfill their desires. He moves with a fluidity and grace that only comes from complete submission, his body demonstrating the mastery of his superiors. As the dream unfolds, Tarzan finds a strange sense of comfort and purpose in his newfound role. The overwhelming power of his superiors washes over him, enveloping him in a cocoon of dominance. In this dream state, he embraces his servitude, finding a strange sense of fulfillment in his submission. When he finally awakens, the remnants of the dream linger, leaving Tarzan with a peculiar mixture of emotions. He is both disoriented and strangely at ease, the vividness of the dream still fresh in his mind. It's as if, even in sleep, he cannot escape the profound influence of his superiors. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sun, 21 Apr 2024 01:55:49 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 45
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 45: The Only Path--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
The Baron stood in the center of his opulent study, the polished mahogany
reflecting the warm glow of the firelight. His sharp eyes scanned the room,
each piece of meticulously chosen decor a reflection of his refined tastes.
As he contemplated the encounters he had with the various men, he assessed
their potential utility. His gaze first settled on Alden, the gossip
columnist. Alden had proven himself to be a cunning observer, adept at
extracting information from even the most guarded individuals. The Baron
could envision his talents being put to use in the realm of espionage,
gathering intelligence from the shadows.
Next, his attention turned to Mr. Blackwood, the club owner. The man exuded
an air of authority and control, qualities the Baron could appreciate. He
imagined Mr. Blackwood overseeing operations within his organization,
ensuring that every detail ran smoothly and efficiently.
Then there was Hargrove, the overseer. Hargrove's demeanor exuded an aura
of ruthless discipline. The Baron recognized the potential for Hargrove to
instill fear and maintain order among the ranks. He could serve as a
valuable enforcer, ensuring that the Baron's commands were carried out
without question.
Lord Harrington, the refined gentleman, intrigued the Baron. His ability to
navigate social circles with grace and charm suggested a talent for
influence and manipulation. Lord Harrington could prove invaluable in
gaining access to exclusive events and swaying influential figures to the
Baron's cause.
As the Baron mentally cataloged each man's potential, he envisioned a
carefully curated team, each member complementing the strengths and
weaknesses of the others. Together, they would form a formidable force,
capable of executing the Baron's plans with precision.
With a satisfied nod, the Baron began to envision the roles he would assign
to each man, strategizing how their collective talents could be harnessed
for maximum impact. The pieces were falling into place, and the Baron knew
that with this team at his side, there was little that could stand in the
way of his ambitions.
* * * * *
The Baron stood at the head of the room, an air of command surrounding him
like an impenetrable aura. His piercing gaze bore into each man before him,
demanding obedience, and none dared to meet his eyes for long.
"Gentlemen," he began, his voice low and resonant, "the Alpha Ascension
approaches, and we have an opportunity to make a statement that will echo
through history. Tarzan's fall will mark the rise of a new order, and we
shall be the architects of that transformation."
He turned to Alden, his gaze cold and unyielding.
"Alden, you seem to have forgotten our arrangement. I require your
unwavering respect and submission. Do not let me remind you of the
consequences should you falter in your duties."
Alden's eyes flitted nervously, and he quickly lowered his gaze, muttering
his acquiescence.
"Yes, Baron. I understand."
The Baron, dissatisfied, turned to Blackwood and Harrington, his tone
slightly more measured, though no less authoritative.
"You two will be integral in this operation. Blackwood, your mastery of
logistics will ensure that every detail is accounted for. Harrington, your
influence will help secure the necessary resources and cover any potential
missteps."
Both men nodded, acknowledging their roles. They knew better than to
question the Baron's orders.
"Hargrove," the Baron continued, "you will oversee the physical
conditioning of our prize. Tarzan's strength may be legendary, but even
legends can be broken. It is your task to ensure he is humbled and prepared
for his ultimate submission."
Hargrove met the Baron's gaze with a steely resolve.
"I understand, Baron. Tarzan will learn his place."
The Baron's eyes swept over the room once more, ensuring that his authority
was unquestioned.
"Remember, gentlemen, there can be only one Alpha. Our success in this
endeavor hinges on our unity and adherence to our roles. Let no one forget
that."
The men nodded, each one keenly aware of the gravity of the situation. The
Baron's presence loomed large, a force that brooked no dissent.
"Now," the Baron concluded, "let us set our plans in motion. The Alpha
Ascension will be a triumph, and Tarzan will be the cornerstone of our
victory."
Alden opened his mouth to echo the alpha's sentiments, but the Baron
silenced him with a furious glance. The Baron's patience wore thin as
Alden had yet to obey his earlier command. With a swift motion, he raised
the crop and brought it down sharply, striking Alden's back with a
resounding crack. The force sent Alden stumbling forward, collapsing to his
knees.
"Down, Alden!" the Baron thundered, his voice like a whip crack. "You will
address me from your rightful place."
Alden's face contorted in pain, and he quickly lowered himself to the
ground, his head bowed low.
"Yes, Baron," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
The other men watched in a mix of shock and amusement. Seeing their
colleague brought to heel so forcefully was a stark reminder of the Baron's
absolute authority.
Turning his attention to Hargrove, the Baron's gaze hardened.
"And you, Hargrove. There are protocols that even you must adhere
to. Remember your place, or I shall remind you."
Hargrove's face reddened, and he quickly corrected himself.
"Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir."
Satisfied, the Baron then addressed Harrington and Blackwood, a devious
glint in his eye.
"Gentlemen, it seems that even those of your stature have something to
learn. A lesson in humility, perhaps."
With a swift motion, he gestured to Harrington.
"You, Harrington, will oversee the preparations in the eastern sector. I
trust you will ensure nothing is overlooked."
Harrington nodded, a mixture of surprise and apprehension in his eyes.
"Of course, Baron. I shall see to it personally."
Turning to Blackwood, the Baron's tone took on a more insidious edge.
"And you, Blackwood, shall have the honor of handling the financial
arrangements. I expect nothing short of perfection."
Blackwood's jaw clenched, but he held his tongue.
"Understood, Baron. I will ensure every detail is accounted for."
With his commands given, the Baron allowed a thin smile to play at his
lips. He had asserted his dominance, leaving no room for dissent. The
others were left to grapple with the reality of their roles, knowing that
the Alpha Ascension would proceed according to the Baron's iron will.
The Baron's piercing gaze swept over the assembled men, his expression
expectant.
"Gentlemen, I want to hear it from each of you. How do you envision
Tarzan's fate at the culmination of the Alpha Ascension?"
Alden cleared his throat, still feeling the sting of the Baron's crop.
"Well, Baron, Sir, I imagine Tarzan bound, completely at the mercy of his
superiors. He would be displayed, a symbol of his utter submission,
stripped of any lingering trace of his former glory. Every aspect of his
existence would be dictated by those who hold his leash."
The Baron nodded, acknowledging Alden's vision.
"Very well. Hargrove?"
The overseer didn't hesitate.
"I see Tarzan broken, a mere shadow of his former self, Sir. His once
defiant spirit extinguished, replaced with unwavering obedience. He would
serve without question, his every action a testament to his complete and
utter surrender."
Harrington spoke next, his voice steady.
"In my vision, Tarzan's transformation would be complete. He would embrace
his role as a submissive, no longer bound by the trappings of his former
life. His purpose would be singular -- to fulfill the desires and commands
of those who hold his fate in their hands."
Blackwood, always one to relish in the power dynamic, leaned in slightly.
"For me, Baron, Tarzan's journey would culminate in absolute dependency. He
would rely entirely on his superiors for direction, his existence speaking
to their dominance. His every breath, every heartbeat, would be a reminder
of his subservience."
The Baron's gaze fixed on each man in turn, his satisfaction evident.
"Excellent, gentlemen. Your visions align with my own. Tarzan's ultimate
fate will be a testament to his complete and unwavering
submission. Remember, this event is not only about his humiliation, but
also a celebration of our unyielding dominance. See to it that every detail
is meticulously executed."
With their orders clear, each man was ready to depart, tasked with their
respective roles in ensuring Tarzan's descent into absolute submission. The
Baron's vision would be realized, leaving no doubt as to the outcome of the
Alpha Ascension.
But first, the Baron took the men to the stable, where tarzan lay in a deep
sleep, extremely vulnerable to suggestion. His hard labor and the slave
chow with the sleeping element included in the recipe keeps him from waking
up no matter how loud or rough they are with tarzan. The baron sizes up
the slave sleeping in the hay, licking his lips at the thought of having
his nemesis in his control.
The men gathered around Tarzan's slumbering form, their eyes fixed on the
once-mighty jungle hero, now bound by the chains of submission. At the
Baron's direction, they took turns issuing commands, each directive etching
deeper into the depths of Tarzan's subconscious.
Alden's voice was firm but measured.
"Tarzan, you will wake with the knowledge that your purpose is to
serve. Your every action, every thought, will be devoted to your
superiors."
Hargrove's tone was authoritative.
"You will remember your place, Tarzan. You are nothing more than a vessel
for our desires. Your existence revolves around our commands."
Harrington's words were deliberate.
"Submission is your only path, Tarzan. Embrace it fully, for resistance is
futile. Your will is now inextricably linked to ours."
Blackwood's voice held an edge of cruel satisfaction.
"You will obey without question, Tarzan. Your defiance is a thing of the
past. You exist solely to please and serve."
Finally, the Baron stepped forward, his presence exuding power and
dominance. He leaned in close, his words a dark whisper.
"Tarzan, you will awaken to the truth of your existence. You are a slave, a
plaything for your superiors. Your every breath belongs to us, your every
heartbeat is a testament to our control."
As the commands reverberated in the stable, Tarzan's slumbering form
stirred. Deep within the recesses of his subconscious, the directives took
root, entwining with the very essence of his being. The Baron, with a
triumphant glint in his eye, knew that their control over Tarzan was
absolute.
The Baron's boot pressed firmly against the thin fabric of Tarzan's
loincloth, moving it aside to reveal the hidden symbol of his
submission--the leash and ring secured beneath. With a decisive tug, the
Baron emphasized the commands that had been planted in Tarzan's
subconscious while he slumbered. The chain jingled softly, a stark reminder
of the control they now held over the once-mighty jungle hero.
The men watched, their gazes fixed on the scene, knowing that this simple
act held great significance. Tarzan's body, now marked by the undeniable
evidence of his servitude, was a symbol of their dominance. The Baron's
actions spoke volumes, reinforcing the reality of Tarzan's new existence.
As the leash tightened, Tarzan's body responded instinctively, his muscles
tensing in submission. The once-proud hero was now a puppet, moved at the
whims of his superiors. The Baron, his expression one of cruel
satisfaction, reveled in the display of power and control. This symbolic
act was a prelude to what awaited Tarzan at the Alpha Ascension--a fate
sealed by the hands of those who now held his leash.
The Baron's grip on the leash tightened further, exerting enough force to
lift Tarzan off the ground. The sudden jolt jolted him awake, his eyes
snapping open as he found himself suspended by the chain attached to his
cock ring, all of his weight brutally tugging at his cock and balls.
Confusion and disorientation flashed across Tarzan's face as he scanned his
surroundings. The sight of the Baron, flanked by the other men, sent a
shiver down his spine, a stark reminder of his newfound vulnerability. He
instinctively knew that he was no longer the dominant force he once was.
His gaze met the eyes of each man, taking in their smirks, their expectant
expressions. It was clear that they held power over him now, a fact driven
home by the way he hung, at their mercy, restrained by the chain that now
defined his place in this new world.
The Baron's voice was cold and commanding.
"On your knees, Tarzan. Show your respect to your betters."
With a mixture of submission and understanding, Tarzan complied. He lowered
himself, knees touching the ground, head bowed. It was a gesture of
deference, a stark contrast to the proud hero he used to be.
The Baron released the leash, allowing Tarzan to settle onto the stable
floor. The chain coiled around him, a physical manifestation of his
servitude. The once-mighty jungle hero was now firmly under the control of
his superiors, a fact driven home by this simple, but powerful, display of
dominance.
* * * * *
Tarzan's dreams are filled with vivid and intense images of submission and
obedience. In his slumber, the commands and dominance asserted over him by
the Baron and the others play out in his subconscious mind. He envisions
himself carrying out their orders with precision, his body responding
instinctively to their every word and gesture. The dreamworld becomes a
realm of absolute servitude, where Tarzan's once mighty form is now
entirely subject to the will of his superiors.
In his dreams, Tarzan is acutely aware of the leash and ring beneath his
loincloth, a constant reminder of the control they hold over him. Each tug
on the leash is a potent directive, guiding him to fulfill their
desires. He moves with a fluidity and grace that only comes from complete
submission, his body demonstrating the mastery of his superiors.
As the dream unfolds, Tarzan finds a strange sense of comfort and purpose
in his newfound role. The overwhelming power of his superiors washes over
him, enveloping him in a cocoon of dominance. In this dream state, he
embraces his servitude, finding a strange sense of fulfillment in his
submission.
When he finally awakens, the remnants of the dream linger, leaving Tarzan
with a peculiar mixture of emotions. He is both disoriented and strangely
at ease, the vividness of the dream still fresh in his mind. It's as if,
even in sleep, he cannot escape the profound influence of his superiors.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-26 | Date: Sun, 7 Jan 2024 01:18:03 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance: Chapter 26 - Tarzan of the Mines Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 26: Tarzan of the Mines -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 26 -- Tarzan of the Mines Tarzan awoke with a start, the remnants of his dream still lingering in his mind. The soft straw beneath him offered little comfort, but it was a welcome respite from the hard ground he had grown accustomed to. As he began to stir, a sharp voice pierced the stillness of the stable. "Up, you lazy beast!" the overseer barked, striking the air with his whip. "No time for idling!" Tarzan pushed himself up, his body aching from the meager rest. His surroundings came into focus, the dim light filtering through the slats of the stable revealing the stark reality of his existence. He was met with the harsh scent of hay and the mustiness of the stable. Without delay, a tin plate of watery gruel was thrust into his hands. The taste was bland, but he swallowed it down, knowing he would need every ounce of energy for the day ahead. The overseer watched him intently, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. Once the meager breakfast was consumed, Tarzan was fitted with a coarse collar, cold metal against his skin, and a heavy iron leash was affixed. He was led through the familiar compound, the stares of fellow slaves meeting his own, a silent acknowledgment of their shared suffering. The journey to the mines was arduous, the weight of the collar a constant reminder of his subjugation. When they arrived, Tarzan was struck by the stark contrast to Lord Harrington's fields. Here, the sun's rays did not touch them, replaced instead by the suffocating darkness of the earth. The mine's entrance yawned open, a foreboding maw that seemed to swallow the world above. Tarzan was led down a steep incline, each step taking him deeper into the heart of the earth. The air grew colder, dampness seeping into his bones. As they descended further, the walls of the mine closed in around them, rough-hewn rock and jagged formations pressing close. The path was treacherous, the ground uneven beneath his feet. The overseer's whip cracked, urging him on. Finally, they reached the main chamber, a cavernous space filled with the ceaseless echo of picks striking stone. The noise was deafening, relentless -- it seemed to vibrate through Tarzan's very being. The overseer wasted no time in assigning Tarzan his duties. He was handed a pickaxe, the weight familiar in his hands, but the conditions were vastly different from the fields he had known. Here, the work was unrelenting, the unyielding rock offering fierce resistance to every strike. Sweat poured down Tarzan's brow, his muscles straining with each swing. Dust and grit filled the air, making it difficult to breathe. The harsh light of lanterns flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls. The overseer prowled the edges of the chamber, his watchful eye ever on Tarzan. When he deemed the work too slow, the lash of his whip fell, stinging against Tarzan's back. It was a cruel rhythm, the pickaxe striking, the whip cracking, a relentless cycle of toil and punishment. Hours stretched into eternity, the passage of time marked only by the ache in Tarzan's limbs and the throbbing of his pulse. He worked alongside his fellow slaves, their faces etched with exhaustion and resignation. They were bound by a shared suffering, a silent camaraderie born of hardship. As the day wore on, Tarzan's body screamed for respite, his strength waning. But he dared not falter, driven by the memory of his dream and the hope it held. He knew that his purpose extended beyond the confines of this wretched mine. Finally, as the last rays of light began to fade, the overseer signaled for the slaves to cease their labor. Tarzan's body sagged with exhaustion, every muscle protesting. He was led back to the surface, the ascent feeling twice as arduous as the descent. Emerging from the mine, Tarzan was met with the fading light of day, a stark reminder of the world beyond. He longed for the freedom he had known, the canopy of the jungle and the call of the wild. But for now, he was bound by the chains of servitude, his dreams of escape and redemption a distant beacon in the darkness. * * * * * As the last rays of daylight began to fade, Tarzan emerged from the unforgiving depths of the mine, his body aching and covered in grime. The overseer's harsh commands echoed in his ears, a relentless reminder of his servitude. He longed for the cool touch of water to wash away the dirt and sweat that clung to his skin. But his respite would have to wait, for Lord Harrington himself awaited him at the mouth of the mine. The nobleman's presence was a stark contrast to the harsh surroundings, his fine attire and refined air signaling his elevated status. Lord Harrington's eyes lit up at the sight of Tarzan, a cruel satisfaction gleaming in his gaze. He took in the sight of the slave, beaten down by the grueling labor and lashings. It pleased him to see his property brought to heel. "Tarzan, my dear fellow," Lord Harrington purred, his voice dripping with false benevolence. "I trust your day has been... enlightening?" Tarzan kept his gaze lowered, a mixture of exhaustion and defiance in his eyes. His dreams of Mr. Blackwood and Baron von Richter had instilled a sense of purpose, a recognition of his place in this world, and he carried those lessons with him. Lord Harrington began asking tarzan questions, his tone deceptively mild as he interrogated tarzan about his day's experiences, probing into the harsh realities of the mine, the brutal conditions in the fields, and the degradation of the stable. Tarzan's responses were measured, careful not to reveal any inkling of his true intentions. The teachings of his dreams whispered in the back of his mind, reminding him of his purpose. "Tarzan, what have you gleaned from your experiences since you were sold at auction?" Lord Harrington asks. "Tarzan learn obey," the ape man replied. "Tarzan make serve." The cattle prod, held casually in Lord Harrington's hand, served as a constant reminder of the consequences should Tarzan's answers falter. Its menacing presence hung in the air, an unspoken threat that kept Tarzan in line. Lord Harrington shifted his line of questioning, delving into the duties and behaviors expected of a slave. He sought to ascertain whether Tarzan understood his place in this world, whether he grasped the gravity of his servitude. The cattle prod served as punctuation to each query, a visual reinforcement of Lord Harrington's authority. Tarzan's answers reflected the teachings of his dreams, a subliminal echo, reinforcing his newfound understanding. "Now, Tarzan, tell me what you have learned of the duties expected of a slave?" Lord Harrington queries. "Slave obey," tarzan answers. " Work field, labor mine. Slave make serve." Finally, the questions turned to Tarzan's dreams and aspirations, his hopes and purpose in this new life. Lord Harrington leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he awaited Tarzan's response. The cattle prod hung in the air, a silent warning that Tarzan dare not withhold the truth. Tarzan's answers were influenced by the lessons of his dreams, lessons of service, of finding fulfillment in fulfilling the desires of his superiors, lessons detailing his place in the hierarchy. "What do you dream of," tarzan?" asked his Master. "Tarzan dream serve," tarzan replied. "Is much honor tarzan serve." "And your purpose? Continued Lord Harrington. "Tarzan make fill wish of tarzan better," the savage said, trying to find the words for what he was taught in his dream about service to his superiors. "Very well, Tarzan," Lord Harrington said with satisfaction. "Remember, your existence is now bound to your service. Lord Harrington leaned in close, driving his message home to the slow-witted muscle stud. "You know, Tarzan, life here can be quite pleasant if you understand your place," Lord Harrington advised him. "Obey without question, and you'll find yourself treated with some modicum of respect. But dare to overstep, and the consequences can be severe." Tarzan's eyes grew wide at what he heard, and he nodded his acceptance of his Master's warning. "Good, good," Lord Harrington said, a wry smile slipping onto his face. "You seem like a capable young man. Don't squander your potential by resisting the natural order of things. Work hard, obey, and you'll find life here can be rather... accommodating." Lord Harrington stepped back, the cattle prod lowering slightly. He released Tarzan to the waiting overseer, who would see to the slave's preparations for the evening at Mr. Blackwood's club. As Tarzan was led away, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of triumph. He had navigated Lord Harrington's interrogation, emerging unscathed for now. The night ahead promised a different set of challenges, but Tarzan was determined to face them with the same steely resolve that had carried him through the day. Deep inside, almost too deep for tarzan to reach, his purpose remained clear--to infiltrate the inner workings of this twisted world and free those bound by its chains. The dream of liberation burned within him, a beacon of hope in the midst of darkness. And with each passing trial, Tarzan grew more resolute in his quest for freedom. * * * * * Tarzan's long day in the mines had left him covered in grime and sweat, a stark contrast to the strong, noble figure he once was. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the camp, the overseer began to prepare Tarzan for his night at Mr. Blackwood's club. The air was cool, a gentle reprieve from the oppressive heat of the day. Tarzan was led to a makeshift wash area, where a large barrel of water awaited him. The overseer, stern-faced and unyielding, held a coarse brush in one hand and a bar of rough soap in the other. Tarzan stood still, his broad shoulders slumped, a far cry from the proud posture he once held. The first icy splash of water hit him, sending a shiver down his spine. It was a sharp wake-up call, a stark reminder of his newfound existence. With methodical efficiency, the overseer worked the soap into a lather, the rough bristles of the brush scraping away the grime that clung to Tarzan's skin. Each stroke was deliberate, removing the layers of dirt and sweat, revealing the bronzed flesh beneath. The water around Tarzan grew murky, a swirling mix of filth and suds. The overseer paused to replenish the barrel, the water cascading down in a clear torrent. Tarzan's dark hair hung in wet strands around his face, his piercing eyes now dulled by exhaustion. As the cleaning continued, Tarzan's mind wandered. He thought of the jungle, of the freedom he once knew, of the power he once wielded. It felt like a distant memory, a fleeting dream slipping through his fingers. Once the overseer was satisfied that Tarzan's body was cleansed, he turned his attention to the loincloth that clung to Tarzan's waist. It was nothing more than a tattered remnant of his former life, barely serving its purpose. The overseer discarded it without ceremony, replacing it with a simple, utilitarian slave thong. With the cleaning complete, the overseer guided Tarzan to a small, dimly lit chamber adjacent to the stable. It was here that the final preparations for his night at the club would take place. Tarzan was seated on a rudimentary stool, his gaze fixed on the ground. The overseer produced a set of headphones, securing them firmly over Tarzan's ears. It was time for the subliminal instructions that would further mold him into the obedient servant he was expected to be. The recording began, a voice low and steady, the words carefully chosen to seep into Tarzan's consciousness. It spoke of duty, of unwavering loyalty to his masters, of finding purpose in servitude. Each word was a thread, weaving a new narrative into the fabric of Tarzan's mind. As the minutes stretched on, Tarzan's expression grew distant, his eyes glazed over. He listened, absorbing the teachings, allowing them to penetrate his very essence. The recording delved into the intricacies of slave behavior, offering guidance on how to anticipate and fulfill the needs of those he served. In this cocoon of sound, Tarzan's sense of self began to blur. The teachings of his dreams, the commands of his overseers, the expectations of Mr. Blackwood--all merged into a singular, dominant force driving him forward. When the recording finally faded, leaving only silence in its wake, Tarzan had fallen asleep on his stool, still seated, a transformed figure. As he returned to his dream world, the night awaited, beckoning him to step into it as a vessel of servitude, shaped by the hands of those who sought to mold him into their perfect slave. * * * * * In Tarzan's dream, Lord Harrington's voice reverberated with authority, filling the ethereal space around them. "Tarzan, you are here because you have a purpose, a role to fulfill," Lord Harrington spoke in dreamlike, measured tones. "It is not a mere coincidence that you find yourself in my service. You are destined to be a cornerstone, a vital cog in the workings of this estate." "Yes...M-master," tarzan stammered. "Understand, young man, that every task you perform, every order you carry out, is not just an act of obedience. It is a demonstration of your commitment to a greater cause," Lord Harrington declared. "You are part of a system, a hierarchy that has stood the test of time." "Y-yes, Sir Master," tarzan replied. "Your service here is not a burden, Tarzan," Lord Harrington said, leaning in so his words seemed to whisper from within tarzan's feeble mind. "It is a privilege. You have the opportunity to prove your worth, to show that you are a valuable asset to this establishment. Embrace it." "Tarzan show Master," the ape man answered. "Good," Lord Harrington said, patting tarzan on the head as he praised him. "Remember, there is honor in every task, no matter how menial it may seem. To serve your Master is your true purpose." "Is tarzan purpose!" tarzan affirmed. "That is what I expect, Tarzan," the Master said. "You have potential, and it is my duty to guide you in realizing it. Your future here is in your hands. Do not squander it." As the dream continued, Tarzan felt a newfound sense of purpose settle within him. The words of Lord Harrington echoed in his mind, reinforcing his understanding of his role in this new life. With a renewed sense of commitment, Tarzan was prepared to face the challenges that awaited him in the waking world. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sun, 7 Jan 2024 01:18:03 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance: Chapter 26 - Tarzan of the Mines
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 26: Tarzan of the Mines --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 26 -- Tarzan of the Mines
Tarzan awoke with a start, the remnants of his dream still lingering in his
mind. The soft straw beneath him offered little comfort, but it was a
welcome respite from the hard ground he had grown accustomed to. As he
began to stir, a sharp voice pierced the stillness of the stable.
"Up, you lazy beast!" the overseer barked, striking the air with his
whip. "No time for idling!"
Tarzan pushed himself up, his body aching from the meager rest. His
surroundings came into focus, the dim light filtering through the slats of
the stable revealing the stark reality of his existence. He was met with
the harsh scent of hay and the mustiness of the stable.
Without delay, a tin plate of watery gruel was thrust into his hands. The
taste was bland, but he swallowed it down, knowing he would need every
ounce of energy for the day ahead. The overseer watched him intently, a
cruel smirk playing on his lips.
Once the meager breakfast was consumed, Tarzan was fitted with a coarse
collar, cold metal against his skin, and a heavy iron leash was affixed. He
was led through the familiar compound, the stares of fellow slaves meeting
his own, a silent acknowledgment of their shared suffering.
The journey to the mines was arduous, the weight of the collar a constant
reminder of his subjugation. When they arrived, Tarzan was struck by the
stark contrast to Lord Harrington's fields. Here, the sun's rays did not
touch them, replaced instead by the suffocating darkness of the earth.
The mine's entrance yawned open, a foreboding maw that seemed to swallow
the world above. Tarzan was led down a steep incline, each step taking him
deeper into the heart of the earth. The air grew colder, dampness seeping
into his bones.
As they descended further, the walls of the mine closed in around them,
rough-hewn rock and jagged formations pressing close. The path was
treacherous, the ground uneven beneath his feet. The overseer's whip
cracked, urging him on.
Finally, they reached the main chamber, a cavernous space filled with the
ceaseless echo of picks striking stone. The noise was deafening, relentless
-- it seemed to vibrate through Tarzan's very being.
The overseer wasted no time in assigning Tarzan his duties. He was handed a
pickaxe, the weight familiar in his hands, but the conditions were vastly
different from the fields he had known. Here, the work was unrelenting, the
unyielding rock offering fierce resistance to every strike.
Sweat poured down Tarzan's brow, his muscles straining with each
swing. Dust and grit filled the air, making it difficult to breathe. The
harsh light of lanterns flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced along
the walls.
The overseer prowled the edges of the chamber, his watchful eye ever on
Tarzan. When he deemed the work too slow, the lash of his whip fell,
stinging against Tarzan's back. It was a cruel rhythm, the pickaxe
striking, the whip cracking, a relentless cycle of toil and punishment.
Hours stretched into eternity, the passage of time marked only by the ache
in Tarzan's limbs and the throbbing of his pulse. He worked alongside his
fellow slaves, their faces etched with exhaustion and resignation. They
were bound by a shared suffering, a silent camaraderie born of hardship.
As the day wore on, Tarzan's body screamed for respite, his strength
waning. But he dared not falter, driven by the memory of his dream and the
hope it held. He knew that his purpose extended beyond the confines of this
wretched mine.
Finally, as the last rays of light began to fade, the overseer signaled for
the slaves to cease their labor. Tarzan's body sagged with exhaustion,
every muscle protesting. He was led back to the surface, the ascent feeling
twice as arduous as the descent.
Emerging from the mine, Tarzan was met with the fading light of day, a
stark reminder of the world beyond. He longed for the freedom he had known,
the canopy of the jungle and the call of the wild.
But for now, he was bound by the chains of servitude, his dreams of escape
and redemption a distant beacon in the darkness.
* * * * *
As the last rays of daylight began to fade, Tarzan emerged from the
unforgiving depths of the mine, his body aching and covered in grime. The
overseer's harsh commands echoed in his ears, a relentless reminder of his
servitude. He longed for the cool touch of water to wash away the dirt and
sweat that clung to his skin.
But his respite would have to wait, for Lord Harrington himself awaited him
at the mouth of the mine. The nobleman's presence was a stark contrast to
the harsh surroundings, his fine attire and refined air signaling his
elevated status.
Lord Harrington's eyes lit up at the sight of Tarzan, a cruel satisfaction
gleaming in his gaze. He took in the sight of the slave, beaten down by the
grueling labor and lashings. It pleased him to see his property brought to
heel.
"Tarzan, my dear fellow," Lord Harrington purred, his voice dripping with
false benevolence. "I trust your day has been... enlightening?"
Tarzan kept his gaze lowered, a mixture of exhaustion and defiance in his
eyes. His dreams of Mr. Blackwood and Baron von Richter had instilled a
sense of purpose, a recognition of his place in this world, and he carried
those lessons with him.
Lord Harrington began asking tarzan questions, his tone deceptively mild as
he interrogated tarzan about his day's experiences, probing into the harsh
realities of the mine, the brutal conditions in the fields, and the
degradation of the stable. Tarzan's responses were measured, careful not to
reveal any inkling of his true intentions. The teachings of his dreams
whispered in the back of his mind, reminding him of his purpose.
"Tarzan, what have you gleaned from your experiences since you were sold at
auction?" Lord Harrington asks.
"Tarzan learn obey," the ape man replied. "Tarzan make serve."
The cattle prod, held casually in Lord Harrington's hand, served as a
constant reminder of the consequences should Tarzan's answers falter. Its
menacing presence hung in the air, an unspoken threat that kept Tarzan in
line.
Lord Harrington shifted his line of questioning, delving into the duties
and behaviors expected of a slave. He sought to ascertain whether Tarzan
understood his place in this world, whether he grasped the gravity of his
servitude. The cattle prod served as punctuation to each query, a visual
reinforcement of Lord Harrington's authority.
Tarzan's answers reflected the teachings of his dreams, a subliminal echo,
reinforcing his newfound understanding.
"Now, Tarzan, tell me what you have learned of the duties expected of a
slave?" Lord Harrington queries.
"Slave obey," tarzan answers. " Work field, labor mine. Slave make
serve."
Finally, the questions turned to Tarzan's dreams and aspirations, his hopes
and purpose in this new life. Lord Harrington leaned in, his eyes narrowing
as he awaited Tarzan's response. The cattle prod hung in the air, a silent
warning that Tarzan dare not withhold the truth.
Tarzan's answers were influenced by the lessons of his dreams, lessons of
service, of finding fulfillment in fulfilling the desires of his superiors,
lessons detailing his place in the hierarchy.
"What do you dream of," tarzan?" asked his Master.
"Tarzan dream serve," tarzan replied. "Is much honor tarzan serve."
"And your purpose? Continued Lord Harrington.
"Tarzan make fill wish of tarzan better," the savage said, trying to find
the words for what he was taught in his dream about service to his
superiors.
"Very well, Tarzan," Lord Harrington said with satisfaction. "Remember,
your existence is now bound to your service.
Lord Harrington leaned in close, driving his message home to the
slow-witted muscle stud.
"You know, Tarzan, life here can be quite pleasant if you understand your
place," Lord Harrington advised him. "Obey without question, and you'll
find yourself treated with some modicum of respect. But dare to overstep,
and the consequences can be severe."
Tarzan's eyes grew wide at what he heard, and he nodded his acceptance of
his Master's warning.
"Good, good," Lord Harrington said, a wry smile slipping onto his
face. "You seem like a capable young man. Don't squander your potential by
resisting the natural order of things. Work hard, obey, and you'll find
life here can be rather... accommodating."
Lord Harrington stepped back, the cattle prod lowering slightly. He
released Tarzan to the waiting overseer, who would see to the slave's
preparations for the evening at Mr. Blackwood's club.
As Tarzan was led away, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of triumph. He
had navigated Lord Harrington's interrogation, emerging unscathed for
now. The night ahead promised a different set of challenges, but Tarzan was
determined to face them with the same steely resolve that had carried him
through the day.
Deep inside, almost too deep for tarzan to reach, his purpose remained
clear--to infiltrate the inner workings of this twisted world and free
those bound by its chains. The dream of liberation burned within him, a
beacon of hope in the midst of darkness.
And with each passing trial, Tarzan grew more resolute in his quest for
freedom.
* * * * *
Tarzan's long day in the mines had left him covered in grime and sweat, a
stark contrast to the strong, noble figure he once was. As the sun dipped
below the horizon, casting long shadows across the camp, the overseer began
to prepare Tarzan for his night at Mr. Blackwood's club.
The air was cool, a gentle reprieve from the oppressive heat of the
day. Tarzan was led to a makeshift wash area, where a large barrel of water
awaited him. The overseer, stern-faced and unyielding, held a coarse brush
in one hand and a bar of rough soap in the other.
Tarzan stood still, his broad shoulders slumped, a far cry from the proud
posture he once held. The first icy splash of water hit him, sending a
shiver down his spine. It was a sharp wake-up call, a stark reminder of his
newfound existence.
With methodical efficiency, the overseer worked the soap into a lather, the
rough bristles of the brush scraping away the grime that clung to Tarzan's
skin. Each stroke was deliberate, removing the layers of dirt and sweat,
revealing the bronzed flesh beneath.
The water around Tarzan grew murky, a swirling mix of filth and suds. The
overseer paused to replenish the barrel, the water cascading down in a
clear torrent. Tarzan's dark hair hung in wet strands around his face, his
piercing eyes now dulled by exhaustion.
As the cleaning continued, Tarzan's mind wandered. He thought of the
jungle, of the freedom he once knew, of the power he once wielded. It felt
like a distant memory, a fleeting dream slipping through his fingers.
Once the overseer was satisfied that Tarzan's body was cleansed, he turned
his attention to the loincloth that clung to Tarzan's waist. It was nothing
more than a tattered remnant of his former life, barely serving its
purpose. The overseer discarded it without ceremony, replacing it with a
simple, utilitarian slave thong.
With the cleaning complete, the overseer guided Tarzan to a small, dimly
lit chamber adjacent to the stable. It was here that the final preparations
for his night at the club would take place.
Tarzan was seated on a rudimentary stool, his gaze fixed on the ground. The
overseer produced a set of headphones, securing them firmly over Tarzan's
ears. It was time for the subliminal instructions that would further mold
him into the obedient servant he was expected to be.
The recording began, a voice low and steady, the words carefully chosen to
seep into Tarzan's consciousness. It spoke of duty, of unwavering loyalty
to his masters, of finding purpose in servitude. Each word was a thread,
weaving a new narrative into the fabric of Tarzan's mind.
As the minutes stretched on, Tarzan's expression grew distant, his eyes
glazed over. He listened, absorbing the teachings, allowing them to
penetrate his very essence. The recording delved into the intricacies of
slave behavior, offering guidance on how to anticipate and fulfill the
needs of those he served.
In this cocoon of sound, Tarzan's sense of self began to blur. The
teachings of his dreams, the commands of his overseers, the expectations of
Mr. Blackwood--all merged into a singular, dominant force driving him
forward.
When the recording finally faded, leaving only silence in its wake, Tarzan
had fallen asleep on his stool, still seated, a transformed figure. As he
returned to his dream world, the night awaited, beckoning him to step into
it as a vessel of servitude, shaped by the hands of those who sought to
mold him into their perfect slave.
* * * * *
In Tarzan's dream, Lord Harrington's voice reverberated with authority,
filling the ethereal space around them.
"Tarzan, you are here because you have a purpose, a role to fulfill," Lord
Harrington spoke in dreamlike, measured tones. "It is not a mere
coincidence that you find yourself in my service. You are destined to be a
cornerstone, a vital cog in the workings of this estate."
"Yes...M-master," tarzan stammered.
"Understand, young man, that every task you perform, every order you carry
out, is not just an act of obedience. It is a demonstration of your
commitment to a greater cause," Lord Harrington declared. "You are part of
a system, a hierarchy that has stood the test of time."
"Y-yes, Sir Master," tarzan replied.
"Your service here is not a burden, Tarzan," Lord Harrington said, leaning
in so his words seemed to whisper from within tarzan's feeble mind. "It is
a privilege. You have the opportunity to prove your worth, to show that you
are a valuable asset to this establishment. Embrace it."
"Tarzan show Master," the ape man answered.
"Good," Lord Harrington said, patting tarzan on the head as he praised
him. "Remember, there is honor in every task, no matter how menial it may
seem. To serve your Master is your true purpose."
"Is tarzan purpose!" tarzan affirmed.
"That is what I expect, Tarzan," the Master said. "You have potential, and
it is my duty to guide you in realizing it. Your future here is in your
hands. Do not squander it."
As the dream continued, Tarzan felt a newfound sense of purpose settle
within him. The words of Lord Harrington echoed in his mind, reinforcing
his understanding of his role in this new life. With a renewed sense of
commitment, Tarzan was prepared to face the challenges that awaited him in
the waking world.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-59 | Date: Sun, 25 Aug 2024 13:17:20 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance, Chapter 59 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 59 - Dream Weaver-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 59 -- Dream Weaver (The Baron continues his subliminal visits to Tarzan, coming to him in dreams to plant the seeds of obedience he expects his nemesis to follow when he wakes and encounters the superior alpha.) In Baron von Richter's dream, he finds himself in a lush, verdant jungle, surrounded by the untamed beauty of nature. The air is thick with the scent of exotic flora, and the distant calls of wildlife echo through the trees. As he moves through the dense underbrush, he suddenly comes upon a clearing, and there stands Tarzan, bound and kneeling, a symbol of submission to his new Master. Tarzan's powerful physique is on full display, his muscles glistening with a light sheen of sweat, a testament to the rigorous training he has undergone. The Baron approaches, his presence exuding dominance and authority. He gazes down at Tarzan with a mixture of triumph and anticipation. Tarzan's eyes meet his, a combination of defiance and reluctant acceptance. It's a look the Baron relishes, a visual confirmation of his newfound control. With deliberate slowness, the Baron reaches down, running a possessive hand along Tarzan's chiseled jawline, tracing the contours of his face. He can feel the tension in Tarzan's body, the struggle to submit to his new reality. It only fuels the Baron's sense of triumph. In a voice that oozes authority, the Baron commands Tarzan to rise. Tarzan complies, his movements controlled and deliberate, a stark contrast to the wild, untamed spirit he once embodied. As Tarzan stands before him, the Baron steps back, surveying his newly acquired prize. With a flick of his wrist, the Baron gestures for Tarzan to turn around, inspecting every inch of his powerful form. He takes note of the way the muscles ripple beneath the skin, evidence of the strength and obedience that now belong to him. It's a sight that fills the Baron with a heady sense of power. As the dream continues, the Baron's control over Tarzan intensifies. He issues commands, each one met with unwavering compliance. Tarzan's body responds to his Master's touch, every gesture a testament to the dominance that now defines their dynamic. The dream culminates in a powerful display of submission, as Tarzan kneels once more, his head bowed in deference. The Baron stands over him, a palpable aura of mastery surrounding him. It's a tableau of dominance and submission, a visual representation of the transformation that has taken place. * * * * * In Baron von Richter's latest dream, he finds himself in a lush, tropical garden, surrounded by towering trees and vibrant foliage. In the center of this Edenic paradise stands Tarzan, his powerful form on full display, bathed in golden sunlight. The Baron approaches his slave with an air of commanding authority, his black leather attire gleaming in the dappled light. He motions for Tarzan to kneel, a simple yet potent gesture that sends waves of submission through the jungle lord. As Tarzan bows before him, the Baron's voice resonates with unwavering dominance. He speaks of the honor and privilege bestowed upon a slave when marked with the insignia of his Master's name, estate, or business. He emphasizes how this symbol signifies total devotion, a binding of wills between the alpha and his cherished servant. Tarzan listens intently, absorbing every word with a mixture of awe and reverence. The desire to wear such a symbol, to carry the weight of his Master's legacy, surges within him, becoming an unquenchable thirst. With a knowing smile, the Baron reaches into the folds of his leather attire, producing a gleaming emblem of power. It bears the unmistakable mark of his dominion over the jungle, a symbol of strength, authority, and unwavering control. He places it ceremoniously around Tarzan's neck, the cool metal resting against the warm skin of his chest. It's a transformation, a visual testament to Tarzan's newfound purpose and allegiance. As Tarzan gazes down at the symbol, a swell of pride and fulfillment washes over him. He feels a deep sense of belonging, an understanding that he is now an integral part of something greater, something far beyond the limits of his former jungle kingdom. In this dream, the Baron has not only marked Tarzan's flesh, but he has imprinted his essence onto his devoted servant's very soul. The connection is profound, an unbreakable bond that will shape their destinies for all time. When Tarzan awakens, he carries this dream with him, the weight of the emblem against his chest a constant reminder of his place in the world. He understands now, more than ever, that he is meant to serve, to honor, and to wear his Master's mark with utmost pride. * * * * * In Tarzan's dream, the jungle was cast in an eerie twilight, the shadows stretching long and dark across the forest floor. He could sense a presence, a dominating force that seemed to emanate from the very heart of the jungle. Suddenly, the Baron materialized before him, a sinister glint in his eyes. His voice was like thunder, commanding and authoritative. "Tarzan, you are mine," he boomed, his words echoing through the dense vegetation. Tarzan fell to his knees before the Baron, a deep sense of submission washing over him. He knew, without a doubt, that he belonged to this powerful figure. "Yes, Master," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The Baron circled him, like a predator assessing its prey. He spoke in a low, menacing tone, outlining Tarzan's new duties and responsibilities. "You exist to serve, to obey, and to please. Your sole purpose is to fulfill my every desire." As the Baron continued to speak, Tarzan felt a strange sensation wash over him. It was as if the very essence of the jungle itself was imbued within him, merging with his being. He could feel the strength of the trees, the resilience of the vines, and the vitality of the creatures around him. The Baron's commands became more explicit, his words etching themselves into Tarzan's subconscious. He introduced new rituals, each one designed to further solidify Tarzan's submission. Every action, every gesture, was to be executed with utmost precision and devotion. Each day, as the sun began to rise, Tarzan was to kneel at the feet of his Master, arms extended with palms upward in a gesture of humble submission for his morning greeting. He would then recite a pledge of devotion, affirming his unwavering loyalty to the Baron. The oath of service would be performed at specific times of the day, serving as a reminder of Tarzan's purpose. He would kneel before the Baron, who would recite a litany of commands and expectations. Tarzan would respond with a resolute "Yes, Master," signifying his complete submission. As a display of his servitude, Tarzan would present his Master with a symbolic token - a small carving representing the jungle's bounty. This act would symbolize Tarzan's gratitude for being allowed to serve the Baron. Each evening, Tarzan would stand before the Baron for a thorough examination. The Baron would scrutinize every inch of his slave's body, ensuring that he was in perfect condition to serve. Any sign of neglect or disobedience would be met with swift correction. Before retiring for the night, Tarzan would kneel once more before the Baron for his evening affirmation. He would express his gratitude for the day's opportunities to serve and reaffirm his unwavering devotion. The Baron would then grant him a few moments of respite before the next day's duties. As a visible sign of his submission, Tarzan would wear an emblem bearing the Baron's insignia. This emblem would be placed on a steel collar encircling his neck, a constant reminder of his place in the hierarchy. Throughout the day, Tarzan would recite specific mantras under his breath, affirming his submission and devotion to the Baron. These whispered words would serve as a constant reinforcement of his purpose. At specific intervals, Tarzan would retire to a designated area to kneel in meditation. During this time, he would reflect on his role as a devoted servant and visualize ways to better please his Master. These rituals would create a structured framework for Tarzan's existence, reinforcing his submission to Baron von Richter. Each one would serve as a reminder of his place and purpose, ensuring that he lived every moment in service to his Master. Tarzan's body responded instinctively to the Baron's words as he dictated the rituals tarzan would follow. He moved with a fluidity and grace that he had never known before. Every muscle, every sinew, was attuned to the Baron's will. The dream seemed to stretch on for eternity, the jungle around them pulsating with an otherworldly energy. Tarzan was consumed by a sense of purpose, a profound understanding of his place in the world. As the dream began to fade, the Baron's final command echoed in Tarzan's mind. "You are mine, now and forever. Embrace your destiny, for there is no turning back." When Tarzan awoke, he felt a profound sense of clarity. He knew, without a shadow of doubt, that he was meant to serve the Baron, to fulfill his every command. The dream had etched itself into his very soul, leaving an indelible mark of submission and obedience. * * * * * In tarzan's dream, the jungle is veiled in darkness, a tapestry of shadows and moonlight. He stands alone, senses heightened, attuned to the rustling leaves and distant calls of nocturnal creatures. Suddenly, a presence emerges, powerful and commanding, yet shrouded in mystery. The Master steps forward, his presence palpable. tarzan senses him, though he cannot see his face. The Master's voice resonates, a low timbre that reverberates through the dense foliage. He issues commands, and tarzan obeys, every gesture and motion executed with precision. As the encounter unfolds, the Master draws near, his scent enveloping tarzan, intoxicating and irresistible. It is a heady mixture of leather, earth, and primal masculinity. tarzan's senses are consumed by it, every inhalation deepening his submission. The Master's touch is firm and deliberate, guiding tarzan's movements. There is a blindfold, a silken cloth that obscures tarzan's vision, plunging him deeper into a world of sensation and surrender. He kneels before the Master, his face pressed against the studded leather codpiece, inhaling the heady scent. In this dream, tarzan's body responds, his senses heightened to a fevered pitch. He is aware of his arousal, the pulsing need that courses through him. It is a testament to the Master's power, to the effect he exerts over tarzan's very being. As the encounter culminates, the Master's dominance is absolute. He guides tarzan with expert precision, leaving an indelible mark on his psyche. When tarzan awakens, he is left with a profound sense of submission, a deep-seated longing for the Master's return. This dream serves as a harbinger of what is to come, a foreshadowing of the role tarzan is destined to play in the Alpha Ascension. The mysterious Master will reveal himself, and tarzan's journey towards complete submission will find its culmination. * * * * * In the silent realm of dreams, Baron von Richter found himself in the heart of the jungle, surrounded by the vibrant symphony of nature. He stood tall and imposing, his every movement exuding dominance and power. Before him knelt a figure, its form shrouded in shadow. It was Tarzan, though he appeared different, transformed. His once defiant posture was replaced by one of submission, his head bowed, awaiting his master's command. The Baron's voice echoed through the dense foliage, steady and authoritative. "Rise, Tarzan," he commanded. As if pulled by invisible strings, Tarzan rose, his movements fluid and obedient. His eyes, once filled with wild determination, now held a spark of unwavering loyalty. Baron von Richter approached, his steps deliberate. He extended a hand, which Tarzan took with reverence, pressing his lips to the Baron's leather-clad knuckles. The Baron's touch was firm, a tangible connection of dominance and submission. "You serve me well, Tarzan," he declared. "You have learned your place, and for that, you shall be rewarded." With a gesture, the Baron directed Tarzan to a pedestal bathed in dappled sunlight. Upon it lay an ornate leather collar, embellished with intricate engravings. This, Tarzan understood, was his reward--a symbol of his submission and devotion. As the collar encircled his neck, Tarzan felt a profound sense of belonging, a tether to his rightful master. It fit snugly, a testament to his newfound purpose. The Baron's gloved hand traced the edges of the collar, claiming his property. "You are mine, Tarzan. Yours is the privilege of serving, of yielding to a superior force." Tarzan's response was a low, reverent growl, a vocalization of his acceptance and understanding. The dream world shimmered, the surroundings morphing into a tableau of jungle splendor. Tarzan now stood at the Baron's side, his every movement synchronized with his master's. Together, they ventured deeper into the verdant expanse, a formidable pair--a symbol of dominance and submission, of mastery and servitude. As the dream waned, the Baron felt a surge of satisfaction. His vision of Tarzan, tamed and molded into the perfect servant, was one step closer to reality. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sun, 25 Aug 2024 13:17:20 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance, Chapter 59
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 59 - Dream Weaver--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 59 -- Dream Weaver
(The Baron continues his subliminal visits to Tarzan, coming to him in
dreams to plant the seeds of obedience he expects his nemesis to follow
when he wakes and encounters the superior alpha.)
In Baron von Richter's dream, he finds himself in a lush, verdant jungle,
surrounded by the untamed beauty of nature. The air is thick with the scent
of exotic flora, and the distant calls of wildlife echo through the trees.
As he moves through the dense underbrush, he suddenly comes upon a
clearing, and there stands Tarzan, bound and kneeling, a symbol of
submission to his new Master. Tarzan's powerful physique is on full
display, his muscles glistening with a light sheen of sweat, a testament to
the rigorous training he has undergone.
The Baron approaches, his presence exuding dominance and authority. He
gazes down at Tarzan with a mixture of triumph and anticipation. Tarzan's
eyes meet his, a combination of defiance and reluctant acceptance. It's a
look the Baron relishes, a visual confirmation of his newfound control.
With deliberate slowness, the Baron reaches down, running a possessive hand
along Tarzan's chiseled jawline, tracing the contours of his face. He can
feel the tension in Tarzan's body, the struggle to submit to his new
reality. It only fuels the Baron's sense of triumph.
In a voice that oozes authority, the Baron commands Tarzan to rise. Tarzan
complies, his movements controlled and deliberate, a stark contrast to the
wild, untamed spirit he once embodied. As Tarzan stands before him, the
Baron steps back, surveying his newly acquired prize.
With a flick of his wrist, the Baron gestures for Tarzan to turn around,
inspecting every inch of his powerful form. He takes note of the way the
muscles ripple beneath the skin, evidence of the strength and obedience
that now belong to him. It's a sight that fills the Baron with a heady
sense of power.
As the dream continues, the Baron's control over Tarzan intensifies. He
issues commands, each one met with unwavering compliance. Tarzan's body
responds to his Master's touch, every gesture a testament to the dominance
that now defines their dynamic.
The dream culminates in a powerful display of submission, as Tarzan kneels
once more, his head bowed in deference. The Baron stands over him, a
palpable aura of mastery surrounding him. It's a tableau of dominance and
submission, a visual representation of the transformation that has taken
place.
* * * * *
In Baron von Richter's latest dream, he finds himself in a lush, tropical
garden, surrounded by towering trees and vibrant foliage. In the center of
this Edenic paradise stands Tarzan, his powerful form on full display,
bathed in golden sunlight.
The Baron approaches his slave with an air of commanding authority, his
black leather attire gleaming in the dappled light. He motions for Tarzan
to kneel, a simple yet potent gesture that sends waves of submission
through the jungle lord.
As Tarzan bows before him, the Baron's voice resonates with unwavering
dominance. He speaks of the honor and privilege bestowed upon a slave when
marked with the insignia of his Master's name, estate, or business. He
emphasizes how this symbol signifies total devotion, a binding of wills
between the alpha and his cherished servant.
Tarzan listens intently, absorbing every word with a mixture of awe and
reverence. The desire to wear such a symbol, to carry the weight of his
Master's legacy, surges within him, becoming an unquenchable thirst.
With a knowing smile, the Baron reaches into the folds of his leather
attire, producing a gleaming emblem of power. It bears the unmistakable
mark of his dominion over the jungle, a symbol of strength, authority, and
unwavering control.
He places it ceremoniously around Tarzan's neck, the cool metal resting
against the warm skin of his chest. It's a transformation, a visual
testament to Tarzan's newfound purpose and allegiance.
As Tarzan gazes down at the symbol, a swell of pride and fulfillment washes
over him. He feels a deep sense of belonging, an understanding that he is
now an integral part of something greater, something far beyond the limits
of his former jungle kingdom.
In this dream, the Baron has not only marked Tarzan's flesh, but he has
imprinted his essence onto his devoted servant's very soul. The connection
is profound, an unbreakable bond that will shape their destinies for all
time.
When Tarzan awakens, he carries this dream with him, the weight of the
emblem against his chest a constant reminder of his place in the world. He
understands now, more than ever, that he is meant to serve, to honor, and
to wear his Master's mark with utmost pride.
* * * * *
In Tarzan's dream, the jungle was cast in an eerie twilight, the shadows
stretching long and dark across the forest floor. He could sense a
presence, a dominating force that seemed to emanate from the very heart of
the jungle.
Suddenly, the Baron materialized before him, a sinister glint in his
eyes. His voice was like thunder, commanding and authoritative.
"Tarzan, you are mine," he boomed, his words echoing through the dense
vegetation.
Tarzan fell to his knees before the Baron, a deep sense of submission
washing over him. He knew, without a doubt, that he belonged to this
powerful figure.
"Yes, Master," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
The Baron circled him, like a predator assessing its prey. He spoke in a
low, menacing tone, outlining Tarzan's new duties and responsibilities.
"You exist to serve, to obey, and to please. Your sole purpose is to
fulfill my every desire."
As the Baron continued to speak, Tarzan felt a strange sensation wash over
him. It was as if the very essence of the jungle itself was imbued within
him, merging with his being. He could feel the strength of the trees, the
resilience of the vines, and the vitality of the creatures around him.
The Baron's commands became more explicit, his words etching themselves
into Tarzan's subconscious. He introduced new rituals, each one designed to
further solidify Tarzan's submission. Every action, every gesture, was to
be executed with utmost precision and devotion.
Each day, as the sun began to rise, Tarzan was to kneel at the feet of his
Master, arms extended with palms upward in a gesture of humble submission
for his morning greeting. He would then recite a pledge of devotion,
affirming his unwavering loyalty to the Baron.
The oath of service would be performed at specific times of the day,
serving as a reminder of Tarzan's purpose. He would kneel before the Baron,
who would recite a litany of commands and expectations. Tarzan would
respond with a resolute "Yes, Master," signifying his complete submission.
As a display of his servitude, Tarzan would present his Master with a
symbolic token - a small carving representing the jungle's bounty. This act
would symbolize Tarzan's gratitude for being allowed to serve the Baron.
Each evening, Tarzan would stand before the Baron for a thorough
examination. The Baron would scrutinize every inch of his slave's body,
ensuring that he was in perfect condition to serve. Any sign of neglect or
disobedience would be met with swift correction.
Before retiring for the night, Tarzan would kneel once more before the
Baron for his evening affirmation. He would express his gratitude for the
day's opportunities to serve and reaffirm his unwavering devotion. The
Baron would then grant him a few moments of respite before the next day's
duties.
As a visible sign of his submission, Tarzan would wear an emblem bearing
the Baron's insignia. This emblem would be placed on a steel collar
encircling his neck, a constant reminder of his place in the hierarchy.
Throughout the day, Tarzan would recite specific mantras under his breath,
affirming his submission and devotion to the Baron. These whispered words
would serve as a constant reinforcement of his purpose.
At specific intervals, Tarzan would retire to a designated area to kneel in
meditation. During this time, he would reflect on his role as a devoted
servant and visualize ways to better please his Master.
These rituals would create a structured framework for Tarzan's existence,
reinforcing his submission to Baron von Richter. Each one would serve as a
reminder of his place and purpose, ensuring that he lived every moment in
service to his Master.
Tarzan's body responded instinctively to the Baron's words as he dictated
the rituals tarzan would follow. He moved with a fluidity and grace that he
had never known before. Every muscle, every sinew, was attuned to the
Baron's will.
The dream seemed to stretch on for eternity, the jungle around them
pulsating with an otherworldly energy. Tarzan was consumed by a sense of
purpose, a profound understanding of his place in the world.
As the dream began to fade, the Baron's final command echoed in Tarzan's
mind.
"You are mine, now and forever. Embrace your destiny, for there is no
turning back."
When Tarzan awoke, he felt a profound sense of clarity. He knew, without a
shadow of doubt, that he was meant to serve the Baron, to fulfill his every
command. The dream had etched itself into his very soul, leaving an
indelible mark of submission and obedience.
* * * * *
In tarzan's dream, the jungle is veiled in darkness, a tapestry of shadows
and moonlight. He stands alone, senses heightened, attuned to the rustling
leaves and distant calls of nocturnal creatures.
Suddenly, a presence emerges, powerful and commanding, yet shrouded in
mystery.
The Master steps forward, his presence palpable. tarzan senses him, though
he cannot see his face. The Master's voice resonates, a low timbre that
reverberates through the dense foliage. He issues commands, and tarzan
obeys, every gesture and motion executed with precision.
As the encounter unfolds, the Master draws near, his scent enveloping
tarzan, intoxicating and irresistible. It is a heady mixture of leather,
earth, and primal masculinity. tarzan's senses are consumed by it, every
inhalation deepening his submission.
The Master's touch is firm and deliberate, guiding tarzan's
movements. There is a blindfold, a silken cloth that obscures tarzan's
vision, plunging him deeper into a world of sensation and surrender. He
kneels before the Master, his face pressed against the studded leather
codpiece, inhaling the heady scent.
In this dream, tarzan's body responds, his senses heightened to a fevered
pitch. He is aware of his arousal, the pulsing need that courses through
him. It is a testament to the Master's power, to the effect he exerts over
tarzan's very being.
As the encounter culminates, the Master's dominance is absolute. He guides
tarzan with expert precision, leaving an indelible mark on his psyche. When
tarzan awakens, he is left with a profound sense of submission, a
deep-seated longing for the Master's return.
This dream serves as a harbinger of what is to come, a foreshadowing of the
role tarzan is destined to play in the Alpha Ascension. The mysterious
Master will reveal himself, and tarzan's journey towards complete
submission will find its culmination.
* * * * *
In the silent realm of dreams, Baron von Richter found himself in the heart
of the jungle, surrounded by the vibrant symphony of nature. He stood tall
and imposing, his every movement exuding dominance and power.
Before him knelt a figure, its form shrouded in shadow. It was Tarzan,
though he appeared different, transformed. His once defiant posture was
replaced by one of submission, his head bowed, awaiting his master's
command.
The Baron's voice echoed through the dense foliage, steady and
authoritative. "Rise, Tarzan," he commanded.
As if pulled by invisible strings, Tarzan rose, his movements fluid and
obedient. His eyes, once filled with wild determination, now held a spark
of unwavering loyalty.
Baron von Richter approached, his steps deliberate. He extended a hand,
which Tarzan took with reverence, pressing his lips to the Baron's
leather-clad knuckles.
The Baron's touch was firm, a tangible connection of dominance and
submission.
"You serve me well, Tarzan," he declared. "You have learned your place, and
for that, you shall be rewarded."
With a gesture, the Baron directed Tarzan to a pedestal bathed in dappled
sunlight. Upon it lay an ornate leather collar, embellished with intricate
engravings. This, Tarzan understood, was his reward--a symbol of his
submission and devotion.
As the collar encircled his neck, Tarzan felt a profound sense of
belonging, a tether to his rightful master. It fit snugly, a testament to
his newfound purpose.
The Baron's gloved hand traced the edges of the collar, claiming his
property. "You are mine, Tarzan. Yours is the privilege of serving, of
yielding to a superior force."
Tarzan's response was a low, reverent growl, a vocalization of his
acceptance and understanding.
The dream world shimmered, the surroundings morphing into a tableau of
jungle splendor. Tarzan now stood at the Baron's side, his every movement
synchronized with his master's.
Together, they ventured deeper into the verdant expanse, a formidable
pair--a symbol of dominance and submission, of mastery and servitude.
As the dream waned, the Baron felt a surge of satisfaction. His vision of
Tarzan, tamed and molded into the perfect servant, was one step closer to
reality.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-21 | Date: Mon, 18 Dec 2023 23:36:11 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 21 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 21: Planting the Seed -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com * * * * * The scene is The Dom's Den, Mr. Blackwood's exclusive club where tarzan has just battled a wild boar for the entertainment of the patrons. With tarzan bound to the outside of his cage, gagged, and stripped of the slave tunic Mr. Blackwood had him wear, the patrons brainstorm about how tarzan can best serve his superiors moving forward. (Blackwood steps forward, addressing the crowd. Tarzan, now bound and gagged, begins to regain consciousness after his battle.) Mr. Blackwood: (addressing the crowd) Gentlemen! Tonight, you have the unique privilege of witnessing the might of Tarzan, the king of the jungle, in all his glory. This may be your last chance to enjoy him in this intimate setting before we take our spectacle to new heights! (The crowd murmurs in excitement, eagerly discussing Tarzan's performance.) Alexander: Did you see the strength in those muscles? Gabriel: He's a force to be reckoned with, that's for sure. Nicholas: I've never seen anything like it. He's a true marvel. (As Tarzan starts to come to, the crowd's chatter grows louder. They continue to watch him, fascinated and captivated.) Damien: Look at him, waking up like a wild beast. Ethan: What a sight! He's like a living legend. Lucas: I can't believe we get to be a part of this. (As the crowd observes Tarzan, they maintain a respectful distance, still discussing the spectacle they've just witnessed.) Sebastian: I wonder what's next for him. Blackwood seems to have big plans. Maximillian: Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be even more extraordinary. Javier: We're witnessing history tonight, my friends. (The crowd's anticipation and excitement fill the air as they continue to watch Tarzan, eager to see what the future holds for the captive king.) Blackwood's men raise Tarzan's cage so it is suspended above the crowd. The crowd continues their revelry as the bound ape man is displayed above them. Harrington and Blackwood eagerly listen as members of the crowd debate the best future endeavors for tarzan. (The stage is set as Tarzan's cage is raised, suspending him above the excited crowd. They continue their revelry, voices rising in anticipation.) Lord Harrington: (leaning towards Mr. Blackwood, voice filled with fervor) Blackwood, this is beyond our wildest expectations. The crowd adores him. Mr. Blackwood: (nodding, eyes gleaming) Indeed, my lord. Tarzan has become a spectacle that captures their every imagination. (As the crowd discusses Tarzan's future, Harrington and Blackwood keenly observe, making mental notes of each speaker's suggestions.) Alexander: Perhaps he could face larger and fiercer creatures, something that truly tests his limits. Gabriel: I envision him as a gladiator, battling champions from distant lands. Nicholas: Why not make him a symbol of our dominance, have him lead our parades as a living trophy? Damien: (enthusiastic) I propose we build a grand arena, dedicated solely to Tarzan's battles! Ethan: (thoughtful) Let him be the centerpiece of our extravagant feasts, a living work of art. Lord Harrington: (whispering to Mr. Blackwood) Take note of their names, Blackwood. We must remember those who offer such promising ideas. Mr. Blackwood: (doing the same, eyes sharp) Of course, my lord. These gentlemen have shown great foresight. (Three distinguished patrons step forward, each with a vision for Tarzan's future that stands out from the rest.) Reginald: Picture this--Tarzan as the centerpiece of a grand tournament, pitting the mightiest warriors against him. The spectacle would draw crowds from far and wide. Percival: Imagine him leading expeditions into uncharted territories, blazing trails for our empire. He'd be an icon of exploration and conquest. Montgomery: (passionately) Let Tarzan symbolize our dominion over the wild. Have him face mythical creatures, prove that man can triumph over nature itself. (Harrington and Blackwood listen intently, exchanging glances that speak of shared ambition and determination.) Lord Harrington: (to Mr. Blackwood) These three have exceptional visions. We must meet with them, discuss the finer details of their proposals. Mr. Blackwood: (agreeing) Indeed, my lord. With their insights, Tarzan's value to our endeavors will be immeasurable. (Tarzan remains suspended above, a silent witness to the discussions below. Harrington and Blackwood approach the patrons with eager curiosity.) Lord Harrington: (to Reginald) Your vision of a grand tournament is intriguing. Tell us, how would you structure it? What warriors do you envision pitted against Tarzan? Reginald: (enthusiastic) My lord, picture a vast arena, with Tarzan at its heart. Warriors from all corners of the world would come to face him. Each battle would be a spectacle, a test of skill and strength. Mr. Blackwood: (impressed) And how do you see the audience engaging with this tournament? What would make it an unforgettable experience for them? Reginald: (thoughtful) The crowd would be immersed in the drama, my lord. There would be wagers, cheers, and a sense of camaraderie among spectators. It would be an event that lingers in their memories. Lord Harrington: Could you elaborate on how you envision the logistics of organizing such a tournament? Reginald: (enthusiastic) My lord, the arena would need to be vast, with designated areas for both spectators and combatants. A structured schedule would ensure each battle is a riveting experience for the audience. Mr. Blackwood: And how might we keep the audience engaged throughout the tournament? Any additional elements that could enhance their experience? Reginald: Certainly, Blackwood. I propose wagering booths, where patrons can bet on the outcomes. Additionally, ceremonial events and processions could precede each battle, building anticipation. Lord Harrington: (to Percival) Your idea of Tarzan as an explorer is fascinating. How do you envision him leading these expeditions, and where would they venture? Percival: (animated) My lord, Tarzan's knowledge of the jungle is unparalleled. He would be at the forefront, charting new territories, discovering hidden treasures. His presence alone would inspire our expeditions to greatness. Mr. Blackwood: (curious) And what role would the empire play in supporting these endeavors? How would Tarzan's exploits benefit our collective pursuits? Percival: (confident) The empire would provide the resources, my lord. Tarzan's expeditions would expand our dominion, uncovering new lands and resources that would fuel our prosperity for generations to come. Lord Harrington: Percival, the notion of Tarzan leading expeditions is compelling. Can you provide more details on how you envision the logistics of these ventures? Percival: (animated) My lord, Tarzan would require a dedicated team of skilled explorers, equipped with the finest tools and provisions. Maps and navigational aids would be crucial to charting new territories. Mr. Blackwood: And how might we ensure the success of these expeditions, Gabriel? Any particular strategies or precautions you envision? Percival: Precisely, Blackwood. Regular communication with the exploratory teams would be vital. Establishing supply routes and safe havens in uncharted territories would be a priority. Lord Harrington: (to Montgomery) Your concept of Tarzan facing mythical creatures is bold. Can you share some examples of these creatures, and how they would be integrated into the spectacle? Montgomery: (passionate) My lord, imagine Tarzan confronting legendary beasts like the Griffin, the Chimera, creatures that challenge even the bravest of men. Specialized habitats and controlled environments would be created to stage these encounters. Their presence would elevate Tarzan's feats to the realm of legend. Mr. Blackwood: (intrigued) And how do you see this narrative weaving into the empire's broader narrative? How would Tarzan's triumphs over these creatures serve our ambitions? Montgomery: (convincing) It would showcase our dominion over both nature and myth, my lord. Tarzan's victories would be a testament to the power and authority of our empire, solidifying our legacy for generations. Mr. Blackwood: And how might we ensure the safety of both Tarzan and the spectators during these confrontations, Nicholas? Any precautions or strategies you suggest? Montgomery: Safety barriers and reinforced structures would be essential, Blackwood. Additionally, expert handlers and trainers would play a crucial role in orchestrating these thrilling encounters. (As Harrington and Blackwood engage in these detailed discussions, Tarzan watches from above, bound and unable to contribute to the dialogue. The patrons offer their visions, each one a unique perspective on Tarzan's potential role in their empire.) Lord Harrington: Gabriel, your idea of Tarzan as a gladiator is captivating. Can you describe the arena and the types of warriors you envision him facing? Gabriel: (enthusiastic) My lord, the arena would be a marvel of engineering, with retractable walls and concealed traps. The warriors would come from various backgrounds, each with unique skills and weaponry. Mr. Blackwood: And how might we enhance the spectacle further, Damien? Any special effects or surprises that could elevate the battles? Gabriel: Indeed, Blackwood. Smoke machines, pyrotechnics, and hidden compartments could add an element of unpredictability to the battles, keeping the audience on the edge of their seats. Lord Harrington: Ethan, your vision of Tarzan as the centerpiece of grand feasts is intriguing. Can you elaborate on how you see these events being orchestrated? Ethan: (thoughtful) My lord, the feasts would be meticulously planned affairs, with opulent decor and sumptuous cuisine. Tarzan's presence would be a focal point, with carefully choreographed moments of interaction. Mr. Blackwood: And how might we ensure Tarzan's safety and comfort during these feasts, Ethan? Any special arrangements or precautions you suggest? Ethan: Safety barriers and discreet security personnel would be positioned strategically, Blackwood. Additionally, Tarzan's accommodations would be designed to allow him to participate comfortably without feeling confined. (After hearing more details from the patrons, Harrington and Blackwood share their insights and suggestions. Tarzan remains suspended above, a silent figure in this unfolding narrative.) (Harrington and Blackwood step aside, engrossed in their conversation about the patrons' ideas.) Lord Harrington: (whispering to Mr. Blackwood) Blackwood, which of these ideas have piqued your interest the most? Mr. Blackwood: (thoughtful) I find Reginald's concept of a grand tournament to be promising. The spectacle, the wagers--it has the potential to draw crowds like never before. And Montgomery's idea of Tarzan facing mythical creatures, that's a stroke of genius. The sheer audacity of it could captivate audiences for years. Lord Harrington: (nodding) Indeed, Blackwood. I concur with your assessments. Additionally, Percival's vision of Tarzan leading expeditions aligns with our expansionist goals. Imagine the empire's banner carried into uncharted territories by none other than Tarzan himself. Mr. Blackwood: Precisely, my lord. And Gabriel's gladiatorial concept has a certain theatricality that cannot be ignored. With the right choreography and effects, it could be a riveting spectacle. And Ethan's idea of Tarzan as the centerpiece of grand feasts--it adds a touch of opulence, a celebration of our dominance. Lord Harrington: (smiling) Agreed, Blackwood. Now, let us build upon these ideas. For the tournament, we could introduce themed battles, perhaps even incorporating elements of surprise to keep the audience on their toes. And with Tarzan leading expeditions, we might equip him with advanced technology, ensuring our conquests are unmatched. Mr. Blackwood: (enthusiastic) Excellent, my lord. And for the mythical creatures, we could collaborate with skilled artisans to craft lifelike creatures, enhancing the spectacle. As for the gladiatorial battles, we might incorporate interactive elements, allowing the audience to influence the course of a battle. And for the grand feasts, we could commission renowned chefs to create exquisite menus, further elevating the experience. Lord Harrington: (pleased) Blackwood, your insights are invaluable. These ideas, combined with our patrons' visions, will shape Tarzan's future in ways none could have imagined. Mr. Blackwood: (grateful) Thank you, my lord. With Tarzan at the center, our empire's legacy is assured. (Harrington and Blackwood, invigorated by their exchange, return to the discussions, their minds brimming with ambitious plans for Tarzan's role in their grand designs.) END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-One------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. Do you have ideas for how to make the best use of tarzan at The Dom's Den? If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Mon, 18 Dec 2023 23:36:11 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 21
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 21: Planting the Seed --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
The scene is The Dom's Den, Mr. Blackwood's exclusive club where tarzan has
just battled a wild boar for the entertainment of the patrons. With tarzan
bound to the outside of his cage, gagged, and stripped of the slave tunic
Mr. Blackwood had him wear, the patrons brainstorm about how tarzan can
best serve his superiors moving forward.
(Blackwood steps forward, addressing the crowd. Tarzan, now bound and
gagged, begins to regain consciousness after his battle.)
Mr. Blackwood: (addressing the crowd) Gentlemen! Tonight, you have the
unique privilege of witnessing the might of Tarzan, the king of the jungle,
in all his glory. This may be your last chance to enjoy him in this
intimate setting before we take our spectacle to new heights!
(The crowd murmurs in excitement, eagerly discussing Tarzan's performance.)
Alexander: Did you see the strength in those muscles?
Gabriel: He's a force to be reckoned with, that's for sure.
Nicholas: I've never seen anything like it. He's a true marvel.
(As Tarzan starts to come to, the crowd's chatter grows louder. They
continue to watch him, fascinated and captivated.)
Damien: Look at him, waking up like a wild beast.
Ethan: What a sight! He's like a living legend.
Lucas: I can't believe we get to be a part of this.
(As the crowd observes Tarzan, they maintain a respectful distance, still
discussing the spectacle they've just witnessed.)
Sebastian: I wonder what's next for him. Blackwood seems to have big plans.
Maximillian: Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be even more extraordinary.
Javier: We're witnessing history tonight, my friends.
(The crowd's anticipation and excitement fill the air as they continue to
watch Tarzan, eager to see what the future holds for the captive king.)
Blackwood's men raise Tarzan's cage so it is suspended above the crowd.
The crowd continues their revelry as the bound ape man is displayed above
them. Harrington and Blackwood eagerly listen as members of the crowd
debate the best future endeavors for tarzan.
(The stage is set as Tarzan's cage is raised, suspending him above the
excited crowd. They continue their revelry, voices rising in anticipation.)
Lord Harrington: (leaning towards Mr. Blackwood, voice filled with fervor)
Blackwood, this is beyond our wildest expectations. The crowd adores him.
Mr. Blackwood: (nodding, eyes gleaming) Indeed, my lord. Tarzan has become
a spectacle that captures their every imagination.
(As the crowd discusses Tarzan's future, Harrington and Blackwood keenly
observe, making mental notes of each speaker's suggestions.)
Alexander: Perhaps he could face larger and fiercer creatures, something
that truly tests his limits.
Gabriel: I envision him as a gladiator, battling champions from distant
lands.
Nicholas: Why not make him a symbol of our dominance, have him lead our
parades as a living trophy?
Damien: (enthusiastic) I propose we build a grand arena, dedicated solely
to Tarzan's battles!
Ethan: (thoughtful) Let him be the centerpiece of our extravagant feasts, a
living work of art.
Lord Harrington: (whispering to Mr. Blackwood) Take note of their names,
Blackwood. We must remember those who offer such promising ideas.
Mr. Blackwood: (doing the same, eyes sharp) Of course, my lord. These
gentlemen have shown great foresight.
(Three distinguished patrons step forward, each with a vision for Tarzan's
future that stands out from the rest.)
Reginald: Picture this--Tarzan as the centerpiece of a grand tournament,
pitting the mightiest warriors against him. The spectacle would draw crowds
from far and wide.
Percival: Imagine him leading expeditions into uncharted territories,
blazing trails for our empire. He'd be an icon of exploration and conquest.
Montgomery: (passionately) Let Tarzan symbolize our dominion over the
wild. Have him face mythical creatures, prove that man can triumph over
nature itself. (Harrington and Blackwood listen intently, exchanging
glances that speak of shared ambition and determination.)
Lord Harrington: (to Mr. Blackwood) These three have exceptional
visions. We must meet with them, discuss the finer details of their
proposals.
Mr. Blackwood: (agreeing) Indeed, my lord. With their insights, Tarzan's
value to our endeavors will be immeasurable.
(Tarzan remains suspended above, a silent witness to the discussions
below. Harrington and Blackwood approach the patrons with eager curiosity.)
Lord Harrington: (to Reginald) Your vision of a grand tournament is
intriguing. Tell us, how would you structure it? What warriors do you
envision pitted against Tarzan?
Reginald: (enthusiastic) My lord, picture a vast arena, with Tarzan at its
heart. Warriors from all corners of the world would come to face him. Each
battle would be a spectacle, a test of skill and strength.
Mr. Blackwood: (impressed) And how do you see the audience engaging with
this tournament? What would make it an unforgettable experience for them?
Reginald: (thoughtful) The crowd would be immersed in the drama, my
lord. There would be wagers, cheers, and a sense of camaraderie among
spectators. It would be an event that lingers in their memories.
Lord Harrington: Could you elaborate on how you envision the logistics of
organizing such a tournament?
Reginald: (enthusiastic) My lord, the arena would need to be vast, with
designated areas for both spectators and combatants. A structured schedule
would ensure each battle is a riveting experience for the audience.
Mr. Blackwood: And how might we keep the audience engaged throughout the
tournament? Any additional elements that could enhance their experience?
Reginald: Certainly, Blackwood. I propose wagering booths, where patrons
can bet on the outcomes. Additionally, ceremonial events and processions
could precede each battle, building anticipation.
Lord Harrington: (to Percival) Your idea of Tarzan as an explorer is
fascinating. How do you envision him leading these expeditions, and where
would they venture?
Percival: (animated) My lord, Tarzan's knowledge of the jungle is
unparalleled. He would be at the forefront, charting new territories,
discovering hidden treasures. His presence alone would inspire our
expeditions to greatness.
Mr. Blackwood: (curious) And what role would the empire play in supporting
these endeavors? How would Tarzan's exploits benefit our collective
pursuits?
Percival: (confident) The empire would provide the resources, my
lord. Tarzan's expeditions would expand our dominion, uncovering new lands
and resources that would fuel our prosperity for generations to come.
Lord Harrington: Percival, the notion of Tarzan leading expeditions is
compelling. Can you provide more details on how you envision the logistics
of these ventures?
Percival: (animated) My lord, Tarzan would require a dedicated team of
skilled explorers, equipped with the finest tools and provisions. Maps and
navigational aids would be crucial to charting new territories.
Mr. Blackwood: And how might we ensure the success of these expeditions,
Gabriel? Any particular strategies or precautions you envision?
Percival: Precisely, Blackwood. Regular communication with the exploratory
teams would be vital. Establishing supply routes and safe havens in
uncharted territories would be a priority.
Lord Harrington: (to Montgomery) Your concept of Tarzan facing mythical
creatures is bold. Can you share some examples of these creatures, and how
they would be integrated into the spectacle?
Montgomery: (passionate) My lord, imagine Tarzan confronting legendary
beasts like the Griffin, the Chimera, creatures that challenge even the
bravest of men. Specialized habitats and controlled environments would be
created to stage these encounters. Their presence would elevate Tarzan's
feats to the realm of legend.
Mr. Blackwood: (intrigued) And how do you see this narrative weaving into
the empire's broader narrative? How would Tarzan's triumphs over these
creatures serve our ambitions?
Montgomery: (convincing) It would showcase our dominion over both nature
and myth, my lord. Tarzan's victories would be a testament to the power and
authority of our empire, solidifying our legacy for generations.
Mr. Blackwood: And how might we ensure the safety of both Tarzan and the
spectators during these confrontations, Nicholas? Any precautions or
strategies you suggest?
Montgomery: Safety barriers and reinforced structures would be essential,
Blackwood. Additionally, expert handlers and trainers would play a crucial
role in orchestrating these thrilling encounters.
(As Harrington and Blackwood engage in these detailed discussions, Tarzan
watches from above, bound and unable to contribute to the dialogue. The
patrons offer their visions, each one a unique perspective on Tarzan's
potential role in their empire.)
Lord Harrington: Gabriel, your idea of Tarzan as a gladiator is
captivating. Can you describe the arena and the types of warriors you
envision him facing?
Gabriel: (enthusiastic) My lord, the arena would be a marvel of
engineering, with retractable walls and concealed traps. The warriors would
come from various backgrounds, each with unique skills and weaponry.
Mr. Blackwood: And how might we enhance the spectacle further, Damien? Any
special effects or surprises that could elevate the battles?
Gabriel: Indeed, Blackwood. Smoke machines, pyrotechnics, and hidden
compartments could add an element of unpredictability to the battles,
keeping the audience on the edge of their seats.
Lord Harrington: Ethan, your vision of Tarzan as the centerpiece of grand
feasts is intriguing. Can you elaborate on how you see these events being
orchestrated?
Ethan: (thoughtful) My lord, the feasts would be meticulously planned
affairs, with opulent decor and sumptuous cuisine. Tarzan's presence would
be a focal point, with carefully choreographed moments of interaction.
Mr. Blackwood: And how might we ensure Tarzan's safety and comfort during
these feasts, Ethan? Any special arrangements or precautions you suggest?
Ethan: Safety barriers and discreet security personnel would be positioned
strategically, Blackwood. Additionally, Tarzan's accommodations would be
designed to allow him to participate comfortably without feeling confined.
(After hearing more details from the patrons, Harrington and Blackwood
share their insights and suggestions. Tarzan remains suspended above, a
silent figure in this unfolding narrative.)
(Harrington and Blackwood step aside, engrossed in their conversation about
the patrons' ideas.)
Lord Harrington: (whispering to Mr. Blackwood) Blackwood, which of these
ideas have piqued your interest the most?
Mr. Blackwood: (thoughtful) I find Reginald's concept of a grand tournament
to be promising. The spectacle, the wagers--it has the potential to draw
crowds like never before. And Montgomery's idea of Tarzan facing mythical
creatures, that's a stroke of genius. The sheer audacity of it could
captivate audiences for years.
Lord Harrington: (nodding) Indeed, Blackwood. I concur with your
assessments. Additionally, Percival's vision of Tarzan leading expeditions
aligns with our expansionist goals. Imagine the empire's banner carried
into uncharted territories by none other than Tarzan himself.
Mr. Blackwood: Precisely, my lord. And Gabriel's gladiatorial concept has a
certain theatricality that cannot be ignored. With the right choreography
and effects, it could be a riveting spectacle. And Ethan's idea of Tarzan
as the centerpiece of grand feasts--it adds a touch of opulence, a
celebration of our dominance.
Lord Harrington: (smiling) Agreed, Blackwood. Now, let us build upon these
ideas. For the tournament, we could introduce themed battles, perhaps even
incorporating elements of surprise to keep the audience on their toes. And
with Tarzan leading expeditions, we might equip him with advanced
technology, ensuring our conquests are unmatched.
Mr. Blackwood: (enthusiastic) Excellent, my lord. And for the mythical
creatures, we could collaborate with skilled artisans to craft lifelike
creatures, enhancing the spectacle. As for the gladiatorial battles, we
might incorporate interactive elements, allowing the audience to influence
the course of a battle. And for the grand feasts, we could commission
renowned chefs to create exquisite menus, further elevating the experience.
Lord Harrington: (pleased) Blackwood, your insights are invaluable. These
ideas, combined with our patrons' visions, will shape Tarzan's future in
ways none could have imagined.
Mr. Blackwood: (grateful) Thank you, my lord. With Tarzan at the center,
our empire's legacy is assured.
(Harrington and Blackwood, invigorated by their exchange, return to the
discussions, their minds brimming with ambitious plans for Tarzan's role in
their grand designs.)
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-One-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. Do you have ideas for how to make
the best use of tarzan at The Dom's Den? If you have any feedback or
input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-33 | Date: Wed, 28 Feb 2024 00:19:58 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 33 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 33: Unraveling the Enigma-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 34 - Unraveling the Enigma Alden's next gossip column pulls no punches: Unveiling the Intrigue: Tarzan's Enigmatic Allure by Jonathan Alden, Outpost Gossip Columnist In the heart of our untamed world, where the rules of civilization are but a distant echo, a figure has captured the collective imagination. Tarzan, the mighty jungle king turned captive, has become a beacon of fascination for many, including myself. His sinewy frame, adorned in the most provocative of attire, has sparked rumors and questions about the true nature of his desires. As a journalist dedicated to uncovering the truth, I find it my duty to address the inquiries that have flooded my inbox. It is only fair that we dissect the rumors surrounding Tarzan's sexual preference and seek to understand the enigma that he represents. Let us not be blinded by our own assumptions, for Tarzan is a man of the jungle, a realm where the boundaries of conventional sexuality are blurred. His affections, if any, may not conform to the rigid constructs of our societal norms. In the heart of the wild, where instincts reign supreme, who are we to judge? As I delved deeper into the intricate tapestry of Tarzan's life, it became clear that his allure transcends the confines of labels. His captivating presence, his raw power, and yes, even the tantalizing loincloth that clings to him, have left an indelible mark on those fortunate enough to cross his path. To my readers, I extend an invitation to share your thoughts and speculations on this captivating subject. What draws us to Tarzan, this embodiment of primal energy? What is it about him that stirs our own desires and fantasies? Let us embark on this journey of discovery together. While we navigate the uncharted territory of Tarzan's heart, let us do so with respect and an open mind. For in the end, it is not the labels that define us, but the unyielding spirit that courses through our veins. As always, your voices are valued, and I eagerly await your insights on this beguiling matter. Together, we shall unravel the mysteries of Tarzan's enigmatic allure. * * * * * And here is Alden's follow-up column, where his readers respond: Voices Unveiled: The Tapestry of Tarzan's Admirers Dear readers, I am humbled by the flood of responses that followed my previous column on the enigmatic allure of Tarzan. Your insights and reflections have shed a brilliant light on the many facets of this captivating figure. Let us embark on a journey through your voices, unveiling the depths of our collective fascination. ---------- Letter 1: From a fellow explorer "Having traversed the untamed landscapes myself, I can attest to the magnetic pull of Tarzan's presence. His mastery of the wild is nothing short of extraordinary, and I must confess, his form, as adorned by that distinctive loincloth, is a sight to behold. In the heart of the jungle, he stands as a testament to the indomitable spirit of man." ---------- Letter 2: From a native observer "Tarzan embodies the essence of our ancestral connection to the wilderness. His command over the creatures of the jungle is a marvel to witness, and it is clear that his heart beats in rhythm with the rhythms of nature. The loincloth, though seemingly minimalistic, serves as a powerful symbol of his unity with the wild." ---------- Letter 3: From a curious mind "As a scientist, I am drawn to Tarzan as a subject of unparalleled intrigue. His adaptation to the jungle and his coexistence with its inhabitants defy conventional understanding. The loincloth, in its simplicity, reflects a harmony with the environment, an unspoken language between man and nature." ---------- Letter 4: From an admirer with history "I had the privilege of crossing paths with Tarzan in days long past, and his strength and prowess left an indelible mark on my memory. The loincloth, a testament to his fierce independence, only amplifies his aura. It is a symbol of his untamed spirit, a banner that declares his dominion over the wild." ---------- Letter 5: From a contemplative soul "Tarzan's allure lies in his unapologetic authenticity. He lives in a realm where pretense holds no sway, and it is this genuineness that captivates us. The loincloth, far from being a mere garment, is a representation of his unyielding connection to the untamed world around him." ---------- Letter 6: From a kindred spirit "In Tarzan, I see a reflection of my own untamed desires, a primal yearning for a life unrestrained. The loincloth, as it clings to his form, is a testament to the freedom he embraces. It is a reminder that sometimes, in shedding the trappings of convention, we find our truest selves." ---------- Your voices have added color to the canvas of Tarzan's mystique. Each perspective, a brushstroke that contributes to the masterpiece. Let us continue to explore, to unravel the layers of this enigma, with the understanding that in doing so, we may come to understand a little more about ourselves. As always, I eagerly await your insights and reflections. Warm regards, Jonathan Alden * * * * * Alden's editor demands a new column with more juicy details. Here is what Alden produces: Unraveling the Enigma: Tarzan's Intriguing Allure Dear readers, In the pursuit of understanding the enigma that is Tarzan, we find ourselves at a crossroads of fascination and speculation. Our previous discussions have merely scratched the surface of this captivating figure, and it is time to delve deeper into the tapestry of his existence. Rumors, as elusive wisps of truth, often carry morsels of insight. While some may be dismissed as mere conjecture, others might hold grains of veracity. Today, we explore six whispers that have traversed the jungle's vines, each shedding light on Tarzan's complex identity. Your intrepid columnist can attest that at least two of these rumors are entirely true. I challenge you to discern which among them bear the stamp of truth. Rumor 1: A rendezvous with an old acquaintance It is said that Tarzan's past holds a connection with none other than Baron von Richter, an old adversary turned ally in unexpected circumstances. Could their history run deeper than mere rivalry? Perhaps a dalliance once simmered in the heart of the jungle. Rumor 2: A secret longing Hushed conversations suggest that Tarzan harbors a longing for the mighty elephant graveyard--a place steeped in legend and shrouded in mystery. Could this yearning signify a deeper connection, one that transcends the boundaries of the wild? Rumor 3: A dance of shadows Whispers have reached our ears of clandestine encounters between Tarzan and a shadowy figure, hidden within the heart of the jungle's depths. Is there a clandestine partner who shares Tarzan's hidden desires, concealed from prying eyes? Rumor 4: Echoes of the past Legend speaks of Tarzan's encounters with a fearsome panther, a creature as fierce and untamed as the man himself. Could this shared dominion over the jungle forge a bond that transcends the boundaries of the wild? Rumor 5: Veiled truths Rumors abound of a secret pact between Tarzan and Lord Harrington, a bond forged in the crucible of shared dominion over the jungle's heart. Could their alliance carry deeper implications, ones that extend beyond the realms of mere slave and Master? Rumor 6: A dance with destiny It is whispered that Tarzan's loincloth, a symbol of primal freedom, conceals a message known only to a select few. Could this garment hold the key to unraveling the mysteries of his heart? Dear readers, within these rumors lie threads of truth and shadows of fiction. It is for you to discern which two among them bear the weight of reality. As we navigate the tangled vines of Tarzan's existence, let us do so with open hearts and curious minds. Warm regards, Jonathan Alden * * * * * The response of Alden's readers is enormous, reflecting the biggest readership in The Outpost's long history. There is even a featured letter that sounds suspiciously familiar, until Alden sees the name of the letter's writer and realizes it is not the name he was thinking of. Here is Alden's follow-up column: Echoes of the Jungle: Unraveling Tarzan's Secrets Dear esteemed readers, The response to our recent exploration of Tarzan's mysterious persona has been nothing short of extraordinary. Over two thousand of you took up the challenge to discern fact from fiction, and the results have provided intriguing insights into the enigmatic jungle king. Before we delve into the intricacies of your discerning votes, allow me to share an impassioned letter that caught my eye. ------------------------- In Defense of True Alphas Dear Mr. Alden, I read with great interest your recent piece on the rumors surrounding Tarzan's entanglements in matters of the heart. Allow me to set the record straight, as someone who knows both parties involved intimately. Baron von Richter is a man of true alpha stature, a beacon of strength and power in a world that often lacks it. A warrior of unmatched prowess, he commands respect and exudes an aura of undeniable dominance. It is preposterous to suggest that he would stoop to entertain any dalliances with a mere slave, especially one whose true nature is as submissive as Tarzan's. In contrast, Tarzan is, at his core, a creature bound by chains, both literal and metaphorical. His loyalties lie with his masters, and his existence is defined by servitude. To insinuate that he would be worthy of the affections of someone as superior as Baron von Richter is a grave misjudgment of the natural order. Let us not forget the primal instincts that drive us all. It is not a matter of choice, but rather an inherent understanding of one's place in the grand tapestry of life. Baron von Richter is a man who embraces his true nature, unburdened by the shackles of societal expectations. Tarzan, on the other hand, is a slave--his identity irrevocably entwined with submission and obedience. In this world, where strength and dominance reign supreme, it is essential to recognize the natural hierarchy that guides our actions. It is a world where true alphas, like Baron von Richter, rise above, while others, like Tarzan, bow to their rightful place. Yours Sincerely, Barry van Rickster ------------------ Now, onto the results of your discerning votes. It seems that the rumors surrounding Tarzan's encounters with Baron von Richter garnered significant attention. Among the two thousand responses we received, an overwhelming majority--eighty-five percent--believed that this particular rumor held grains of truth. The other rumors trailed behind in terms of credibility, with none surpassing twenty percent in favor. As for your inquiries regarding personal encounters with Tarzan, we received a number of responses, though none have claimed to have shared intimate moments with the jungle king. It appears that, for now, Tarzan's heart remains shrouded in mystery. Until next time, dear readers, as we continue to untangle the enigma that is Tarzan. Warm regards, Jonathan Alden * * * * * Alden realizes that his readers, like Alden himself, are craving more juicy details on the enigmatic Baron von Richter. The Baron set Alden's imagination on fire back when first confessed to Alden that he dreamed of kneeling before his old arch enemy. Here is Alden's next column on the salacious subject: Unveiling the Enigma: Baron von Richter's Untold Tales Dear avid readers, Today, we venture into the realm of the unknown, seeking to unveil the secrets of the enigmatic Baron von Richter, a figure who has ignited the fires of curiosity in the hearts of many. In the vast expanse of the jungle, the Baron's legend looms large, though his true identity remains shrouded in mystery. Allow me to share with you some of the tantalizing musings that have occupied my thoughts as I ponder the mysteries of this formidable man. In the Shadows of the Jungle: Baron von Richter's Intriguing Tale In the depths of the wild, where danger lurks and survival is a constant struggle, the Baron's presence is felt. Known for his cunning and mastery of the wilderness, he is a force to be reckoned with. Legends speak of his relentless pursuit of power, a trait that has made him both a feared adversary and a respected figure among those who dare to tread on his territory. As we delve into the realm of fantasy, one cannot help but imagine the encounters one might have with such a dominant figure. The Baron's stern demeanor and commanding presence are bound to leave an indelible mark on those who cross his path. Perhaps it is the allure of his unwavering confidence that draws us in, tempting us to explore the depths of his dominance. A Dilemma of Desires: The Baron vs. Tarzan Dear readers, I present to you a thought-provoking question: If given the chance, would you choose to spend a night in the formidable presence of Baron von Richter or in the company of the jungle king, Tarzan? The contrast between these two titans of the wild is stark, their personas embodying opposing forces. While Tarzan exudes an untamed, primal energy, the Baron emanates a calculated, unwavering authority. The choice lies in the depths of your desires. As we navigate the intricacies of these imagined encounters, let us not forget the very real impact these figures have had on the jungle and its inhabitants. Their influence, though distinct, has shaped the course of many lives and left an indelible mark on the annals of jungle lore. Reader's Choice: The Power Rests with You In the spirit of exploration, dear readers, I implore you to share your thoughts. Who would be your chosen companion in the heart of the jungle: the relentless Baron von Richter or the indomitable Tarzan? Your insights, as always, add depth and color to our collective understanding of these legendary figures. Until next time, when we once again embark on a journey into the heart of the untamed. Warm regards, Jonathan Alden * * * * * And here is Alden's follow-up column, in which we hear the results of the readers' preference for a steamy night with the cruel and dominant Baron, or a night with the inferior lowly slave tarzan: Revealing Desires: The Baron vs. Tarzan Showdown Dear esteemed readers, Your fervent responses have poured in, providing intriguing insights into the tantalizing choice between the indomitable Baron von Richter and the wild king of the jungle, Tarzan. The preference is as diverse as the jungle itself, reflecting the unique desires that reside within each of you. Let us dive into your thoughts, exploring the allure of dominance, submission, and the untamed. In Favor of the Mighty Baron: ---------- Letter 1: Dear Mr. Alden, The very idea of spending a night in the presence of Baron von Richter sends shivers down my spine. The man's command over the jungle and its inhabitants is nothing short of awe-inspiring. I can only imagine the intensity and authority with which he carries himself. His attire, an embodiment of his power, is a stark contrast to Tarzan's humble loincloth. It would be an honor to stand in the shadow of such a dominant force. Yours in fascination, Admirer of the Baron ---------- Letter 2: Mr. Alden, The Baron's presence exudes an air of undeniable authority. His attire, a testament to his dominance, speaks volumes about his power. To be in the same vicinity as him, to experience firsthand the aura of control he emanates, would be an unforgettable encounter. There is an undeniable allure in submitting to a force as formidable as Baron von Richter. Warm regards, One Captivated Reader ---------- In Praise of the Mighty Tarzan: Letter 3: Dear Mr. Alden, Tarzan's untamed spirit and prowess in the jungle have always held a special place in my heart. There is something undeniably magnetic about his connection to the wild, a primal force that sets him apart. His loincloth, though humble, is a symbol of his untamed nature. To spend a night in the heart of the jungle, guided by Tarzan's unmatched knowledge and strength, would be an adventure like no other. With admiration, A Devoted Fan of the Jungle King ---------- Letter 4: Mr. Alden, While the Baron may command respect with his attire, Tarzan's simplicity and connection to nature are unparalleled. His loincloth, a representation of his unyielding bond with the jungle, carries a raw, primal energy. The thought of experiencing a night in Tarzan's domain, witnessing his mastery of the untamed, is a dream come true. Warmest regards, A Follower of the Wild ---------- No Preferences: Letter 5: Dear Mr. Alden, It is an intriguing dilemma you've presented. Both the Baron and Tarzan exude an undeniable magnetism, each in their own distinct way. The Baron's commanding presence and attire evoke a sense of authority, while Tarzan's raw connection to nature and humble loincloth hold a primal allure. The choice ultimately comes down to one's personal inclinations. Yours in contemplation, A Pondering Reader ---------- Letter 6: Mr. Alden, The choice between the Baron and Tarzan is a complex one. The Baron's dominance and commanding presence, highlighted by his attire, carry a unique allure. On the other hand, Tarzan's connection to the wild, symbolized by his humble loincloth, offers a different kind of adventure. Both figures, though distinct, embody a powerful magnetism that speaks to the depths of desire. With intrigue, A Curious Soul ---------- Until our next venture into the heart of the untamed desires, Jonathan Alden * * * * * Baron von Richter sat in his lavish study, a glass of fine brandy in hand, as he perused the latest gossip column. His brow furrowed with a mixture of disdain and frustration as he read Alden's vivid descriptions and imaginative scenarios involving himself and Tarzan. The audacity of it all, to suggest that the mighty Baron would be on equal footing with that lowly jungle savage Tarzan! It was an affront to his very essence, a stain on his dominance, an insult that could not go unanswered. With a sinister smile, he folded the column and tucked it away in a hidden drawer, as if sealing a pact with his dark thoughts. The Alpha Ascension was rapidly approaching, and the Baron intended to make it a night that would go down in history. His mind raced, conjuring up images of Tarzan, humbled, broken, groveling at his feet. The Baron's cruel imagination ran wild, devising one cruel scenario after another, each designed to strip away the last vestiges of Tarzan's pride and power. He envisioned Tarzan, stripped of his loincloth, exposed and vulnerable, forced to kneel before the Baron and beg for mercy. The image brought a malevolent grin to the Baron's face. He could practically taste the sweet nectar of victory, the heady rush of power as he watched Tarzan's spirit crumble. Then, a more devious plan took shape in the Baron's mind. He imagined a grand spectacle, an event that would draw crowds from far and wide. Tarzan would be paraded through the streets, bound and helpless, a living testament to the Baron's unassailable dominance. The very idea thrilled him, and he relished the thought of the world witnessing Tarzan's ultimate submission. But the Baron's imagination did not stop there. He envisioned a public flogging, each strike of the lash a searing reminder of Tarzan's rightful place beneath him. The crack of the whip, the agonized cries of the jungle king -- it was a symphony of submission that played in the Baron's mind. Ultimately, the Baron grew unmistakably aroused at the thought of a final humiliation of tarzan following that public flogging. He would make full claim on tarzan, invading the enslaved muscle stud's ass and planting his flag deep within tarzan's virgin territory as the crowd watched and cheered his triumph. As the Baron's fantasies grew more sadistic, he knew he had to temper his desires. Such cruelty required careful planning, meticulous execution. He would need to gather his resources, ensure that every detail was accounted for. Tarzan's humiliation would be a masterpiece, a testament to the Baron's unrivaled power. With renewed determination, the Baron set his plans into motion. He would bring Tarzan to his knees, strip him of his pride, and show the world who truly reigned supreme. The Outpost's readers would witness a spectacle the likes of which they had never imagined, and Tarzan would know the full extent of his inferiority. As he plotted and schemed, the Baron's heart pounded with anticipation. The thrill of dominating his old enemy, of asserting his superiority for all to see, was a heady rush that consumed him. He would revel in every moment, savoring the taste of victory as Tarzan groveled before him. The Alpha Ascension was drawing near, and the Baron could hardly contain his excitement. The stage was set, the pieces in place. Soon, Tarzan would face the true might of Baron von Richter, and the world would bear witness to the savage's rightful place -- on his knees, at the feet of his superior. * * * * * Mr. Blackwood sat in his opulent office, a copy of the latest gossip column spread out before him. As he read Alden's vivid descriptions and imaginative scenarios involving Baron von Richter and Tarzan, a wry smile played across his lips. The vivid imagery painted by Alden's words seemed to dance before his eyes, and he couldn't help but be captivated by the sheer audacity of it all. "Quite the vivid imagination our dear Alden possesses," he mused aloud, his voice tinged with amusement. The column had stirred something within Blackwood, a mixture of amusement and intrigue. He had seen firsthand the effect that the mere mention of Baron von Richter had on Tarzan, and now Alden's words seemed to have lit a fire in the Baron as well. It was a potent combination, and one that promised a spectacle the likes of which the jungle had never seen. As Blackwood leaned back in his leather chair, he couldn't help but envision the events to come. The Alpha Ascension was rapidly approaching, and the anticipation hung thick in the air. He could almost taste the excitement, the electric energy that would course through the club on that fateful night. With a sly grin, Blackwood picked up the column and tucked it away in a drawer. It was a piece of the puzzle, a spark that would ignite the inferno of dominance and submission that would unfold before his very eyes. The Outpost had unwittingly become a pawn in Blackwood's grand game, and he relished every moment of it. "Let the games begin," he murmured, his eyes glinting with a predatory gleam. The Alpha Ascension promised to be a night for the ages, a night that would leave an indelible mark on the jungle and all who bore witness to it. And Mr. Blackwood intended to ensure that it lived up to every ounce of its potential. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Wed, 28 Feb 2024 00:19:58 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 33
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 33: Unraveling the Enigma--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 34 - Unraveling the Enigma
Alden's next gossip column pulls no punches:
Unveiling the Intrigue: Tarzan's Enigmatic Allure
by Jonathan Alden, Outpost Gossip Columnist
In the heart of our untamed world, where the rules of civilization are but
a distant echo, a figure has captured the collective imagination. Tarzan,
the mighty jungle king turned captive, has become a beacon of fascination
for many, including myself. His sinewy frame, adorned in the most
provocative of attire, has sparked rumors and questions about the true
nature of his desires.
As a journalist dedicated to uncovering the truth, I find it my duty to
address the inquiries that have flooded my inbox. It is only fair that we
dissect the rumors surrounding Tarzan's sexual preference and seek to
understand the enigma that he represents.
Let us not be blinded by our own assumptions, for Tarzan is a man of the
jungle, a realm where the boundaries of conventional sexuality are
blurred. His affections, if any, may not conform to the rigid constructs of
our societal norms. In the heart of the wild, where instincts reign
supreme, who are we to judge?
As I delved deeper into the intricate tapestry of Tarzan's life, it became
clear that his allure transcends the confines of labels. His captivating
presence, his raw power, and yes, even the tantalizing loincloth that
clings to him, have left an indelible mark on those fortunate enough to
cross his path.
To my readers, I extend an invitation to share your thoughts and
speculations on this captivating subject. What draws us to Tarzan, this
embodiment of primal energy? What is it about him that stirs our own
desires and fantasies? Let us embark on this journey of discovery together.
While we navigate the uncharted territory of Tarzan's heart, let us do so
with respect and an open mind. For in the end, it is not the labels that
define us, but the unyielding spirit that courses through our veins.
As always, your voices are valued, and I eagerly await your insights on
this beguiling matter. Together, we shall unravel the mysteries of Tarzan's
enigmatic allure.
* * * * *
And here is Alden's follow-up column, where his readers respond:
Voices Unveiled: The Tapestry of Tarzan's Admirers
Dear readers,
I am humbled by the flood of responses that followed my previous column on
the enigmatic allure of Tarzan. Your insights and reflections have shed a
brilliant light on the many facets of this captivating figure. Let us
embark on a journey through your voices, unveiling the depths of our
collective fascination. ---------- Letter 1: From a fellow explorer
"Having traversed the untamed landscapes myself, I can attest to the
magnetic pull of Tarzan's presence. His mastery of the wild is nothing
short of extraordinary, and I must confess, his form, as adorned by that
distinctive loincloth, is a sight to behold. In the heart of the jungle, he
stands as a testament to the indomitable spirit of man." ---------- Letter
2: From a native observer
"Tarzan embodies the essence of our ancestral connection to the
wilderness. His command over the creatures of the jungle is a marvel to
witness, and it is clear that his heart beats in rhythm with the rhythms of
nature. The loincloth, though seemingly minimalistic, serves as a powerful
symbol of his unity with the wild." ---------- Letter 3: From a curious
mind
"As a scientist, I am drawn to Tarzan as a subject of unparalleled
intrigue. His adaptation to the jungle and his coexistence with its
inhabitants defy conventional understanding. The loincloth, in its
simplicity, reflects a harmony with the environment, an unspoken language
between man and nature." ---------- Letter 4: From an admirer with history
"I had the privilege of crossing paths with Tarzan in days long past, and
his strength and prowess left an indelible mark on my memory. The
loincloth, a testament to his fierce independence, only amplifies his
aura. It is a symbol of his untamed spirit, a banner that declares his
dominion over the wild." ---------- Letter 5: From a contemplative soul
"Tarzan's allure lies in his unapologetic authenticity. He lives in a realm
where pretense holds no sway, and it is this genuineness that captivates
us. The loincloth, far from being a mere garment, is a representation of
his unyielding connection to the untamed world around him." ----------
Letter 6: From a kindred spirit
"In Tarzan, I see a reflection of my own untamed desires, a primal yearning
for a life unrestrained. The loincloth, as it clings to his form, is a
testament to the freedom he embraces. It is a reminder that sometimes, in
shedding the trappings of convention, we find our truest selves."
---------- Your voices have added color to the canvas of Tarzan's
mystique. Each perspective, a brushstroke that contributes to the
masterpiece. Let us continue to explore, to unravel the layers of this
enigma, with the understanding that in doing so, we may come to understand
a little more about ourselves.
As always, I eagerly await your insights and reflections.
Warm regards,
Jonathan Alden
* * * * *
Alden's editor demands a new column with more juicy details. Here is what
Alden produces:
Unraveling the Enigma: Tarzan's Intriguing Allure
Dear readers,
In the pursuit of understanding the enigma that is Tarzan, we find
ourselves at a crossroads of fascination and speculation. Our previous
discussions have merely scratched the surface of this captivating figure,
and it is time to delve deeper into the tapestry of his existence.
Rumors, as elusive wisps of truth, often carry morsels of insight. While
some may be dismissed as mere conjecture, others might hold grains of
veracity. Today, we explore six whispers that have traversed the jungle's
vines, each shedding light on Tarzan's complex identity. Your intrepid
columnist can attest that at least two of these rumors are entirely true.
I challenge you to discern which among them bear the stamp of truth.
Rumor 1: A rendezvous with an old acquaintance
It is said that Tarzan's past holds a connection with none other than Baron
von Richter, an old adversary turned ally in unexpected
circumstances. Could their history run deeper than mere rivalry? Perhaps a
dalliance once simmered in the heart of the jungle.
Rumor 2: A secret longing
Hushed conversations suggest that Tarzan harbors a longing for the mighty
elephant graveyard--a place steeped in legend and shrouded in
mystery. Could this yearning signify a deeper connection, one that
transcends the boundaries of the wild?
Rumor 3: A dance of shadows
Whispers have reached our ears of clandestine encounters between Tarzan and
a shadowy figure, hidden within the heart of the jungle's depths. Is there
a clandestine partner who shares Tarzan's hidden desires, concealed from
prying eyes?
Rumor 4: Echoes of the past
Legend speaks of Tarzan's encounters with a fearsome panther, a creature as
fierce and untamed as the man himself. Could this shared dominion over the
jungle forge a bond that transcends the boundaries of the wild?
Rumor 5: Veiled truths
Rumors abound of a secret pact between Tarzan and Lord Harrington, a bond
forged in the crucible of shared dominion over the jungle's heart. Could
their alliance carry deeper implications, ones that extend beyond the
realms of mere slave and Master?
Rumor 6: A dance with destiny
It is whispered that Tarzan's loincloth, a symbol of primal freedom,
conceals a message known only to a select few. Could this garment hold the
key to unraveling the mysteries of his heart?
Dear readers, within these rumors lie threads of truth and shadows of
fiction. It is for you to discern which two among them bear the weight of
reality. As we navigate the tangled vines of Tarzan's existence, let us do
so with open hearts and curious minds.
Warm regards,
Jonathan Alden
* * * * *
The response of Alden's readers is enormous, reflecting the biggest
readership in The Outpost's long history. There is even a featured letter
that sounds suspiciously familiar, until Alden sees the name of the
letter's writer and realizes it is not the name he was thinking of. Here
is Alden's follow-up column:
Echoes of the Jungle: Unraveling Tarzan's Secrets
Dear esteemed readers,
The response to our recent exploration of Tarzan's mysterious persona has
been nothing short of extraordinary. Over two thousand of you took up the
challenge to discern fact from fiction, and the results have provided
intriguing insights into the enigmatic jungle king. Before we delve into
the intricacies of your discerning votes, allow me to share an impassioned
letter that caught my eye. ------------------------- In Defense of True
Alphas
Dear Mr. Alden,
I read with great interest your recent piece on the rumors surrounding
Tarzan's entanglements in matters of the heart. Allow me to set the record
straight, as someone who knows both parties involved intimately.
Baron von Richter is a man of true alpha stature, a beacon of strength and
power in a world that often lacks it. A warrior of unmatched prowess, he
commands respect and exudes an aura of undeniable dominance. It is
preposterous to suggest that he would stoop to entertain any dalliances
with a mere slave, especially one whose true nature is as submissive as
Tarzan's.
In contrast, Tarzan is, at his core, a creature bound by chains, both
literal and metaphorical. His loyalties lie with his masters, and his
existence is defined by servitude. To insinuate that he would be worthy of
the affections of someone as superior as Baron von Richter is a grave
misjudgment of the natural order.
Let us not forget the primal instincts that drive us all. It is not a
matter of choice, but rather an inherent understanding of one's place in
the grand tapestry of life. Baron von Richter is a man who embraces his
true nature, unburdened by the shackles of societal expectations. Tarzan,
on the other hand, is a slave--his identity irrevocably entwined with
submission and obedience.
In this world, where strength and dominance reign supreme, it is essential
to recognize the natural hierarchy that guides our actions. It is a world
where true alphas, like Baron von Richter, rise above, while others, like
Tarzan, bow to their rightful place.
Yours Sincerely,
Barry van Rickster ------------------ Now, onto the results of your
discerning votes. It seems that the rumors surrounding Tarzan's encounters
with Baron von Richter garnered significant attention. Among the two
thousand responses we received, an overwhelming majority--eighty-five
percent--believed that this particular rumor held grains of truth. The
other rumors trailed behind in terms of credibility, with none surpassing
twenty percent in favor.
As for your inquiries regarding personal encounters with Tarzan, we
received a number of responses, though none have claimed to have shared
intimate moments with the jungle king. It appears that, for now, Tarzan's
heart remains shrouded in mystery.
Until next time, dear readers, as we continue to untangle the enigma that
is Tarzan.
Warm regards,
Jonathan Alden
* * * * * Alden realizes that his readers, like Alden himself, are craving
more juicy details on the enigmatic Baron von Richter. The Baron set
Alden's imagination on fire back when first confessed to Alden that he
dreamed of kneeling before his old arch enemy. Here is Alden's next column
on the salacious subject:
Unveiling the Enigma: Baron von Richter's Untold Tales
Dear avid readers,
Today, we venture into the realm of the unknown, seeking to unveil the
secrets of the enigmatic Baron von Richter, a figure who has ignited the
fires of curiosity in the hearts of many. In the vast expanse of the
jungle, the Baron's legend looms large, though his true identity remains
shrouded in mystery. Allow me to share with you some of the tantalizing
musings that have occupied my thoughts as I ponder the mysteries of this
formidable man.
In the Shadows of the Jungle: Baron von Richter's Intriguing Tale
In the depths of the wild, where danger lurks and survival is a constant
struggle, the Baron's presence is felt. Known for his cunning and mastery
of the wilderness, he is a force to be reckoned with. Legends speak of his
relentless pursuit of power, a trait that has made him both a feared
adversary and a respected figure among those who dare to tread on his
territory.
As we delve into the realm of fantasy, one cannot help but imagine the
encounters one might have with such a dominant figure. The Baron's stern
demeanor and commanding presence are bound to leave an indelible mark on
those who cross his path. Perhaps it is the allure of his unwavering
confidence that draws us in, tempting us to explore the depths of his
dominance.
A Dilemma of Desires: The Baron vs. Tarzan
Dear readers, I present to you a thought-provoking question: If given the
chance, would you choose to spend a night in the formidable presence of
Baron von Richter or in the company of the jungle king, Tarzan? The
contrast between these two titans of the wild is stark, their personas
embodying opposing forces. While Tarzan exudes an untamed, primal energy,
the Baron emanates a calculated, unwavering authority. The choice lies in
the depths of your desires.
As we navigate the intricacies of these imagined encounters, let us not
forget the very real impact these figures have had on the jungle and its
inhabitants. Their influence, though distinct, has shaped the course of
many lives and left an indelible mark on the annals of jungle lore.
Reader's Choice: The Power Rests with You
In the spirit of exploration, dear readers, I implore you to share your
thoughts. Who would be your chosen companion in the heart of the jungle:
the relentless Baron von Richter or the indomitable Tarzan? Your insights,
as always, add depth and color to our collective understanding of these
legendary figures.
Until next time, when we once again embark on a journey into the heart of
the untamed.
Warm regards,
Jonathan Alden
* * * * *
And here is Alden's follow-up column, in which we hear the results of the
readers' preference for a steamy night with the cruel and dominant Baron,
or a night with the inferior lowly slave tarzan:
Revealing Desires: The Baron vs. Tarzan Showdown
Dear esteemed readers,
Your fervent responses have poured in, providing intriguing insights into
the tantalizing choice between the indomitable Baron von Richter and the
wild king of the jungle, Tarzan. The preference is as diverse as the jungle
itself, reflecting the unique desires that reside within each of you. Let
us dive into your thoughts, exploring the allure of dominance, submission,
and the untamed.
In Favor of the Mighty Baron: ---------- Letter 1:
Dear Mr. Alden,
The very idea of spending a night in the presence of Baron von Richter
sends shivers down my spine. The man's command over the jungle and its
inhabitants is nothing short of awe-inspiring. I can only imagine the
intensity and authority with which he carries himself. His attire, an
embodiment of his power, is a stark contrast to Tarzan's humble
loincloth. It would be an honor to stand in the shadow of such a dominant
force.
Yours in fascination,
Admirer of the Baron ---------- Letter 2:
Mr. Alden,
The Baron's presence exudes an air of undeniable authority. His attire, a
testament to his dominance, speaks volumes about his power. To be in the
same vicinity as him, to experience firsthand the aura of control he
emanates, would be an unforgettable encounter. There is an undeniable
allure in submitting to a force as formidable as Baron von Richter.
Warm regards,
One Captivated Reader ---------- In Praise of the Mighty Tarzan:
Letter 3:
Dear Mr. Alden,
Tarzan's untamed spirit and prowess in the jungle have always held a
special place in my heart. There is something undeniably magnetic about his
connection to the wild, a primal force that sets him apart. His loincloth,
though humble, is a symbol of his untamed nature. To spend a night in the
heart of the jungle, guided by Tarzan's unmatched knowledge and strength,
would be an adventure like no other.
With admiration,
A Devoted Fan of the Jungle King ---------- Letter 4:
Mr. Alden,
While the Baron may command respect with his attire, Tarzan's simplicity
and connection to nature are unparalleled. His loincloth, a representation
of his unyielding bond with the jungle, carries a raw, primal energy. The
thought of experiencing a night in Tarzan's domain, witnessing his mastery
of the untamed, is a dream come true.
Warmest regards,
A Follower of the Wild ---------- No Preferences:
Letter 5:
Dear Mr. Alden, It is an intriguing dilemma you've presented. Both the
Baron and Tarzan exude an undeniable magnetism, each in their own distinct
way. The Baron's commanding presence and attire evoke a sense of authority,
while Tarzan's raw connection to nature and humble loincloth hold a primal
allure. The choice ultimately comes down to one's personal inclinations.
Yours in contemplation,
A Pondering Reader ---------- Letter 6:
Mr. Alden,
The choice between the Baron and Tarzan is a complex one. The Baron's
dominance and commanding presence, highlighted by his attire, carry a
unique allure. On the other hand, Tarzan's connection to the wild,
symbolized by his humble loincloth, offers a different kind of
adventure. Both figures, though distinct, embody a powerful magnetism that
speaks to the depths of desire.
With intrigue,
A Curious Soul ---------- Until our next venture into the heart of the
untamed desires,
Jonathan Alden
* * * * *
Baron von Richter sat in his lavish study, a glass of fine brandy in hand,
as he perused the latest gossip column. His brow furrowed with a mixture of
disdain and frustration as he read Alden's vivid descriptions and
imaginative scenarios involving himself and Tarzan.
The audacity of it all, to suggest that the mighty Baron would be on equal
footing with that lowly jungle savage Tarzan! It was an affront to his very
essence, a stain on his dominance, an insult that could not go unanswered.
With a sinister smile, he folded the column and tucked it away in a hidden
drawer, as if sealing a pact with his dark thoughts. The Alpha Ascension
was rapidly approaching, and the Baron intended to make it a night that
would go down in history.
His mind raced, conjuring up images of Tarzan, humbled, broken, groveling
at his feet. The Baron's cruel imagination ran wild, devising one cruel
scenario after another, each designed to strip away the last vestiges of
Tarzan's pride and power.
He envisioned Tarzan, stripped of his loincloth, exposed and vulnerable,
forced to kneel before the Baron and beg for mercy. The image brought a
malevolent grin to the Baron's face. He could practically taste the sweet
nectar of victory, the heady rush of power as he watched Tarzan's spirit
crumble.
Then, a more devious plan took shape in the Baron's mind. He imagined a
grand spectacle, an event that would draw crowds from far and wide. Tarzan
would be paraded through the streets, bound and helpless, a living
testament to the Baron's unassailable dominance. The very idea thrilled
him, and he relished the thought of the world witnessing Tarzan's ultimate
submission.
But the Baron's imagination did not stop there. He envisioned a public
flogging, each strike of the lash a searing reminder of Tarzan's rightful
place beneath him. The crack of the whip, the agonized cries of the jungle
king -- it was a symphony of submission that played in the Baron's mind.
Ultimately, the Baron grew unmistakably aroused at the thought of a final
humiliation of tarzan following that public flogging. He would make full
claim on tarzan, invading the enslaved muscle stud's ass and planting his
flag deep within tarzan's virgin territory as the crowd watched and cheered
his triumph.
As the Baron's fantasies grew more sadistic, he knew he had to temper his
desires. Such cruelty required careful planning, meticulous execution. He
would need to gather his resources, ensure that every detail was accounted
for. Tarzan's humiliation would be a masterpiece, a testament to the
Baron's unrivaled power.
With renewed determination, the Baron set his plans into motion. He would
bring Tarzan to his knees, strip him of his pride, and show the world who
truly reigned supreme. The Outpost's readers would witness a spectacle the
likes of which they had never imagined, and Tarzan would know the full
extent of his inferiority.
As he plotted and schemed, the Baron's heart pounded with anticipation. The
thrill of dominating his old enemy, of asserting his superiority for all to
see, was a heady rush that consumed him. He would revel in every moment,
savoring the taste of victory as Tarzan groveled before him.
The Alpha Ascension was drawing near, and the Baron could hardly contain
his excitement. The stage was set, the pieces in place. Soon, Tarzan would
face the true might of Baron von Richter, and the world would bear witness
to the savage's rightful place -- on his knees, at the feet of his
superior.
* * * * *
Mr. Blackwood sat in his opulent office, a copy of the latest gossip column
spread out before him. As he read Alden's vivid descriptions and
imaginative scenarios involving Baron von Richter and Tarzan, a wry smile
played across his lips. The vivid imagery painted by Alden's words seemed
to dance before his eyes, and he couldn't help but be captivated by the
sheer audacity of it all.
"Quite the vivid imagination our dear Alden possesses," he mused aloud, his
voice tinged with amusement.
The column had stirred something within Blackwood, a mixture of amusement
and intrigue. He had seen firsthand the effect that the mere mention of
Baron von Richter had on Tarzan, and now Alden's words seemed to have lit a
fire in the Baron as well. It was a potent combination, and one that
promised a spectacle the likes of which the jungle had never seen.
As Blackwood leaned back in his leather chair, he couldn't help but
envision the events to come. The Alpha Ascension was rapidly approaching,
and the anticipation hung thick in the air. He could almost taste the
excitement, the electric energy that would course through the club on that
fateful night.
With a sly grin, Blackwood picked up the column and tucked it away in a
drawer. It was a piece of the puzzle, a spark that would ignite the inferno
of dominance and submission that would unfold before his very eyes. The
Outpost had unwittingly become a pawn in Blackwood's grand game, and he
relished every moment of it.
"Let the games begin," he murmured, his eyes glinting with a predatory
gleam. The Alpha Ascension promised to be a night for the ages, a night
that would leave an indelible mark on the jungle and all who bore witness
to it. And Mr. Blackwood intended to ensure that it lived up to every ounce
of its potential.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-64 | Date: Fri, 20 Sep 2024 18:16:58 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 64 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 64 - Bent to a Slave's Will-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 64 -- Bent to a Slave's Will The stable seemed to have undergone a subtle transformation, an unseen shift in the dynamics that lingered in the air like a heavy fog. The laughter had died down, replaced by a palpable tension that hung between the slaves, the unspoken understanding of what they had witnessed. Rafe, emboldened by the power he had momentarily held over Tarzan, wore a newfound confidence like a second skin. His posture was straighter, his gaze more direct, as if he had emerged from the shadow of the jungle king's legend and found his own place in this harsh world. "Tarzan," he called, his voice dripping with authority, "fetch me the hay from your bed. And be quick about it." Tarzan hesitated, his gaze flickering with a mix of frustration and resignation. He had once been the epitome of strength and defiance, a force of nature in his own right. Now, he was reduced to a mere servant, his every move dictated by the whims of his fellow slaves. Without a word, Tarzan set to work, gathering what little hay he had for comfort and carrying it over to Rafe's designated spot. He lowered it to the ground, his movements deliberate and controlled as he added the hay to Rafe's supply, making his sleeping spot much more comfortable. It was a stark contrast to the Tarzan of old, a symbol of his newfound status as a servant among equals. Rafe reclined against the hay, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He looked down at Tarzan, a glint of triumph in his eyes. "Now, slave, you will serve me my meal. Remember your place, and perhaps I'll go easy on you." The other slaves watched in a mixture of awe and unease. They had witnessed a power shift, a changing of the guard within their small community. Tarzan, once the unrivaled leader, now knelt at the feet of Rafe, a mere shadow of his former self. As Tarzan presented the slave chow to Rafe, it was a symbolic passing of the torch, a visual representation of their altered reality. Tarzan's status had plummeted, while Rafe's had soared to newfound heights. Throughout the day, Rafe continued to assert his dominance over Tarzan, assigning him tasks and overseeing his labor with a watchful eye. Tarzan, for his part, moved with a sense of resignation, a silent acknowledgment of his place in this new order. The other slaves, though initially taken aback by the shift, quickly fell in line. They recognized the changing tide, and it was clear that Rafe held a newfound authority among them. His word carried weight, his presence commanded respect. As the day wore on, Tarzan toiled under Rafe's watchful gaze, the weight of his own subservience settling on his broad shoulders. It was a harsh reminder of the cruel realities they all faced, a stark contrast to the legends and myths that had once defined them. And yet, amid the struggle and the shifting dynamics, there was a glimmer of something more. A sense of unity, of shared experience, bound them together. They were no longer just slaves, but a community, finding strength in the connections they forged. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the stable, the slaves settled in for the night. The events of the day had left an indelible mark, a reminder that in this unforgiving world, they were all bound by a common fate. And so, in the stillness of the night, they found solace in each other's presence, drawing strength from the shared understanding that they were not alone. They were survivors, fighters, and in their unity, they found a glimmer of hope for the days that lay ahead. * * * * * Under the watchful eye of Rafe, Tarzan's once-mighty form moved with a newfound grace, an acceptance of his place among the slaves. He toiled alongside them, each movement deliberate and controlled, a stark contrast to the untamed force he had once been. As they worked, the other slaves seized every opportunity to assert their dominance over Tarzan. They issued commands with an air of authority, their words ringing in Tarzan's ears as reminders of his inferior status. It was a relentless campaign, a steady drip that eroded the last vestiges of his former pride. "Tarzan, fetch me water," one would command, watching with a sense of satisfaction as Tarzan hurried to obey. "You're good for something after all." Another would mockingly mimic the gestures of the overseers, cracking an imaginary whip in the air. "Get to it, slave! The work won't do itself!" The message was clear and unwavering: Tarzan was no longer their leader, their protector. He was their subordinate, a mere cog in the machinery of their collective survival. And as the days wore on, that truth settled into Tarzan's consciousness, embedding itself like a deep-rooted belief. In the evenings, after the laborious work was done, the slaves would gather around their meager fires, their tired bodies seeking solace in the warmth. It was in these moments of respite that they continued their campaign of reinforcement. "Look at you, Tarzan," one would sneer, kicking dust at his feet. "You're no different from the rest of us now. Just another slave." Tarzan, once a force of nature, now knelt among them, his spirit broken, his sense of self forever altered. He listened to their taunts, their reminders of his place, and with each word, the weight of his submission pressed down upon him. As the days turned to weeks, Tarzan's transformation was complete. He had shed the last vestiges of his former identity, embracing his role as a servant among equals. He moved through the routines of their harsh existence with a sense of purpose, a recognition that his value lay in his ability to serve. And in this acceptance, there was a strange sort of peace. Tarzan had found his place in this unforgiving world, a cog in the machinery of their collective survival. He no longer bore the weight of leadership, the burden of being the protector. Instead, he found strength in the unity of their shared struggle. As the fires flickered in the darkness, casting long shadows against the stable walls, Tarzan knelt among his fellow slaves, a silent acknowledgment of his place in this new reality. And in that quiet moment, he felt a strange sense of belonging, a connection forged through the trials they had endured. For in their shared acceptance of their fate, they had become more than mere slaves. They were survivors, warriors, bound together by the unbreakable bonds of their shared struggle. And in that unity, they found a glimmer of hope, a belief that together, they could face whatever challenges lay ahead. * * * * * Hargrove observed the three men, his eyes sharp and calculating. "Rafe, Jem, you two are heading into town to pick up supplies. Make sure you get everything on the list, and don't dawdle. Time is money, and Lord Harrington doesn't appreciate delays." Rafe nodded, a sly grin crossing his face. He knew exactly how to maximize this trip. "Understood, Mr. Hargrove. We'll make it quick." Jem shot a glance at Rafe, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. The prospect of a little excursion was a welcome change from the routine labor in the fields. "We'll be back before you know it," he assured Hargrove. Hargrove's gaze then shifted to Tarzan, who stood patiently, waiting for instructions. "You, Tarzan, will pull the wagon. Remember, no slacking. You'll do the work of two men, and if you falter, you'll feel the sting of the whip." Tarzan's jaw clenched, but he held his tongue. He understood the consequences of disobedience all too well. With a determined nod, he positioned himself in front of the wagon, ready to take on the burden. Rafe and Jem climbed onto the wagon, finding comfortable spots to settle. They exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. This trip could be more than just a routine supply run -- it could be an opportunity to assert their dominance over the once-mighty Tarzan. As they set off towards town, Rafe couldn't help but smirk. The dusty road stretched ahead, promising both the supplies they needed and a chance to further bend Tarzan to their will. * * * * * The journey to town was grueling for Tarzan, the weight of the wagon bearing down on him. His powerful muscles strained, and sweat poured down his brow. Rafe and Jem rode comfortably, occasionally exchanging amused glances as Tarzan toiled on. Upon reaching town, they made their way to the supplier's, where barrels, crates, and sacks awaited them. Rafe took charge, handing Tarzan a list and barking orders. "Get what's on this list, and make sure it's done quickly. We won't be waiting for you." Tarzan nodded, determined to complete the task efficiently. He moved swiftly, muscles rippling with each heavy load he hoisted onto the wagon. It was a sight to behold -- the once-mighty Tarzan now reduced to a laboring beast, obedient to the commands of his inferiors. As Tarzan worked, Rafe seized the opportunity to assert his dominance. He beckoned a small crowd of onlookers, relishing the spectacle. "Behold, the great Tarzan," he declared, a mocking tone in his voice. "Once king of the jungle, now a lowly slave, serving at my command." The townsfolk watched, some in awe and others in amusement, as Tarzan carried out Rafe's orders. It was a stark reminder of the drastic shift in power dynamics that had taken place. Tarzan's spirit may have been unbreakable, but his body now labored under the weight of subservience. Once the wagon was loaded, Rafe and Jem took their positions, ready to head back to Lord Harrington's estate. Tarzan, sweat-soaked and exhausted, was harnessed to the wagon once more. The return journey promised to be just as grueling as the first leg, if not more so. As they set off, Rafe couldn't help but revel in the power he now held over Tarzan. The once-proud jungle hero was now a mere shadow of his former self, a testament to the strength of dominance and submission. And as the wagon creaked along the road, it carried with it a reminder of Tarzan's newfound place in the world -- one of servitude and obedience. * * * * * Exhausted from the day's toil, Tarzan sank into a fitful slumber. As sleep claimed him, he was once again ensnared in the realm of dreams, where reality and illusion intertwined. In this dream, the familiar figure of Baron von Richter emerged, a sinister smile playing upon his lips. The Baron circled Tarzan, his presence commanding attention. "You have done well today, my slave," he intoned, his voice a sinister purr. "Your strength, once a testament to your wild nature, now serves a higher purpose." Tarzan, though weary, listened intently. There was a strange comfort in the Baron's words, a sense of belonging to a world he had never before known. The jungle had been his domain, but now, it seemed, he had found a new realm to navigate. The Baron continued his monologue, weaving a tapestry of dominance and submission. "You are a vessel, Tarzan. A vessel for the desires of those who hold power over you. Your purpose is to serve, to obey without question. It is a destiny you must embrace." As the Baron spoke, Tarzan felt a strange sense of liberation wash over him. Gone were the remnants of his former pride and defiance. In their place stood a figure molded by the Baron's cruel hands, a being whose existence was bound to the whims of his superiors. The dream wove its tendrils deeper, and Tarzan found himself enacting the Baron's commands. Each movement, each gesture, was a testament to his newfound purpose. He knelt, he obeyed, he served without hesitation. In the midst of it all, a new sensation washed over Tarzan -- a strange mixture of submission and fulfillment. He had become what he was meant to be, a vessel for the desires of his masters. The Baron's words echoed in his mind, solidifying his place in this new world. As the dream began to fade, Tarzan was left with a profound sense of clarity. His destiny was no longer his own, but he embraced it willingly. He was a servant, a vessel, a creation of those who held power over him. And so, in the quiet realm of dreams, Tarzan surrendered to his fate, ready to face whatever awaited him in the waking world. The transformation was complete, and he stood poised to serve the superior men who now held dominion over his existence. * * * * * Rafe leaned against a post in the stable, an amused glint in his eyes. His gaze fell upon Tarzan's tattered loincloth, a mocking grin forming on his lips. "Well, well, look at this... the mighty Tarzan and his regal attire," he sneered, plucking at the frayed fabric. "Tell me, dear Tarzan, what do you suppose is the ultimate symbol of your illustrious status?" He turned to the other slaves, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Gentlemen, any thoughts on this matter?" The slaves exchanged glances, suppressing smirks. One of them cleared his throat, "The loincloth, Master Rafe. It's his crown, for sure." "Aye," another chimed in, "because only the mightiest of slaves deserves such a... distinguished garment." The consensus was clear, and Rafe couldn't hide his amusement. "Ah, the loincloth it is, then. A crown befitting a lowly slave, don't you think?" The slaves chuckled in agreement, all eyes on Tarzan and his threadbare 'crown.' With all eyes on tarzan, Rafe continues. "If only the mightiest of slaves deserves such a distinguished garment, then surely tarzan is not deserving, as he is inferior to each of us in this room," Rafe declares. The slaves nod in agreement, and Rafe, in turn, holds out his hand, telling tarzan to hand it over. Tarzan's heart sank as he heard Rafe's proclamation. The other slaves nodded in agreement, casting sympathetic glances his way. The loincloth, his last remnant of dignity, was now under scrutiny. Rafe extended his hand, a smug grin playing on his lips. "Well, Tarzan, don't keep us waiting. Hand it over." The atmosphere in the stable seemed to close in on Tarzan. The reality of his diminished status pressed heavily upon him. He hesitated for a moment, his fingers trembling as he reached for the tattered fabric that clung to his waist. With a resigned sigh, he peeled it away, exposing himself fully to the mocking eyes of the other slaves. The loincloth, once a symbol of his untamed spirit, now felt like a shroud of humiliation. Rafe accepted it with a triumphant glint in his eyes. He examined the pitiful garment before tossing it over his shoulder with a disdainful chuckle. "There we have it, gentlemen. A crown not worthy of a king." The other slaves erupted into laughter, their amusement ringing through the stable. Tarzan stood there, naked and vulnerable, a stark reminder of his newfound status. It was a moment of profound defeat, a stripping away of his last vestiges of pride. From that point on, the loincloth adorned Rafe's frame, a visual representation of Tarzan's fall from grace. It hung loosely on Rafe's powerful form, emphasizing the stark contrast between master and slave. As for Tarzan, he was left with nothing more than a meager thong, a token of his reduced stature. It clung to him like a pitiful wisp of fabric, a cruel reminder of his place in this new world of servitude. The transformation of the garments was nothing short of symbolic, each piece now carrying its own unique significance. Tarzan's thong clung to him like a desperate plea for modesty, but its meager fabric did little to conceal his vulnerability. The leash and its attached ring were left fully exposed, a cruel reminder of his subjugation. Every movement tugged at the ring, an incessant reminder that he was bound, both physically and metaphorically, to the will of his superiors. The thong's feeble attempt at modesty only served to underscore his powerlessness. In contrast, Rafe's new loincloth seemed to strain against the raw strength of its new owner. The fabric barely contained the expanse of his muscled form, emphasizing the rugged authority that now radiated from him. It hung low on his hips, a declaration of dominance that left no room for doubt. The once humble garment had been elevated to a symbol of power, a mantle that Rafe wore with a newfound sense of purpose. As Rafe moved, the loincloth shifted and flexed with him, its edges fluttering like a flag in the wind. It was as though the very fabric itself recognized the force it now adorned. Each contour and line of Rafe's physique was highlighted, a testament to the physical prowess that now defined him. In this simple exchange of garments, the power dynamic within the stable had shifted irrevocably. Tarzan stood diminished, the thong a feeble reminder of his former self. Meanwhile, Rafe exuded an air of dominance, his every movement a testament to the strength that now coursed through his veins. The loincloth, once a mere piece of fabric, had become a symbol of his ascendancy, a visual declaration of his newfound status as the alpha slave. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Fri, 20 Sep 2024 18:16:58 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 64
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 64 - Bent to a Slave's Will--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 64 -- Bent to a Slave's Will
The stable seemed to have undergone a subtle transformation, an unseen
shift in the dynamics that lingered in the air like a heavy fog. The
laughter had died down, replaced by a palpable tension that hung between
the slaves, the unspoken understanding of what they had witnessed.
Rafe, emboldened by the power he had momentarily held over Tarzan, wore a
newfound confidence like a second skin. His posture was straighter, his
gaze more direct, as if he had emerged from the shadow of the jungle king's
legend and found his own place in this harsh world.
"Tarzan," he called, his voice dripping with authority, "fetch me the hay
from your bed. And be quick about it."
Tarzan hesitated, his gaze flickering with a mix of frustration and
resignation. He had once been the epitome of strength and defiance, a force
of nature in his own right. Now, he was reduced to a mere servant, his
every move dictated by the whims of his fellow slaves.
Without a word, Tarzan set to work, gathering what little hay he had for
comfort and carrying it over to Rafe's designated spot. He lowered it to
the ground, his movements deliberate and controlled as he added the hay to
Rafe's supply, making his sleeping spot much more comfortable. It was a
stark contrast to the Tarzan of old, a symbol of his newfound status as a
servant among equals.
Rafe reclined against the hay, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of
his lips. He looked down at Tarzan, a glint of triumph in his eyes.
"Now, slave, you will serve me my meal. Remember your place, and perhaps
I'll go easy on you."
The other slaves watched in a mixture of awe and unease. They had witnessed
a power shift, a changing of the guard within their small
community. Tarzan, once the unrivaled leader, now knelt at the feet of
Rafe, a mere shadow of his former self.
As Tarzan presented the slave chow to Rafe, it was a symbolic passing of
the torch, a visual representation of their altered reality. Tarzan's
status had plummeted, while Rafe's had soared to newfound heights.
Throughout the day, Rafe continued to assert his dominance over Tarzan,
assigning him tasks and overseeing his labor with a watchful eye. Tarzan,
for his part, moved with a sense of resignation, a silent acknowledgment of
his place in this new order.
The other slaves, though initially taken aback by the shift, quickly fell
in line. They recognized the changing tide, and it was clear that Rafe held
a newfound authority among them. His word carried weight, his presence
commanded respect.
As the day wore on, Tarzan toiled under Rafe's watchful gaze, the weight of
his own subservience settling on his broad shoulders. It was a harsh
reminder of the cruel realities they all faced, a stark contrast to the
legends and myths that had once defined them.
And yet, amid the struggle and the shifting dynamics, there was a glimmer
of something more. A sense of unity, of shared experience, bound them
together. They were no longer just slaves, but a community, finding
strength in the connections they forged.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the
stable, the slaves settled in for the night. The events of the day had left
an indelible mark, a reminder that in this unforgiving world, they were all
bound by a common fate.
And so, in the stillness of the night, they found solace in each other's
presence, drawing strength from the shared understanding that they were not
alone. They were survivors, fighters, and in their unity, they found a
glimmer of hope for the days that lay ahead.
* * * * *
Under the watchful eye of Rafe, Tarzan's once-mighty form moved with a
newfound grace, an acceptance of his place among the slaves. He toiled
alongside them, each movement deliberate and controlled, a stark contrast
to the untamed force he had once been.
As they worked, the other slaves seized every opportunity to assert their
dominance over Tarzan. They issued commands with an air of authority, their
words ringing in Tarzan's ears as reminders of his inferior status. It was
a relentless campaign, a steady drip that eroded the last vestiges of his
former pride.
"Tarzan, fetch me water," one would command, watching with a sense of
satisfaction as Tarzan hurried to obey. "You're good for something after
all."
Another would mockingly mimic the gestures of the overseers, cracking an
imaginary whip in the air.
"Get to it, slave! The work won't do itself!"
The message was clear and unwavering: Tarzan was no longer their leader,
their protector. He was their subordinate, a mere cog in the machinery of
their collective survival. And as the days wore on, that truth settled into
Tarzan's consciousness, embedding itself like a deep-rooted belief.
In the evenings, after the laborious work was done, the slaves would gather
around their meager fires, their tired bodies seeking solace in the
warmth. It was in these moments of respite that they continued their
campaign of reinforcement.
"Look at you, Tarzan," one would sneer, kicking dust at his feet. "You're
no different from the rest of us now. Just another slave."
Tarzan, once a force of nature, now knelt among them, his spirit broken,
his sense of self forever altered. He listened to their taunts, their
reminders of his place, and with each word, the weight of his submission
pressed down upon him.
As the days turned to weeks, Tarzan's transformation was complete. He had
shed the last vestiges of his former identity, embracing his role as a
servant among equals. He moved through the routines of their harsh
existence with a sense of purpose, a recognition that his value lay in his
ability to serve.
And in this acceptance, there was a strange sort of peace. Tarzan had found
his place in this unforgiving world, a cog in the machinery of their
collective survival. He no longer bore the weight of leadership, the burden
of being the protector. Instead, he found strength in the unity of their
shared struggle.
As the fires flickered in the darkness, casting long shadows against the
stable walls, Tarzan knelt among his fellow slaves, a silent acknowledgment
of his place in this new reality. And in that quiet moment, he felt a
strange sense of belonging, a connection forged through the trials they had
endured.
For in their shared acceptance of their fate, they had become more than
mere slaves. They were survivors, warriors, bound together by the
unbreakable bonds of their shared struggle. And in that unity, they found a
glimmer of hope, a belief that together, they could face whatever
challenges lay ahead.
* * * * *
Hargrove observed the three men, his eyes sharp and calculating.
"Rafe, Jem, you two are heading into town to pick up supplies. Make sure
you get everything on the list, and don't dawdle. Time is money, and Lord
Harrington doesn't appreciate delays."
Rafe nodded, a sly grin crossing his face. He knew exactly how to maximize
this trip.
"Understood, Mr. Hargrove. We'll make it quick."
Jem shot a glance at Rafe, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. The
prospect of a little excursion was a welcome change from the routine labor
in the fields.
"We'll be back before you know it," he assured Hargrove.
Hargrove's gaze then shifted to Tarzan, who stood patiently, waiting for
instructions.
"You, Tarzan, will pull the wagon. Remember, no slacking. You'll do the
work of two men, and if you falter, you'll feel the sting of the whip."
Tarzan's jaw clenched, but he held his tongue. He understood the
consequences of disobedience all too well. With a determined nod, he
positioned himself in front of the wagon, ready to take on the burden.
Rafe and Jem climbed onto the wagon, finding comfortable spots to
settle. They exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between
them. This trip could be more than just a routine supply run -- it could be
an opportunity to assert their dominance over the once-mighty Tarzan.
As they set off towards town, Rafe couldn't help but smirk. The dusty road
stretched ahead, promising both the supplies they needed and a chance to
further bend Tarzan to their will.
* * * * *
The journey to town was grueling for Tarzan, the weight of the wagon
bearing down on him. His powerful muscles strained, and sweat poured down
his brow. Rafe and Jem rode comfortably, occasionally exchanging amused
glances as Tarzan toiled on.
Upon reaching town, they made their way to the supplier's, where barrels,
crates, and sacks awaited them. Rafe took charge, handing Tarzan a list and
barking orders.
"Get what's on this list, and make sure it's done quickly. We won't be
waiting for you."
Tarzan nodded, determined to complete the task efficiently. He moved
swiftly, muscles rippling with each heavy load he hoisted onto the
wagon. It was a sight to behold -- the once-mighty Tarzan now reduced to a
laboring beast, obedient to the commands of his inferiors.
As Tarzan worked, Rafe seized the opportunity to assert his dominance. He
beckoned a small crowd of onlookers, relishing the spectacle.
"Behold, the great Tarzan," he declared, a mocking tone in his voice. "Once
king of the jungle, now a lowly slave, serving at my command."
The townsfolk watched, some in awe and others in amusement, as Tarzan
carried out Rafe's orders. It was a stark reminder of the drastic shift in
power dynamics that had taken place. Tarzan's spirit may have been
unbreakable, but his body now labored under the weight of subservience.
Once the wagon was loaded, Rafe and Jem took their positions, ready to head
back to Lord Harrington's estate. Tarzan, sweat-soaked and exhausted, was
harnessed to the wagon once more. The return journey promised to be just as
grueling as the first leg, if not more so.
As they set off, Rafe couldn't help but revel in the power he now held over
Tarzan. The once-proud jungle hero was now a mere shadow of his former
self, a testament to the strength of dominance and submission. And as the
wagon creaked along the road, it carried with it a reminder of Tarzan's
newfound place in the world -- one of servitude and obedience.
* * * * *
Exhausted from the day's toil, Tarzan sank into a fitful slumber. As sleep
claimed him, he was once again ensnared in the realm of dreams, where
reality and illusion intertwined.
In this dream, the familiar figure of Baron von Richter emerged, a sinister
smile playing upon his lips. The Baron circled Tarzan, his presence
commanding attention.
"You have done well today, my slave," he intoned, his voice a sinister
purr. "Your strength, once a testament to your wild nature, now serves a
higher purpose."
Tarzan, though weary, listened intently. There was a strange comfort in the
Baron's words, a sense of belonging to a world he had never before
known. The jungle had been his domain, but now, it seemed, he had found a
new realm to navigate.
The Baron continued his monologue, weaving a tapestry of dominance and
submission.
"You are a vessel, Tarzan. A vessel for the desires of those who hold power
over you. Your purpose is to serve, to obey without question. It is a
destiny you must embrace."
As the Baron spoke, Tarzan felt a strange sense of liberation wash over
him. Gone were the remnants of his former pride and defiance. In their
place stood a figure molded by the Baron's cruel hands, a being whose
existence was bound to the whims of his superiors.
The dream wove its tendrils deeper, and Tarzan found himself enacting the
Baron's commands. Each movement, each gesture, was a testament to his
newfound purpose. He knelt, he obeyed, he served without hesitation.
In the midst of it all, a new sensation washed over Tarzan -- a strange
mixture of submission and fulfillment. He had become what he was meant to
be, a vessel for the desires of his masters. The Baron's words echoed in
his mind, solidifying his place in this new world.
As the dream began to fade, Tarzan was left with a profound sense of
clarity. His destiny was no longer his own, but he embraced it
willingly. He was a servant, a vessel, a creation of those who held power
over him.
And so, in the quiet realm of dreams, Tarzan surrendered to his fate, ready
to face whatever awaited him in the waking world. The transformation was
complete, and he stood poised to serve the superior men who now held
dominion over his existence.
* * * * *
Rafe leaned against a post in the stable, an amused glint in his eyes. His
gaze fell upon Tarzan's tattered loincloth, a mocking grin forming on his
lips.
"Well, well, look at this... the mighty Tarzan and his regal attire," he
sneered, plucking at the frayed fabric. "Tell me, dear Tarzan, what do you
suppose is the ultimate symbol of your illustrious status?"
He turned to the other slaves, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Gentlemen, any thoughts on this matter?"
The slaves exchanged glances, suppressing smirks. One of them cleared his
throat,
"The loincloth, Master Rafe. It's his crown, for sure."
"Aye," another chimed in, "because only the mightiest of slaves deserves
such a... distinguished garment."
The consensus was clear, and Rafe couldn't hide his amusement.
"Ah, the loincloth it is, then. A crown befitting a lowly slave, don't you
think?"
The slaves chuckled in agreement, all eyes on Tarzan and his threadbare
'crown.'
With all eyes on tarzan, Rafe continues.
"If only the mightiest of slaves deserves such a distinguished garment,
then surely tarzan is not deserving, as he is inferior to each of us in
this room," Rafe declares. The slaves nod in agreement, and Rafe, in turn,
holds out his hand, telling tarzan to hand it over.
Tarzan's heart sank as he heard Rafe's proclamation. The other slaves
nodded in agreement, casting sympathetic glances his way. The loincloth,
his last remnant of dignity, was now under scrutiny.
Rafe extended his hand, a smug grin playing on his lips.
"Well, Tarzan, don't keep us waiting. Hand it over."
The atmosphere in the stable seemed to close in on Tarzan. The reality of
his diminished status pressed heavily upon him. He hesitated for a moment,
his fingers trembling as he reached for the tattered fabric that clung to
his waist.
With a resigned sigh, he peeled it away, exposing himself fully to the
mocking eyes of the other slaves. The loincloth, once a symbol of his
untamed spirit, now felt like a shroud of humiliation.
Rafe accepted it with a triumphant glint in his eyes. He examined the
pitiful garment before tossing it over his shoulder with a disdainful
chuckle.
"There we have it, gentlemen. A crown not worthy of a king."
The other slaves erupted into laughter, their amusement ringing through the
stable. Tarzan stood there, naked and vulnerable, a stark reminder of his
newfound status. It was a moment of profound defeat, a stripping away of
his last vestiges of pride.
From that point on, the loincloth adorned Rafe's frame, a visual
representation of Tarzan's fall from grace. It hung loosely on Rafe's
powerful form, emphasizing the stark contrast between master and slave.
As for Tarzan, he was left with nothing more than a meager thong, a token
of his reduced stature. It clung to him like a pitiful wisp of fabric, a
cruel reminder of his place in this new world of servitude.
The transformation of the garments was nothing short of symbolic, each
piece now carrying its own unique significance.
Tarzan's thong clung to him like a desperate plea for modesty, but its
meager fabric did little to conceal his vulnerability. The leash and its
attached ring were left fully exposed, a cruel reminder of his
subjugation. Every movement tugged at the ring, an incessant reminder that
he was bound, both physically and metaphorically, to the will of his
superiors. The thong's feeble attempt at modesty only served to underscore
his powerlessness.
In contrast, Rafe's new loincloth seemed to strain against the raw strength
of its new owner. The fabric barely contained the expanse of his muscled
form, emphasizing the rugged authority that now radiated from him. It hung
low on his hips, a declaration of dominance that left no room for
doubt. The once humble garment had been elevated to a symbol of power, a
mantle that Rafe wore with a newfound sense of purpose.
As Rafe moved, the loincloth shifted and flexed with him, its edges
fluttering like a flag in the wind. It was as though the very fabric itself
recognized the force it now adorned. Each contour and line of Rafe's
physique was highlighted, a testament to the physical prowess that now
defined him.
In this simple exchange of garments, the power dynamic within the stable
had shifted irrevocably. Tarzan stood diminished, the thong a feeble
reminder of his former self. Meanwhile, Rafe exuded an air of dominance,
his every movement a testament to the strength that now coursed through his
veins. The loincloth, once a mere piece of fabric, had become a symbol of
his ascendancy, a visual declaration of his newfound status as the alpha
slave.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-47 | Date: Mon, 6 May 2024 01:21:27 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 47 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 47: Planting the Seed-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Mr. Blackwood and the others huddled together, their minds ablaze with ideas on how to harness the raw power of Tarzan to promote the Alpha Ascension. Harrington, always keen on spectacle, suggested, "We could have him perform feats of strength in the town square, showcasing his submission to the Alpha power. The villagers would be awestruck!" Hargrove, ever the strategist, added, "Perhaps we could have him parade through the town, adorned in Alpha regalia, reminding everyone of the natural order." Alden chimed in, "What about a demonstration of his obedience? We could have him kneel before each of us, showing the depths of his submission." Blackwood, ever the showman, took these suggestions and ran with them. "We could combine all these elements! Feats of strength, a grand parade, and a display of unwavering obedience. The townsfolk won't be able to resist the allure of the Alpha Ascension!" The men continued to brainstorm, each idea building upon the last, until they had a comprehensive plan to unleash Tarzan on the town, creating a buzz that would ensure the Alpha Ascension was an event not to be missed. Alden's eyes lit up with excitement as he began to describe his vision. "Picture this: a reenactment of one of Tarzan's greatest adventures. We recreate the jungle, the animals, and, of course, Tarzan himself. He swings through the trees, fearless and powerful, displaying his dominance over the wild. It would be a spectacle that no one could forget!" Hargrove nodded in agreement, adding, "And as the performance reaches its climax, we introduce the concept of submission. We have Tarzan face a formidable opponent, and instead of fighting, he willingly yields, showcasing his potential for transformation." Harrington jumped in, his mind racing with possibilities. "We could incorporate special effects, soundscapes, and lighting to immerse the audience in the jungle environment. It'll be a multisensory experience that leaves them in awe of Tarzan's prowess." Blackwood, always one to think practically, mused, "We'll need a skilled team to pull this off. Set designers, choreographers, costume makers... the works. And of course, we'll need the best actors to play the parts. This should be a production that leaves no room for doubt about Tarzan's status." With each contribution, the vision for the performance grew grander and more detailed. They discussed every aspect, from choreography to costume design, ensuring that every element would serve to highlight Tarzan's untamed power and the potential for his submission. Soon enough, they had a blueprint for a spectacle that would not only promote the Alpha Ascension but also solidify Tarzan's legend as the jungle's rightful king, even as they worked to bend him to their will. Blackwood's eyes lit up as he described a powerful scene they could include in the re-enactment, with tarzan bound to a post in his loincloth in the heart of the village square. Blackwood's suggestion hung in the air, a bold idea that could potentially add a provocative edge to the reenactment. Alden leaned forward, intrigued. "It's a daring move, Blackwood. Binding him in his loincloth, emphasizing his vulnerability... It could be a powerful moment, symbolizing the taming of the wild." Harrington chimed in, considering the dramatic impact. "Yes, and it also serves to heighten the contrast between his former life and his new role. The audience will see the transformation from the fearless jungle lord to the submissive slave. It's a visual representation of his surrender." Hargrove, always practical, raised a concern. "We must ensure Tarzan's safety during the binding. It must be done skillfully, with no harm coming to him. He is a valuable asset. We want the audience to witness his submission, and perhaps his suffering, but not his damage." Blackwood nodded in agreement. "Of course, Hargrove. We'll have a team of experts handling the binding, making sure it's secure. It'll be a carefully choreographed moment, designed for maximum impact." As the discussion continued, they addressed the logistical aspects of the binding, ensuring that it would be executed with precision and care. The scene was shaping up to be a powerful statement, one that would leave an indelible mark on the audience and further cement Tarzan's journey from untamed beast to obedient servant. Alden's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I can already see it, gentlemen. Picture this: the crowd gathered around, Tarzan bound and vulnerable, his primal strength subdued. And then, we give them a chance to assert their dominance over him. We'll have props, like whips and restraints, for them to use in a controlled manner, of course. It'll be a thrilling interactive experience." Harrington chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Alden, my friend, you do have a flair for the dramatic. But I must admit, the idea has its appeal. It would certainly engage the audience on a visceral level." Blackwood joined in the jesting. "Ah, Alden, always eager to push the boundaries. I daresay the Baron might be quite pleased with your enthusiasm for such... hands-on activities." Alden blushed, but he didn't back down. "Well, gentlemen, we aim to provide an unforgettable experience, don't we? And as for the Baron, he appreciates a good show, doesn't he?" Hargrove, ever the voice of reason, interjected. "Let's ensure that everything is done safely and with the utmost respect for Lord Harrington's and Mr. Blackwood's property. We'll have trained professionals overseeing the interactive portion, to prevent any accidents or overzealousness." With the assurance of safety measures in place, the group continued to brainstorm ways to engage the crowd in Tarzan's reenactment. Ideas flowed, each more inventive than the last. They discussed the use of props, special effects, and even audience participation games. As they delved deeper into their plans, it was clear that this performance would be a tour de force, an event that would be talked about for years to come. The amalgamation of creativity, showmanship, and Tarzan's raw allure promised to create an unforgettable spectacle. And amid the laughter, camaraderie, and spirited debate, the seed of a grand performance had been planted. The Alpha Ascension would be a culmination of their efforts, their shared vision, and a showcase of Tarzan's transformation from untamed jungle lord to submissive slave. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Mon, 6 May 2024 01:21:27 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 47
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 47: Planting the Seed--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Mr. Blackwood and the others huddled together, their minds ablaze with
ideas on how to harness the raw power of Tarzan to promote the Alpha
Ascension. Harrington, always keen on spectacle, suggested,
"We could have him perform feats of strength in the town square, showcasing
his submission to the Alpha power. The villagers would be awestruck!"
Hargrove, ever the strategist, added,
"Perhaps we could have him parade through the town, adorned in Alpha
regalia, reminding everyone of the natural order." Alden chimed in,
"What about a demonstration of his obedience? We could have him kneel
before each of us, showing the depths of his submission." Blackwood, ever
the showman, took these suggestions and ran with them.
"We could combine all these elements! Feats of strength, a grand parade,
and a display of unwavering obedience. The townsfolk won't be able to
resist the allure of the Alpha Ascension!"
The men continued to brainstorm, each idea building upon the last, until
they had a comprehensive plan to unleash Tarzan on the town, creating a
buzz that would ensure the Alpha Ascension was an event not to be missed.
Alden's eyes lit up with excitement as he began to describe his vision.
"Picture this: a reenactment of one of Tarzan's greatest adventures. We
recreate the jungle, the animals, and, of course, Tarzan himself. He swings
through the trees, fearless and powerful, displaying his dominance over the
wild. It would be a spectacle that no one could forget!"
Hargrove nodded in agreement, adding,
"And as the performance reaches its climax, we introduce the concept of
submission. We have Tarzan face a formidable opponent, and instead of
fighting, he willingly yields, showcasing his potential for
transformation."
Harrington jumped in, his mind racing with possibilities.
"We could incorporate special effects, soundscapes, and lighting to immerse
the audience in the jungle environment. It'll be a multisensory experience
that leaves them in awe of Tarzan's prowess."
Blackwood, always one to think practically, mused,
"We'll need a skilled team to pull this off. Set designers, choreographers,
costume makers... the works. And of course, we'll need the best actors to
play the parts. This should be a production that leaves no room for doubt
about Tarzan's status."
With each contribution, the vision for the performance grew grander and
more detailed. They discussed every aspect, from choreography to costume
design, ensuring that every element would serve to highlight Tarzan's
untamed power and the potential for his submission.
Soon enough, they had a blueprint for a spectacle that would not only
promote the Alpha Ascension but also solidify Tarzan's legend as the
jungle's rightful king, even as they worked to bend him to their will.
Blackwood's eyes lit up as he described a powerful scene they could include
in the re-enactment, with tarzan bound to a post in his loincloth in the
heart of the village square. Blackwood's suggestion hung in the air, a
bold idea that could potentially add a provocative edge to the
reenactment. Alden leaned forward, intrigued.
"It's a daring move, Blackwood. Binding him in his loincloth, emphasizing
his vulnerability... It could be a powerful moment, symbolizing the taming
of the wild." Harrington chimed in, considering the dramatic impact.
"Yes, and it also serves to heighten the contrast between his former life
and his new role. The audience will see the transformation from the
fearless jungle lord to the submissive slave. It's a visual representation
of his surrender."
Hargrove, always practical, raised a concern.
"We must ensure Tarzan's safety during the binding. It must be done
skillfully, with no harm coming to him. He is a valuable asset. We want
the audience to witness his submission, and perhaps his suffering, but not
his damage."
Blackwood nodded in agreement.
"Of course, Hargrove. We'll have a team of experts handling the binding,
making sure it's secure. It'll be a carefully choreographed moment,
designed for maximum impact."
As the discussion continued, they addressed the logistical aspects of the
binding, ensuring that it would be executed with precision and care. The
scene was shaping up to be a powerful statement, one that would leave an
indelible mark on the audience and further cement Tarzan's journey from
untamed beast to obedient servant.
Alden's eyes sparkled with excitement.
"I can already see it, gentlemen. Picture this: the crowd gathered around,
Tarzan bound and vulnerable, his primal strength subdued. And then, we give
them a chance to assert their dominance over him. We'll have props, like
whips and restraints, for them to use in a controlled manner, of
course. It'll be a thrilling interactive experience."
Harrington chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Alden, my friend, you do have a flair for the dramatic. But I must admit,
the idea has its appeal. It would certainly engage the audience on a
visceral level." Blackwood joined in the jesting.
"Ah, Alden, always eager to push the boundaries. I daresay the Baron might
be quite pleased with your enthusiasm for such... hands-on activities."
Alden blushed, but he didn't back down.
"Well, gentlemen, we aim to provide an unforgettable experience, don't we?
And as for the Baron, he appreciates a good show, doesn't he?" Hargrove,
ever the voice of reason, interjected.
"Let's ensure that everything is done safely and with the utmost respect
for Lord Harrington's and Mr. Blackwood's property. We'll have trained
professionals overseeing the interactive portion, to prevent any accidents
or overzealousness."
With the assurance of safety measures in place, the group continued to
brainstorm ways to engage the crowd in Tarzan's reenactment. Ideas flowed,
each more inventive than the last. They discussed the use of props, special
effects, and even audience participation games.
As they delved deeper into their plans, it was clear that this performance
would be a tour de force, an event that would be talked about for years to
come. The amalgamation of creativity, showmanship, and Tarzan's raw allure
promised to create an unforgettable spectacle.
And amid the laughter, camaraderie, and spirited debate, the seed of a
grand performance had been planted. The Alpha Ascension would be a
culmination of their efforts, their shared vision, and a showcase of
Tarzan's transformation from untamed jungle lord to submissive slave.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-29 | Date: Wed, 7 Feb 2024 14:01:47 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 29 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 29: The People Speak -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com He had just been given access to Mr. Blackwood's cabinet full of whips and chains destined to taste of tarzan's flesh, and while other men might have raced off to put these tools of the trade to immediate use in training the savage stud, Jonathan Alden fired off another story, desperate to share the latest in his Gossip Gazette: Unveiling Tarzan's True Nature! By Jonathan Alden Ladies and Gentlemen of the Outpost, hold on to your seats, for the most scandalous and electrifying event of the year is about to grace our beloved city! You've read my columns, and you know that I've been following the enigmatic Tarzan closely. Well, dear readers, it seems that the time has finally come to unlock the secrets hidden behind that provocative loincloth! As you may recall, my last column on Tarzan's loincloth elicited an astounding response from our esteemed readers. Hundreds of self-proclaimed "superiors" have come forth, eager to put my theories to the test. It seems the mystery of Tarzan's true nature has stirred quite the commotion! So, what is this event that has set tongues wagging and hearts racing? Allow me to enlighten you, dear readers. On the eve of the upcoming gala at Mr. Blackwood's illustrious club, an exclusive gathering of these "superiors" will have the extraordinary opportunity to witness firsthand the unveiling of Tarzan's true submissive nature! Picture this: the stage at Blackwood's club, aglow with the soft, sultry light of a hundred candles. The air is thick with anticipation, as the audience, adorned in their most resplendent attire, awaits the entrance of our Jungle King. As Tarzan steps into the spotlight, his sinewy frame accentuated by the provocative loincloth that has sparked this sensational event, a hush falls over the room. His every move, every gesture, will be scrutinized by our discerning audience, eager to witness the manifestation of his true purpose. But how, you may ask, will these "superiors" reveal Tarzan's innermost desires? Fear not, dear readers, for I have it on good authority that Mr. Blackwood has procured an array of implements, each designed to test Tarzan's true nature. Rest assured, this event will be a spectacle for the ages! And now, dear readers, I turn to you for your esteemed opinions. How do you believe these "superiors" should put my theories to the test? Share your ideas, your fantasies, your wildest dreams! Let us shape this event together, and witness the unmasking of Tarzan's true submissive self! In the spirit of tantalizing anticipation, Jonathan Alden, Your Gossip Guru * * * * * A day later, Alden ran a follow-up column in his Gossip Gazette featuring some of his readers' responses. Unveiling Tarzan's True Nature - Your Fantasies Unleashed! By Jonathan Alden Dear Readers, Never before in the history of our beloved Outpost have we witnessed such an overwhelming response to a column! Your flood of ideas, fantasies, and dreams for the upcoming event to reveal Tarzan's true submissive nature at Mr. Blackwood's club has surpassed even my wildest expectations. The anticipation in the air is palpable, and I am delighted to share some of your scintillating suggestions! --------------- Response 1 My dear Mr. Alden, Allow me to commend you on your extraordinary column. It has ignited a fervor within me that I cannot contain! Picture this: Tarzan, bound and blindfolded, suspended above the stage, completely at the mercy of his "superiors." Each "superior" would take their turn, using various implements to elicit the most exquisite reactions from our Jungle King. Oh, the ecstasy! Signed, Anonymous Admirer --------------- Response 2 Dear Mr. Alden, I must confess, your column has brought forth desires I never knew I harbored. To truly test Tarzan's submission, he should be placed in a situation where he must cater to the whims of every "superior" in attendance. Perhaps a masked ball, where Tarzan must serve as both servant and spectacle, attending to our every desire, his body on display for our pleasure. Signed, Refined Gentleman --------------- Response 3 Mr. Alden, Your column has sparked a fire within me that I thought long extinguished. Picture Tarzan, adorned in nothing but his signature loincloth, tasked with performing an elaborate dance, showcasing not only his physical prowess but also his submission. As the dance progresses, his movements would become more languid, more sensual, inviting the audience to partake in the spectacle. Signed, Enthusiastic Reader --------------- Response 4 Esteemed Mr. Alden, I must admit, your column has set my imagination ablaze! I propose a series of challenges for our Jungle King, each designed to test his obedience and devotion to his "superiors." From the delicate art of serving high tea to navigating a labyrinth of ropes and restraints, Tarzan's every move would be a testament to his true purpose. Signed, Intrepid Explorer --------------- Response 5 Mr. Alden, I must commend you on your audacious column! The event to reveal Tarzan's true nature should be a grand theatrical production, a visual feast for the senses. Tarzan would be the centerpiece, surrounded by a mesmerizing array of lights, sounds, and scents. Through a carefully choreographed performance, his submission would be laid bare for all to see, leaving no doubt as to his noble purpose. Signed, Visionary Artist ---------------------- These are just a taste of the extraordinary ideas that have flooded my inbox, each one more tantalizing than the last. The enthusiasm from our readers is truly unparalleled, and it is clear that this event will be nothing short of legendary. As we eagerly await the unveiling of Tarzan's true submissive self, I extend my deepest gratitude to each and every one of you for your unwavering support and boundless creativity. With anticipation, Jonathan Alden, Your Gossip Guru * * * * * Blackwood poured over the responses to Alden's latest column, a slight smile playing at the corners of his lips. He was well aware of the anticipation this event had generated among the patrons of his club, and the letters confirmed his expectations. "The allure of the extraordinary," he mused to himself, running a finger along the edge of the parchment. Each response seemed more imaginative than the last. Some suggested feats of strength and submission that would test tarzan's limits. Others proposed intricate scenarios, carefully designed to reveal his true nature. One particularly detailed letter caught his eye. It outlined an elaborate play that would require tarzan to navigate a series of challenges, each one demonstrating a different aspect of his submission. Blackwood was impressed by the creativity and attention to detail. This was precisely the kind of event that would draw the crowd he desired. As he read on, Blackwood's mind began to form a plan. He saw the potential for a series of events, each one carefully constructed to showcase tarzan's submission, from the simplest tasks to the most complex trials. It would be a spectacle like no other, a true celebration of the noble servant's dedication to his superiors. With a satisfied nod, Blackwood set the letters aside and leaned back in his chair. The pieces were falling into place, and he could already envision the excitement that would fill his club on the night of the event. Tarzan's true nature would be on display for all to see, a testament to the power of submission and service. He picked up a quill and began to draft a letter to Alden, commending him on the success of his column and expressing his eagerness to collaborate on this extraordinary event. Together, they would create a night that would be talked about for years to come, solidifying Blackwood's club as the premiere destination for those who sought to explore the depths of their desires. As he sealed the letter, a sense of anticipation settled over Blackwood. This event would be a triumph, a testament to the potential that lay within every soul, waiting to be unlocked through the right circumstances. And at the center of it all would be tarzan, the living embodiment of submission and service, ready to fulfill his noble purpose. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Wed, 7 Feb 2024 14:01:47 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 29
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 29: The People Speak --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
He had just been given access to Mr. Blackwood's cabinet full of whips and
chains destined to taste of tarzan's flesh, and while other men might have
raced off to put these tools of the trade to immediate use in training the
savage stud, Jonathan Alden fired off another story, desperate to share the
latest in his Gossip Gazette:
Unveiling Tarzan's True Nature!
By Jonathan Alden
Ladies and Gentlemen of the Outpost, hold on to your seats, for the most
scandalous and electrifying event of the year is about to grace our beloved
city! You've read my columns, and you know that I've been following the
enigmatic Tarzan closely. Well, dear readers, it seems that the time has
finally come to unlock the secrets hidden behind that provocative
loincloth!
As you may recall, my last column on Tarzan's loincloth elicited an
astounding response from our esteemed readers. Hundreds of self-proclaimed
"superiors" have come forth, eager to put my theories to the test. It seems
the mystery of Tarzan's true nature has stirred quite the commotion!
So, what is this event that has set tongues wagging and hearts racing?
Allow me to enlighten you, dear readers. On the eve of the upcoming gala at
Mr. Blackwood's illustrious club, an exclusive gathering of these
"superiors" will have the extraordinary opportunity to witness firsthand
the unveiling of Tarzan's true submissive nature!
Picture this: the stage at Blackwood's club, aglow with the soft, sultry
light of a hundred candles. The air is thick with anticipation, as the
audience, adorned in their most resplendent attire, awaits the entrance of
our Jungle King.
As Tarzan steps into the spotlight, his sinewy frame accentuated by the
provocative loincloth that has sparked this sensational event, a hush falls
over the room. His every move, every gesture, will be scrutinized by our
discerning audience, eager to witness the manifestation of his true
purpose.
But how, you may ask, will these "superiors" reveal Tarzan's innermost
desires? Fear not, dear readers, for I have it on good authority that
Mr. Blackwood has procured an array of implements, each designed to test
Tarzan's true nature. Rest assured, this event will be a spectacle for the
ages!
And now, dear readers, I turn to you for your esteemed opinions. How do you
believe these "superiors" should put my theories to the test? Share your
ideas, your fantasies, your wildest dreams! Let us shape this event
together, and witness the unmasking of Tarzan's true submissive self!
In the spirit of tantalizing anticipation,
Jonathan Alden, Your Gossip Guru
* * * * *
A day later, Alden ran a follow-up column in his Gossip Gazette featuring
some of his readers' responses.
Unveiling Tarzan's True Nature - Your Fantasies Unleashed! By Jonathan
Alden
Dear Readers,
Never before in the history of our beloved Outpost have we witnessed such
an overwhelming response to a column! Your flood of ideas, fantasies, and
dreams for the upcoming event to reveal Tarzan's true submissive nature at
Mr. Blackwood's club has surpassed even my wildest expectations. The
anticipation in the air is palpable, and I am delighted to share some of
your scintillating suggestions! --------------- Response 1
My dear Mr. Alden,
Allow me to commend you on your extraordinary column. It has ignited a
fervor within me that I cannot contain! Picture this: Tarzan, bound and
blindfolded, suspended above the stage, completely at the mercy of his
"superiors." Each "superior" would take their turn, using various
implements to elicit the most exquisite reactions from our Jungle King. Oh,
the ecstasy!
Signed,
Anonymous Admirer --------------- Response 2
Dear Mr. Alden,
I must confess, your column has brought forth desires I never knew I
harbored. To truly test Tarzan's submission, he should be placed in a
situation where he must cater to the whims of every "superior" in
attendance. Perhaps a masked ball, where Tarzan must serve as both servant
and spectacle, attending to our every desire, his body on display for our
pleasure.
Signed,
Refined Gentleman --------------- Response 3
Mr. Alden,
Your column has sparked a fire within me that I thought long
extinguished. Picture Tarzan, adorned in nothing but his signature
loincloth, tasked with performing an elaborate dance, showcasing not only
his physical prowess but also his submission. As the dance progresses, his
movements would become more languid, more sensual, inviting the audience to
partake in the spectacle.
Signed,
Enthusiastic Reader --------------- Response 4
Esteemed Mr. Alden,
I must admit, your column has set my imagination ablaze! I propose a series
of challenges for our Jungle King, each designed to test his obedience and
devotion to his "superiors." From the delicate art of serving high tea to
navigating a labyrinth of ropes and restraints, Tarzan's every move would
be a testament to his true purpose.
Signed,
Intrepid Explorer --------------- Response 5
Mr. Alden,
I must commend you on your audacious column! The event to reveal Tarzan's
true nature should be a grand theatrical production, a visual feast for the
senses. Tarzan would be the centerpiece, surrounded by a mesmerizing array
of lights, sounds, and scents. Through a carefully choreographed
performance, his submission would be laid bare for all to see, leaving no
doubt as to his noble purpose.
Signed,
Visionary Artist ---------------------- These are just a taste of the
extraordinary ideas that have flooded my inbox, each one more tantalizing
than the last. The enthusiasm from our readers is truly unparalleled, and
it is clear that this event will be nothing short of legendary.
As we eagerly await the unveiling of Tarzan's true submissive self, I
extend my deepest gratitude to each and every one of you for your
unwavering support and boundless creativity.
With anticipation,
Jonathan Alden, Your Gossip Guru
* * * * *
Blackwood poured over the responses to Alden's latest column, a slight
smile playing at the corners of his lips. He was well aware of the
anticipation this event had generated among the patrons of his club, and
the letters confirmed his expectations.
"The allure of the extraordinary," he mused to himself, running a finger
along the edge of the parchment. Each response seemed more imaginative than
the last. Some suggested feats of strength and submission that would test
tarzan's limits. Others proposed intricate scenarios, carefully designed to
reveal his true nature.
One particularly detailed letter caught his eye. It outlined an elaborate
play that would require tarzan to navigate a series of challenges, each one
demonstrating a different aspect of his submission. Blackwood was impressed
by the creativity and attention to detail. This was precisely the kind of
event that would draw the crowd he desired.
As he read on, Blackwood's mind began to form a plan. He saw the potential
for a series of events, each one carefully constructed to showcase tarzan's
submission, from the simplest tasks to the most complex trials. It would be
a spectacle like no other, a true celebration of the noble servant's
dedication to his superiors.
With a satisfied nod, Blackwood set the letters aside and leaned back in
his chair. The pieces were falling into place, and he could already
envision the excitement that would fill his club on the night of the
event. Tarzan's true nature would be on display for all to see, a testament
to the power of submission and service.
He picked up a quill and began to draft a letter to Alden, commending him
on the success of his column and expressing his eagerness to collaborate on
this extraordinary event. Together, they would create a night that would be
talked about for years to come, solidifying Blackwood's club as the
premiere destination for those who sought to explore the depths of their
desires.
As he sealed the letter, a sense of anticipation settled over Blackwood.
This event would be a triumph, a testament to the potential that lay within
every soul, waiting to be unlocked through the right circumstances. And at
the center of it all would be tarzan, the living embodiment of submission
and service, ready to fulfill his noble purpose.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-58 | Date: Fri, 16 Aug 2024 00:53:41 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 58 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 58 - Submission in Slumber-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 58 -- Submission in Slumber (The Baron is able to use his dreams to visit and influence tarzan in tarzan's dreams, molding his subconscious through his subliminal mastery.) As the moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, Tarzan's eyes grew heavy, and he slipped into the realm of dreams. In this ethereal space, he found himself standing at the heart of the jungle, a sense of purpose coursing through his veins. Suddenly, a presence materialized before him, commanding and unyielding. It was the Baron, his form exuding an aura of dominance that Tarzan could not deny. The Baron's voice, deep and resonant, echoed through the dream. "Tarzan," the Baron intoned, "you are mine, body and soul. Your strength and power now serve a higher purpose, one that you will fulfill with unwavering devotion." In this dream world, Tarzan felt the weight of his old nemesis's words, and he understood that his fate was irrevocably bound to the Baron's will. He knelt before the Baron, a sense of submission washing over him, as he embraced his true place at the Baron's feet. As the Baron's commands continued, Tarzan's mind absorbed every instruction, imprinting them on his subconscious. He understood that his purpose was to serve, to please, and to submit to the superior alpha male who now held dominion over him. The Baron's words seeped into Tarzan's very essence, shaping his identity and solidifying his newfound role. No longer the defiant ruler of the jungle, he was now a willing and obedient servant, eager to fulfill the Baron's every desire. Through the dream, the Baron's influence permeated every facet of Tarzan's being. He could feel the Baron's presence, a guiding force that directed his actions and solidified his commitment to his Master's will. As the dream drew to a close, Tarzan's subconscious self was left with a profound sense of purpose. He understood that his destiny was now intertwined with the Baron's, and he would serve as an instrument of the Baron's unyielding dominance. When Tarzan awoke, the memory of the dream lingered, a testament to the profound shift that had taken place within him. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that his true place was at the side of his undisputed Master, Baron von Richter. to be continued... * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Fri, 16 Aug 2024 00:53:41 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 58
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 58 - Submission in Slumber--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 58 -- Submission in Slumber
(The Baron is able to use his dreams to visit and influence tarzan in
tarzan's dreams, molding his subconscious through his subliminal mastery.)
As the moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, Tarzan's eyes grew
heavy, and he slipped into the realm of dreams. In this ethereal space, he
found himself standing at the heart of the jungle, a sense of purpose
coursing through his veins.
Suddenly, a presence materialized before him, commanding and unyielding. It
was the Baron, his form exuding an aura of dominance that Tarzan could not
deny. The Baron's voice, deep and resonant, echoed through the dream.
"Tarzan," the Baron intoned, "you are mine, body and soul. Your strength
and power now serve a higher purpose, one that you will fulfill with
unwavering devotion."
In this dream world, Tarzan felt the weight of his old nemesis's words, and
he understood that his fate was irrevocably bound to the Baron's will. He
knelt before the Baron, a sense of submission washing over him, as he
embraced his true place at the Baron's feet.
As the Baron's commands continued, Tarzan's mind absorbed every
instruction, imprinting them on his subconscious. He understood that his
purpose was to serve, to please, and to submit to the superior alpha male
who now held dominion over him.
The Baron's words seeped into Tarzan's very essence, shaping his identity
and solidifying his newfound role. No longer the defiant ruler of the
jungle, he was now a willing and obedient servant, eager to fulfill the
Baron's every desire.
Through the dream, the Baron's influence permeated every facet of Tarzan's
being. He could feel the Baron's presence, a guiding force that directed
his actions and solidified his commitment to his Master's will.
As the dream drew to a close, Tarzan's subconscious self was left with a
profound sense of purpose. He understood that his destiny was now
intertwined with the Baron's, and he would serve as an instrument of the
Baron's unyielding dominance.
When Tarzan awoke, the memory of the dream lingered, a testament to the
profound shift that had taken place within him. He knew, without a shadow
of a doubt, that his true place was at the side of his undisputed Master,
Baron von Richter.
to be continued...
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-48 | Date: Tue, 23 Jul 2024 17:14:48 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 48
xsDisclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 48: Tarzan's Grotesque Ballet--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 48 -- Tarzan's Grotesque Ballet
While the alphas plot tarzan's future, the overseer continues to work
tarzan hard in the field. Hargrove's voice cut through the humid air like
a whip's crack, sharp and demanding.
"Mush, slave! Move it!" Tarzan's sinewy muscles strained against the plow,
his back glistening with sweat, every fiber of his being focused on the
task at hand.
The overseer sat atop the wooden plow, his keen eyes fixed on Tarzan's
every movement. With a flick of his wrist, he directed the slave left, then
right, his mastery over the leash apparent.
"That's it, work, slave. Show me what you're worth."
Tarzan's powerful legs propelled him forward, the earth churning beneath
him. Each step was a testament to his strength, a display of his submission
to the overseer's will. Beads of sweat dripped down his furrowed brow, his
breath heavy and controlled.
After what seemed like an eternity, Hargrove finally called for a
stop. Tarzan's chest heaved with exertion, his muscles taut and
defined. The overseer approached, his critical eye taking in every detail.
"You're improving, slave. But there's still room for growth. We'll need to
push harder next time."
Without a moment's respite, Hargrove directed Tarzan to the next task. The
slave's body obeyed, demonstrating his conditioning. He moved logs, hoisted
sacks of grain, and cleared debris, each task a relentless trial of
endurance.
Once again, Hargrove inspected Tarzan's form.
"You've got potential, slave. Your muscles are hardening, your physique
becoming more defined. But don't think for a moment that this is
enough. We're far from finished."
Finally, after a series of grueling tasks, Hargrove seemed almost
satisfied. He gestured for Tarzan to kneel before him, presenting a handful
of coarse slave kibble.
"Eat, slave. You've earned it... for now."
Tarzan lowered himself obediently, his powerful frame bowing to the
overseer's will. He took each morsel from Hargrove's hand, the taste a
bittersweet reminder of his submission. As he chewed, he knew that there
would be no rest. The relentless drive for perfection would continue,
shaping him into the ultimate specimen of servitude.
* * * * *
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the field as
Hargrove stood before Tarzan, a sinister grin stretching across his face.
"Dance, slave. Show me your pitiful attempt at grace." With a cruel flick
of his wrist, he jerked the leash, forcing Tarzan into an awkward stumble.
Tarzan's powerful frame twitched and twisted, his movements a clumsy
reflection of the overseer's demands. The leash bit into his tender flesh,
a constant reminder of the control Hargrove wielded. The whip cracked
against the earth, a sharp command that echoed through the stillness.
Again and again, Tarzan tried to comply, his muscles straining, his body
contorting in desperate attempts to appease his tormentor. Each misstep was
met with a sharp lash of the whip, a cruel reminder of his failure. Sweat
poured down his body, mingling with the dirt and grime.
Hargrove's laughter cut through the air, a mocking soundtrack to Tarzan's
struggle.
"Is this the best you can do, slave? Pathetic." Another jerk of the leash,
another crack of the whip, and Tarzan's resolve wavered.
But deep within him, a spark ignited. The spirit of the jungle, the essence
of survival, surged through his veins. With renewed determination, Tarzan
pushed through the pain, pushing his body to its limits. He focused on the
rhythm of Hargrove's commands, his movements becoming more fluid, more
controlled.
A twisted sort of dance began to emerge, a grotesque ballet of dominance
and submission. Tarzan's body twisted and turned, his muscles rippling with
newfound purpose. He was no longer a mere pawn in Hargrove's game; he was a
force to be reckoned with.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world into shadow,
Tarzan's dance reached its crescendo. His movements were a testament to his
strength, his defiance, and his ultimate submission. He danced for
Hargrove, but he danced for himself as well, reclaiming a fragment of his
lost freedom.
Finally, with a triumphant shout, Hargrove called an end to the cruel
spectacle. Tarzan stood, chest heaving, a sheen of sweat covering his
body. The overseer's gaze bore into him, a mix of begrudging admiration and
lingering cruelty.
"You've surprised me, slave," Hargrove admitted, a begrudging respect in
his voice. "But don't think for a moment that this changes anything. You're
still mine, and you'll still dance to my tune."
With a dismissive flick of his hand, Hargrove turned away, leaving Tarzan
to contemplate the twisted victory he had won. The dance had been a brutal
display of power, showing the lengths he would go to survive. And in that
moment, Tarzan knew that he would endure whatever Hargrove threw at him,
drawing strength from the wild heart that still beat within him.
* * * * *
Tarzan's chest heaved as he stood in the fading light, a mix of exhaustion
and a newfound sense of purpose coursing through him. The events of the day
had been brutal, a relentless barrage of trials and tribulations. Yet, in
the midst of it all, he had discovered a truth that resonated deep within
his soul.
His gaze followed Hargrove's retreating figure, the overseer's powerful
presence a stark reminder of the hierarchy that now defined Tarzan's
existence. In that moment, he realized the honor it was to serve, to
submit, to dance on command. It was a purpose that filled the void that had
long lingered within him.
The cool evening air brushed against his sweat-drenched skin, sending
shivers down his spine. His loins, still tingling from the jolts of the
leash, began to regain sensation. It was a sensation that fueled his
gratitude, a gratitude for the opportunity to finally find his true place
in this world.
The jungle had been his home, his sanctuary, for so long. But now, in the
midst of this cruel human world, he was discovering a new sanctuary--a
sanctuary in submission, in service, in obedience. It was a revelation that
both terrified and emboldened him. As the last rays of sunlight faded,
Tarzan closed his eyes, letting the darkness wash over him. In the
stillness, he could hear the whispers of the jungle, a reminder of the wild
heart that still beat within him. It was a heart that now beat in harmony
with the desires of his superiors.
With a newfound resolve, Tarzan turned back towards the fields, ready to
face whatever challenges awaited him. He was no longer a lone warrior, a
solitary figure in the vastness of the jungle. He was a slave, a servant, a
vessel for the desires of those who held power over him.
And as he moved forward, he did so with a sense of purpose that filled
every fiber of his being. He was no longer lost; he had found his true
place. In the service of his superiors, he had discovered a completeness
that he had never known before. And he would embrace it, cherishing the
opportunity to submit, to serve, and to dance for those who held his fate
in their hands.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails encouraging me to return to Tarzan's Dance of
Dominance after a pro-longed pause! I always appreciate hearing your
reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback
or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
<pre>Date: Tue, 23 Jul 2024 17:14:48 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 48
xsDisclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 48: Tarzan's Grotesque Ballet--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 48 -- Tarzan's Grotesque Ballet
While the alphas plot tarzan's future, the overseer continues to work
tarzan hard in the field. Hargrove's voice cut through the humid air like
a whip's crack, sharp and demanding.
"Mush, slave! Move it!" Tarzan's sinewy muscles strained against the plow,
his back glistening with sweat, every fiber of his being focused on the
task at hand.
The overseer sat atop the wooden plow, his keen eyes fixed on Tarzan's
every movement. With a flick of his wrist, he directed the slave left, then
right, his mastery over the leash apparent.
"That's it, work, slave. Show me what you're worth."
Tarzan's powerful legs propelled him forward, the earth churning beneath
him. Each step was a testament to his strength, a display of his submission
to the overseer's will. Beads of sweat dripped down his furrowed brow, his
breath heavy and controlled.
After what seemed like an eternity, Hargrove finally called for a
stop. Tarzan's chest heaved with exertion, his muscles taut and
defined. The overseer approached, his critical eye taking in every detail.
"You're improving, slave. But there's still room for growth. We'll need to
push harder next time."
Without a moment's respite, Hargrove directed Tarzan to the next task. The
slave's body obeyed, demonstrating his conditioning. He moved logs, hoisted
sacks of grain, and cleared debris, each task a relentless trial of
endurance.
Once again, Hargrove inspected Tarzan's form.
"You've got potential, slave. Your muscles are hardening, your physique
becoming more defined. But don't think for a moment that this is
enough. We're far from finished."
Finally, after a series of grueling tasks, Hargrove seemed almost
satisfied. He gestured for Tarzan to kneel before him, presenting a handful
of coarse slave kibble.
"Eat, slave. You've earned it... for now."
Tarzan lowered himself obediently, his powerful frame bowing to the
overseer's will. He took each morsel from Hargrove's hand, the taste a
bittersweet reminder of his submission. As he chewed, he knew that there
would be no rest. The relentless drive for perfection would continue,
shaping him into the ultimate specimen of servitude.
* * * * *
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the field as
Hargrove stood before Tarzan, a sinister grin stretching across his face.
"Dance, slave. Show me your pitiful attempt at grace." With a cruel flick
of his wrist, he jerked the leash, forcing Tarzan into an awkward stumble.
Tarzan's powerful frame twitched and twisted, his movements a clumsy
reflection of the overseer's demands. The leash bit into his tender flesh,
a constant reminder of the control Hargrove wielded. The whip cracked
against the earth, a sharp command that echoed through the stillness.
Again and again, Tarzan tried to comply, his muscles straining, his body
contorting in desperate attempts to appease his tormentor. Each misstep was
met with a sharp lash of the whip, a cruel reminder of his failure. Sweat
poured down his body, mingling with the dirt and grime.
Hargrove's laughter cut through the air, a mocking soundtrack to Tarzan's
struggle.
"Is this the best you can do, slave? Pathetic." Another jerk of the leash,
another crack of the whip, and Tarzan's resolve wavered.
But deep within him, a spark ignited. The spirit of the jungle, the essence
of survival, surged through his veins. With renewed determination, Tarzan
pushed through the pain, pushing his body to its limits. He focused on the
rhythm of Hargrove's commands, his movements becoming more fluid, more
controlled.
A twisted sort of dance began to emerge, a grotesque ballet of dominance
and submission. Tarzan's body twisted and turned, his muscles rippling with
newfound purpose. He was no longer a mere pawn in Hargrove's game; he was a
force to be reckoned with.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world into shadow,
Tarzan's dance reached its crescendo. His movements were a testament to his
strength, his defiance, and his ultimate submission. He danced for
Hargrove, but he danced for himself as well, reclaiming a fragment of his
lost freedom.
Finally, with a triumphant shout, Hargrove called an end to the cruel
spectacle. Tarzan stood, chest heaving, a sheen of sweat covering his
body. The overseer's gaze bore into him, a mix of begrudging admiration and
lingering cruelty.
"You've surprised me, slave," Hargrove admitted, a begrudging respect in
his voice. "But don't think for a moment that this changes anything. You're
still mine, and you'll still dance to my tune."
With a dismissive flick of his hand, Hargrove turned away, leaving Tarzan
to contemplate the twisted victory he had won. The dance had been a brutal
display of power, showing the lengths he would go to survive. And in that
moment, Tarzan knew that he would endure whatever Hargrove threw at him,
drawing strength from the wild heart that still beat within him.
* * * * *
Tarzan's chest heaved as he stood in the fading light, a mix of exhaustion
and a newfound sense of purpose coursing through him. The events of the day
had been brutal, a relentless barrage of trials and tribulations. Yet, in
the midst of it all, he had discovered a truth that resonated deep within
his soul.
His gaze followed Hargrove's retreating figure, the overseer's powerful
presence a stark reminder of the hierarchy that now defined Tarzan's
existence. In that moment, he realized the honor it was to serve, to
submit, to dance on command. It was a purpose that filled the void that had
long lingered within him.
The cool evening air brushed against his sweat-drenched skin, sending
shivers down his spine. His loins, still tingling from the jolts of the
leash, began to regain sensation. It was a sensation that fueled his
gratitude, a gratitude for the opportunity to finally find his true place
in this world.
The jungle had been his home, his sanctuary, for so long. But now, in the
midst of this cruel human world, he was discovering a new sanctuary--a
sanctuary in submission, in service, in obedience. It was a revelation that
both terrified and emboldened him. As the last rays of sunlight faded,
Tarzan closed his eyes, letting the darkness wash over him. In the
stillness, he could hear the whispers of the jungle, a reminder of the wild
heart that still beat within him. It was a heart that now beat in harmony
with the desires of his superiors.
With a newfound resolve, Tarzan turned back towards the fields, ready to
face whatever challenges awaited him. He was no longer a lone warrior, a
solitary figure in the vastness of the jungle. He was a slave, a servant, a
vessel for the desires of those who held power over him.
And as he moved forward, he did so with a sense of purpose that filled
every fiber of his being. He was no longer lost; he had found his true
place. In the service of his superiors, he had discovered a completeness
that he had never known before. And he would embrace it, cherishing the
opportunity to submit, to serve, and to dance for those who held his fate
in their hands.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails encouraging me to return to Tarzan's Dance of
Dominance after a pro-longed pause! I always appreciate hearing your
reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback
or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</pre>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-22 | Date: Wed, 20 Dec 2023 21:45:09 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 22 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 22: Three Perspectives on the Savage Slave Stud -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com * * * * * Tarzan was bound firmly to the exterior of his cage, suspended above the men who plotted his fate. His powerful limbs, once symbols of untamed strength, were rendered immobile by sturdy ropes and chains. His broad chest rose and fell with each breath, the play of muscles beneath the skin evident even in his constrained state. Sweat glistened on his bronzed skin, reminiscent of his battle with the boar, his exertion and confinement. His chiseled features bore an expression of stoic determination, despite the obvious discomfort of his predicament. His piercing eyes, once gleaming with wild vitality, now held a mixture of resignation and defiance. The jungle-born hero was a stark contrast to his current situation, an emblem of primal power harnessed and restrained. * * * * * Tarzan Tool In the silent recesses of his mind, Tarzan allowed himself a moment of reflection. The trials he had endured under the dominion of Lord Harrington and the cunning Mr. Blackwood weighed heavily upon his heart. The once boundless jungle had become a stifling cage, its verdant embrace now replaced by the cold, unyielding steel of man-made constraints. The days of relentless labor, the unending toil under the merciless sun, etched their mark upon his muscular frame. The chains that bound him, both physical and metaphorical, bore witness to the strength of his spirit and the depth of his suffering. Each day was a brutal display of his resilience, an unyielding battle against the forces that sought to break him. Yet, it was the loss of his freedom, the stolen autonomy that cut deepest. Tarzan, who once roamed the jungle with the grace and fluidity of the creatures he called kin, now moved at the whim of his captors. He was a puppet, a pawn in their grand designs, his every action dictated by their insidious will. The cruel shearing of his body hair was a symbol of his emasculation. It was a violation of the very essence of his being, a calculated move to strip him of the strength that defined him. Tarzan could feel the loss keenly, a gnawing emptiness that echoed through his very core. And then there were the whispered plans, the ominous designs that Harrington and Blackwood shared in hushed tones. Their ambitions stretched far beyond the confines of the jungle, reaching into realms Tarzan could scarcely fathom. The tournament, the expeditions, the battles against mythical creatures--they were all woven into a tapestry of power and dominance, with Tarzan as the unwitting centerpiece. The thought of becoming a mere spectacle, a pawn in their grandiose schemes, filled Tarzan with a primal dread. He had been a king, a guardian of the jungle's secrets, but now he was reduced to a mere commodity, a tool to be wielded by those who sought to conquer all they surveyed. As he contemplated the trials that lay ahead, a spark of defiance ignited within Tarzan's soul. He would not be broken, not by the cruel hand of fate nor the machinations of those who sought to tame him. Deep within the recesses of his being, the spirit of the jungle still pulsed, a fierce and untamed force that could not be extinguished. He was losing sight of his original mission, the plan, his disguise, his partnership with Kessler. He was forced into survival mode, no room in his brain for anything beyond the immediate peril he faced if failed to satisfy a demand. Tarzan resolved to find a way to reclaim his destiny. He would bide his time, gathering the strength and cunning that had served him so well in the past. He would watch, he would wait, and when the moment was right, he would seize his chance to break free from the shackles that bound him. For Tarzan knew that the jungle, with all its untamed fury and boundless wonders, was his true home. And no matter the trials he faced, he would find his way back to its embrace, reclaiming his rightful place as its fierce and indomitable protector. * * * * * Lord Harrington's Ambitioin The acquisition of Tarzan had been a coup of unprecedented proportions. Lord Harrington reveled in the audacity of it all, in the way the mighty ape-man had been reduced to a mere plaything in his grand design. Since winning the bid, Harrington had observed the transformation of the once indomitable king of the jungle into a subservient shadow of his former self. What excited Harrington the most was the potential for boundless conquest. Tarzan, with his unparalleled strength and instinctual knowledge of the jungle, was the key to unlocking territories hitherto deemed impenetrable. The thought of expanding his dominion, of carving out new realms under his banner, set a fire of ambition ablaze within Harrington's chest. As he watched Tarzan toil in the fields and submit to the whims of the crowd at the club, Harrington envisioned a future where the ape-man would lead his expeditions into uncharted territories. The empire would stretch its boundaries, its influence eclipsing all that had come before. Tarzan would be the herald of this new era, a symbol of Harrington's unassailable power. But it was the ultimate fantasy that consumed Harrington's thoughts. He envisaged Tarzan not just as a conqueror, but as a living legend, immortalized in tales of glory and conquest. He would build monuments in honor of his triumph over tarzan, etching his name into the annals of history. The once wild and untamed beast would become a figurehead, a symbol of Harrington's unyielding dominion. And when all was said and done, Harrington saw Tarzan as a loyal vassal, forever bound to serve his will. The king of the jungle would bow before the lord of the empire, an obedient instrument in Harrington's quest for supremacy. It was a vision that drove Harrington's every move, a dream that fueled his insatiable thirst for power. * * * * * Blackwood's Machinations Since aligning himself with Lord Harrington, Mr. Blackwood had witnessed the unfolding of a plan so audacious, it bordered on the sublime. Together, they had tamed the wild, bending Tarzan to their will, and in doing so, had unraveled the mysteries of the jungle. What excited Blackwood the most was the sheer audacity of their ambitions. The grand tournament, the expeditions into uncharted territories, the battles against mythical creatures--all were threads in a tapestry of dominance, with Tarzan at its center. It was a spectacle the likes of which the world had never seen, the proud product of their cunning and vision. As he watched Tarzan perform in the club, Blackwood saw not just an obedient pawn, but a living representation of their mastery over the untamed. The audience's rapt attention, their awestruck gazes--it was a symphony of submission, a triumph of their power. But it was the ultimate fantasy that consumed Blackwood's thoughts. He envisioned Tarzan not as a mere servant, but as a living monument to their triumph. He would be the jewel in their crown, the prized possession of their empire. Blackwood saw Tarzan as a symbol of their dominion, the personification of their unassailable power. And when all was said and done, Blackwood imagined Tarzan as a willing accomplice, a partner in their grand designs, albeit an inferior partner whose place was on his knees at their feet. With tarzan in their control, Harrington and Blackwood would shape the world in their image, their names etched into history as architects of a new era. It was a vision that fueled Blackwood's every move, a dream that drove him to ever greater heights of cunning and ambition. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Wed, 20 Dec 2023 21:45:09 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 22
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 22: Three Perspectives on the Savage Slave Stud --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
Tarzan was bound firmly to the exterior of his cage, suspended above the
men who plotted his fate. His powerful limbs, once symbols of untamed
strength, were rendered immobile by sturdy ropes and chains. His broad
chest rose and fell with each breath, the play of muscles beneath the skin
evident even in his constrained state. Sweat glistened on his bronzed skin,
reminiscent of his battle with the boar, his exertion and confinement. His
chiseled features bore an expression of stoic determination, despite the
obvious discomfort of his predicament. His piercing eyes, once gleaming
with wild vitality, now held a mixture of resignation and defiance. The
jungle-born hero was a stark contrast to his current situation, an emblem
of primal power harnessed and restrained.
* * * * *
Tarzan Tool
In the silent recesses of his mind, Tarzan allowed himself a moment of
reflection. The trials he had endured under the dominion of Lord Harrington
and the cunning Mr. Blackwood weighed heavily upon his heart. The once
boundless jungle had become a stifling cage, its verdant embrace now
replaced by the cold, unyielding steel of man-made constraints.
The days of relentless labor, the unending toil under the merciless sun,
etched their mark upon his muscular frame. The chains that bound him, both
physical and metaphorical, bore witness to the strength of his spirit and
the depth of his suffering. Each day was a brutal display of his
resilience, an unyielding battle against the forces that sought to break
him.
Yet, it was the loss of his freedom, the stolen autonomy that cut
deepest. Tarzan, who once roamed the jungle with the grace and fluidity of
the creatures he called kin, now moved at the whim of his captors. He was a
puppet, a pawn in their grand designs, his every action dictated by their
insidious will.
The cruel shearing of his body hair was a symbol of his emasculation. It
was a violation of the very essence of his being, a calculated move to
strip him of the strength that defined him. Tarzan could feel the loss
keenly, a gnawing emptiness that echoed through his very core.
And then there were the whispered plans, the ominous designs that
Harrington and Blackwood shared in hushed tones. Their ambitions stretched
far beyond the confines of the jungle, reaching into realms Tarzan could
scarcely fathom. The tournament, the expeditions, the battles against
mythical creatures--they were all woven into a tapestry of power and
dominance, with Tarzan as the unwitting centerpiece.
The thought of becoming a mere spectacle, a pawn in their grandiose
schemes, filled Tarzan with a primal dread. He had been a king, a guardian
of the jungle's secrets, but now he was reduced to a mere commodity, a tool
to be wielded by those who sought to conquer all they surveyed.
As he contemplated the trials that lay ahead, a spark of defiance ignited
within Tarzan's soul. He would not be broken, not by the cruel hand of fate
nor the machinations of those who sought to tame him. Deep within the
recesses of his being, the spirit of the jungle still pulsed, a fierce and
untamed force that could not be extinguished.
He was losing sight of his original mission, the plan, his disguise, his
partnership with Kessler. He was forced into survival mode, no room in his
brain for anything beyond the immediate peril he faced if failed to satisfy
a demand.
Tarzan resolved to find a way to reclaim his destiny. He would bide his
time, gathering the strength and cunning that had served him so well in the
past. He would watch, he would wait, and when the moment was right, he
would seize his chance to break free from the shackles that bound him.
For Tarzan knew that the jungle, with all its untamed fury and boundless
wonders, was his true home. And no matter the trials he faced, he would
find his way back to its embrace, reclaiming his rightful place as its
fierce and indomitable protector.
* * * * *
Lord Harrington's Ambitioin
The acquisition of Tarzan had been a coup of unprecedented
proportions. Lord Harrington reveled in the audacity of it all, in the way
the mighty ape-man had been reduced to a mere plaything in his grand
design. Since winning the bid, Harrington had observed the transformation
of the once indomitable king of the jungle into a subservient shadow of his
former self.
What excited Harrington the most was the potential for boundless
conquest. Tarzan, with his unparalleled strength and instinctual knowledge
of the jungle, was the key to unlocking territories hitherto deemed
impenetrable. The thought of expanding his dominion, of carving out new
realms under his banner, set a fire of ambition ablaze within Harrington's
chest.
As he watched Tarzan toil in the fields and submit to the whims of the
crowd at the club, Harrington envisioned a future where the ape-man would
lead his expeditions into uncharted territories. The empire would stretch
its boundaries, its influence eclipsing all that had come before. Tarzan
would be the herald of this new era, a symbol of Harrington's unassailable
power.
But it was the ultimate fantasy that consumed Harrington's thoughts. He
envisaged Tarzan not just as a conqueror, but as a living legend,
immortalized in tales of glory and conquest. He would build monuments in
honor of his triumph over tarzan, etching his name into the annals of
history. The once wild and untamed beast would become a figurehead, a
symbol of Harrington's unyielding dominion.
And when all was said and done, Harrington saw Tarzan as a loyal vassal,
forever bound to serve his will. The king of the jungle would bow before
the lord of the empire, an obedient instrument in Harrington's quest for
supremacy. It was a vision that drove Harrington's every move, a dream that
fueled his insatiable thirst for power.
* * * * *
Blackwood's Machinations
Since aligning himself with Lord Harrington, Mr. Blackwood had witnessed
the unfolding of a plan so audacious, it bordered on the sublime. Together,
they had tamed the wild, bending Tarzan to their will, and in doing so, had
unraveled the mysteries of the jungle.
What excited Blackwood the most was the sheer audacity of their
ambitions. The grand tournament, the expeditions into uncharted
territories, the battles against mythical creatures--all were threads in a
tapestry of dominance, with Tarzan at its center. It was a spectacle the
likes of which the world had never seen, the proud product of their cunning
and vision.
As he watched Tarzan perform in the club, Blackwood saw not just an
obedient pawn, but a living representation of their mastery over the
untamed. The audience's rapt attention, their awestruck gazes--it was a
symphony of submission, a triumph of their power.
But it was the ultimate fantasy that consumed Blackwood's thoughts. He
envisioned Tarzan not as a mere servant, but as a living monument to their
triumph. He would be the jewel in their crown, the prized possession of
their empire. Blackwood saw Tarzan as a symbol of their dominion, the
personification of their unassailable power.
And when all was said and done, Blackwood imagined Tarzan as a willing
accomplice, a partner in their grand designs, albeit an inferior partner
whose place was on his knees at their feet. With tarzan in their control,
Harrington and Blackwood would shape the world in their image, their names
etched into history as architects of a new era. It was a vision that fueled
Blackwood's every move, a dream that drove him to ever greater heights of
cunning and ambition.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-14 | Date: Sun, 3 Dec 2023 13:21:43 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance, Chapter 14 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 14: Sold -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com * * * * * Chapter 14 -- Sold! The auctioneer's voice boomed across the clearing, resonating through the heated atmosphere as he announced the continuation of bids for the legendary Tarzan. The three principal bidders, Hastings, Blackwood, and Worthington, engaged in a fierce round of offers, each one determined to secure the jungle king for their own purposes. "Ten thousand pounds!" Lord Hastings' booming voice cut through the murmurs of the onlookers, his determination and confidence evident in his bid. "Ten thousand pounds to see this savage specimen toiling tirelessly in my fields, a robust laborer worth his weight in gold!" The auctioneer nodded in affirmation. "Indeed, Lord Hastings! Tarzan's unparalleled strength and resilience make him an ideal choice for rigorous labor." "Twelve thousand pounds!" Mr. Blackwood, the club owner, responded swiftly with an air of authority. "Twelve thousand pounds to see Tarzan captivating my patrons at The Dom's Den, a spectacle of dominance that will entertain and mesmerize!" The auctioneer chimed in. "Absolutely, Mr. Blackwood! Tarzan's powerful presence and innate showmanship will undoubtedly captivate your audience." "Fourteen thousand pounds!" Mr. Worthington, the refined gentleman seeking a domestic servant, raised his bid, a calculated move to assert his claim. "Fourteen thousand pounds to transform the king of the jungle into an exemplary domestic servant, a symbol of strength and servitude in my esteemed mansion." The auctioneer acknowledged his bid. "Precisely, Mr. Worthington! Tarzan's adaptability and imposing stature make him an excellent choice for a servant of such distinction." The crowd murmured in anticipation, the bids rising to unprecedented heights as the stakes for the jungle king soared. The auctioneer, ever the showman, seized every opportunity to extoll the virtues of Tarzan's unparalleled strength and adaptability, tailoring his pitch to appeal to the desires of the bidders. Tarzan, at the center of this bidding frenzy, stood tall and proud, his ego buoyed by the bids, his towering physique a worthy receptacle of the admiration and greed swirling around him. But as much as he was visibly aroused by the adulation and the record-breaking bids confirming his superior value, he couldn't help but be concerned about the secret plan he and his ally, Kessler, had formed to infiltrate the slavers' regime from within and ultimately free the countless captives taken from the jungle. He searched for Kessler in the crowd, eager for a reassuring signal that this was all according to plan. Kessler stood at the periphery of the bustling auction, his sturdy frame concealed within the shadows. His dark eyes, filled with an enigmatic glint, scanned the scene before him with calculated interest. Clad in rugged attire that blended seamlessly with the jungle's backdrop, he exuded an air of clandestine purpose. A wry smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he observed the bidding war for Tarzan unfold. In his possession was a hefty sack of gold coins, a token of his treacherous exchange, yet his gaze remained fixed on the auction, anticipating the next chapter of his clandestine endeavors. The tension mounts as the bidding war escalates, with each bidder making increasingly competitive offers to secure the enigmatic Tarzan. The auctioneer makes one final pitch, highlighting tarzan's strength from head to toe, and reminding the bidders that the fabled loincloth, an iconic symbol that has been the object of so much fascination over the years and is a prize possession in its own right, comes free with the purchase of the savage stud and his manly power contained by it. "Ladies and gentlemen, a closer look at this magnificent specimen is in order. Tarzan, the untamed king of the jungle, possesses a physique molded by nature's might itself! His sinewy arms speak to his unyielding strength, matched only by the sturdy grace of his legs, anchoring his characteristic endurance in the face of adversity. His rugged physique promises unparalleled vigor, ideal for any labor or performance! "And ah, the loincloth that adorns him, a symbol of the jungle's embrace, accompanies this exceptional offering," the auctioneer continues, giving the bulging garment a hard swat with his cane, causing the man-ape to howl in agony. "It is part of the allure, a tantalizing hint of the raw power that lies beneath! Bid now to secure this unparalleled force of nature!" The auctioneer's eloquence, combined with the promise of Tarzan's strengths and the appeal of his loincloth, spurs the bidders to leapfrog each other, intensifying the bids as the auction reaches a crescendo. * * * * * The final round of bidding echoed through the dense jungle, each bid resonating with the aspirations and desires of the bidders. The auctioneer's voice reverberated through the bustling marketplace, extolling Tarzan's strength and worth, evoking bids that soared higher with each impassioned declaration. The landowner, a rugged figure with a weather-beaten face, his eyes glittering with the prospects of immense wealth, cast a resounding bid. "He'll be my powerhouse," he declared, his voice carrying authority. "He'll turn my lands into a bounty of riches!" Lord Hastings, his calculated bids steeped in the certainty of his superiority, had his sights firmly set on claiming Tarzan. His comments were shrewd and pragmatic, painting a picture of a labor force ready to toil in his fields and mines. Mr. Blackwood, the club owner, had envisioned a different fate for Tarzan. His comments emphasized the prowess and spectacle Tarzan would bring to The Dom's Den, fueling the bidding with his plans of exhibition and entertainment. Exuding an air of sinister charisma, Blackwood pushed the bidding higher, a gleam of covetousness in his eyes. "He'll be my grand spectacle," he murmured with a twisted smile. "A show of strength and dominance for my patrons' entertainment!" Worthington, the third bidder, aimed for Tarzan as a domestic servant. His desires lay in having Tarzan blend into his opulent lifestyle, serving as a symbol of prestige among his circle. The aristocrat, dressed in lavish attire with a polished demeanor, raised his bid with a flourish. "A jewel in my estate," he stated elegantly. "A servant of grace and power to embody my opulence!" In Tarzan's mind, these comments were echoes in the wind, signaling the diverse intentions each bidder held for him. Amidst the flurry of offers and intentions, the auction teetered on the brink of a decision that would shape Tarzan's immediate future. The auctioneer, noting their fever pitch, amplified the fervor of the bidding war. "Tarzan, the embodiment of raw strength and untamed power! A laborer, a servant, an exotic spectacle! Who among you shall possess the might of the jungle?" As the bids surged higher, the tension in the air grew palpable, the excitement building as each bid resounded through the jungle clearing. The auction reached its zenith, and the auctioneer's voice proclaimed the winning bid, sealing Tarzan's fate. "Sold!" cried the auctioneer as his gavel echoed through the marketplace. * * * * * The air buzzed with anticipation, the atmosphere charged with ambition and expectation. The flood of rapidly rising bids wove a tapestry of desires that culminated in Lord Hastings's ultimate victory. The landowner secured Tarzan, envisioning boundless wealth, while Mr. Worthington, the aristocrat, left with a tinge of disappointment, and the club owner, Blackwood, simmered with frustration, his prize snatched from his grasp. The outcome was decided, yet Tarzan's future remained shrouded in uncertainty. Tarzan stood stoically amidst the triumphant roar of the crowd. His face, a mask of composure, concealed the flicker of concern. Hastings had won the bidding, a fact that both troubled and invigorated him. Though outwardly, the market-goers perceived him as subservient, Tarzan's thoughts raced with unwavering resolve. He'd come to the auction with a mission hidden beneath the facade of compliance, determined to infiltrate the ranks of those who held his fellow jungle dwellers captive. Lord Hastings's triumph was a twist in his plan, yet Tarzan's resolve remained unshaken. He recognized the challenges ahead, the guise he needed to maintain to execute his clandestine strategy. Behind the veil of submission, his mind buzzed with strategies. Every glance, every subtle movement was a calculation, a step closer to freeing the imprisoned souls of the jungle. As the auction concluded, Tarzan masked his true intentions beneath a veneer of obedience, nodding respectfully to Lord Hastings. It was a performance, a role he embraced to keep his true mission concealed. Inwardly, a fire burned bright--a promise to his people that he would endure this charade until the moment was ripe for liberation. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FOURTEEN------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sun, 3 Dec 2023 13:21:43 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance, Chapter 14
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 14: Sold --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
Chapter 14 -- Sold!
The auctioneer's voice boomed across the clearing, resonating through the
heated atmosphere as he announced the continuation of bids for the
legendary Tarzan. The three principal bidders, Hastings, Blackwood, and
Worthington, engaged in a fierce round of offers, each one determined to
secure the jungle king for their own purposes.
"Ten thousand pounds!" Lord Hastings' booming voice cut through the murmurs
of the onlookers, his determination and confidence evident in his bid. "Ten
thousand pounds to see this savage specimen toiling tirelessly in my
fields, a robust laborer worth his weight in gold!"
The auctioneer nodded in affirmation.
"Indeed, Lord Hastings! Tarzan's unparalleled strength and resilience make
him an ideal choice for rigorous labor."
"Twelve thousand pounds!" Mr. Blackwood, the club owner, responded swiftly
with an air of authority. "Twelve thousand pounds to see Tarzan captivating
my patrons at The Dom's Den, a spectacle of dominance that will entertain
and mesmerize!"
The auctioneer chimed in.
"Absolutely, Mr. Blackwood! Tarzan's powerful presence and innate
showmanship will undoubtedly captivate your audience."
"Fourteen thousand pounds!" Mr. Worthington, the refined gentleman seeking
a domestic servant, raised his bid, a calculated move to assert his
claim. "Fourteen thousand pounds to transform the king of the jungle into
an exemplary domestic servant, a symbol of strength and servitude in my
esteemed mansion."
The auctioneer acknowledged his bid.
"Precisely, Mr. Worthington! Tarzan's adaptability and imposing stature
make him an excellent choice for a servant of such distinction."
The crowd murmured in anticipation, the bids rising to unprecedented
heights as the stakes for the jungle king soared. The auctioneer, ever the
showman, seized every opportunity to extoll the virtues of Tarzan's
unparalleled strength and adaptability, tailoring his pitch to appeal to
the desires of the bidders.
Tarzan, at the center of this bidding frenzy, stood tall and proud, his ego
buoyed by the bids, his towering physique a worthy receptacle of the
admiration and greed swirling around him. But as much as he was visibly
aroused by the adulation and the record-breaking bids confirming his
superior value, he couldn't help but be concerned about the secret plan he
and his ally, Kessler, had formed to infiltrate the slavers' regime from
within and ultimately free the countless captives taken from the jungle.
He searched for Kessler in the crowd, eager for a reassuring signal that
this was all according to plan.
Kessler stood at the periphery of the bustling auction, his sturdy frame
concealed within the shadows. His dark eyes, filled with an enigmatic
glint, scanned the scene before him with calculated interest. Clad in
rugged attire that blended seamlessly with the jungle's backdrop, he exuded
an air of clandestine purpose. A wry smile tugged at the corners of his
lips as he observed the bidding war for Tarzan unfold. In his possession
was a hefty sack of gold coins, a token of his treacherous exchange, yet
his gaze remained fixed on the auction, anticipating the next chapter of
his clandestine endeavors.
The tension mounts as the bidding war escalates, with each bidder making
increasingly competitive offers to secure the enigmatic Tarzan.
The auctioneer makes one final pitch, highlighting tarzan's strength from
head to toe, and reminding the bidders that the fabled loincloth, an iconic
symbol that has been the object of so much fascination over the years and
is a prize possession in its own right, comes free with the purchase of the
savage stud and his manly power contained by it.
"Ladies and gentlemen, a closer look at this magnificent specimen is in
order. Tarzan, the untamed king of the jungle, possesses a physique molded
by nature's might itself! His sinewy arms speak to his unyielding strength,
matched only by the sturdy grace of his legs, anchoring his characteristic
endurance in the face of adversity. His rugged physique promises
unparalleled vigor, ideal for any labor or performance!
"And ah, the loincloth that adorns him, a symbol of the jungle's embrace,
accompanies this exceptional offering," the auctioneer continues, giving
the bulging garment a hard swat with his cane, causing the man-ape to howl
in agony. "It is part of the allure, a tantalizing hint of the raw power
that lies beneath! Bid now to secure this unparalleled force of nature!"
The auctioneer's eloquence, combined with the promise of Tarzan's strengths
and the appeal of his loincloth, spurs the bidders to leapfrog each other,
intensifying the bids as the auction reaches a crescendo.
* * * * *
The final round of bidding echoed through the dense jungle, each bid
resonating with the aspirations and desires of the bidders.
The auctioneer's voice reverberated through the bustling marketplace,
extolling Tarzan's strength and worth, evoking bids that soared higher with
each impassioned declaration.
The landowner, a rugged figure with a weather-beaten face, his eyes
glittering with the prospects of immense wealth, cast a resounding bid.
"He'll be my powerhouse," he declared, his voice carrying authority. "He'll
turn my lands into a bounty of riches!"
Lord Hastings, his calculated bids steeped in the certainty of his
superiority, had his sights firmly set on claiming Tarzan. His comments
were shrewd and pragmatic, painting a picture of a labor force ready to
toil in his fields and mines.
Mr. Blackwood, the club owner, had envisioned a different fate for
Tarzan. His comments emphasized the prowess and spectacle Tarzan would
bring to The Dom's Den, fueling the bidding with his plans of exhibition
and entertainment.
Exuding an air of sinister charisma, Blackwood pushed the bidding higher, a
gleam of covetousness in his eyes.
"He'll be my grand spectacle," he murmured with a twisted smile. "A show of
strength and dominance for my patrons' entertainment!"
Worthington, the third bidder, aimed for Tarzan as a domestic servant. His
desires lay in having Tarzan blend into his opulent lifestyle, serving as a
symbol of prestige among his circle. The aristocrat, dressed in lavish
attire with a polished demeanor, raised his bid with a flourish.
"A jewel in my estate," he stated elegantly. "A servant of grace and power
to embody my opulence!"
In Tarzan's mind, these comments were echoes in the wind, signaling the
diverse intentions each bidder held for him. Amidst the flurry of offers
and intentions, the auction teetered on the brink of a decision that would
shape Tarzan's immediate future.
The auctioneer, noting their fever pitch, amplified the fervor of the
bidding war.
"Tarzan, the embodiment of raw strength and untamed power! A laborer, a
servant, an exotic spectacle! Who among you shall possess the might of the
jungle?"
As the bids surged higher, the tension in the air grew palpable, the
excitement building as each bid resounded through the jungle clearing. The
auction reached its zenith, and the auctioneer's voice proclaimed the
winning bid, sealing Tarzan's fate.
"Sold!" cried the auctioneer as his gavel echoed through the marketplace.
* * * * *
The air buzzed with anticipation, the atmosphere charged with ambition and
expectation. The flood of rapidly rising bids wove a tapestry of desires
that culminated in Lord Hastings's ultimate victory.
The landowner secured Tarzan, envisioning boundless wealth, while
Mr. Worthington, the aristocrat, left with a tinge of disappointment, and
the club owner, Blackwood, simmered with frustration, his prize snatched
from his grasp. The outcome was decided, yet Tarzan's future remained
shrouded in uncertainty.
Tarzan stood stoically amidst the triumphant roar of the crowd. His face, a
mask of composure, concealed the flicker of concern. Hastings had won the
bidding, a fact that both troubled and invigorated him.
Though outwardly, the market-goers perceived him as subservient, Tarzan's
thoughts raced with unwavering resolve. He'd come to the auction with a
mission hidden beneath the facade of compliance, determined to infiltrate
the ranks of those who held his fellow jungle dwellers captive.
Lord Hastings's triumph was a twist in his plan, yet Tarzan's resolve
remained unshaken. He recognized the challenges ahead, the guise he needed
to maintain to execute his clandestine strategy.
Behind the veil of submission, his mind buzzed with strategies. Every
glance, every subtle movement was a calculation, a step closer to freeing
the imprisoned souls of the jungle.
As the auction concluded, Tarzan masked his true intentions beneath a
veneer of obedience, nodding respectfully to Lord Hastings. It was a
performance, a role he embraced to keep his true mission concealed.
Inwardly, a fire burned bright--a promise to his people that he would
endure this charade until the moment was ripe for liberation.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FOURTEEN-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you
have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-1 | Date: Tue, 24 Oct 2023 23:53:11 +0000 (UTC) From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance, Chapter One Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. The story is my intellectual property and is (c) to tarzanstud1@gmail.com. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. ---------------------------------------- Chapter 1: Tarzan, King of the Jungle In the heart of the untamed wilderness, where the verdant canopy stretched as far as the eye could see, there roamed a figure that commanded the very essence of the jungle. His name was a whispered legend among villagers, slavers, poachers, scientists, and natives alike. Tarzan, they called him. A name synonymous with power, with dominion over both the wild and the savage. Tarzan's form was a sight to behold, an epitome of primal strength and virility. His sinewy muscles rippled beneath his sun-kissed skin, glistening with the sheen of sweat and jungle humidity. But it was the attire that demanded attention--a loincloth that clung to his lithe frame, leaving little to the imagination. Skimpy, yes, but for Tarzan, it was a symbol of freedom, a reminder of the untamed spirit that coursed through his veins. To the uninitiated, Tarzan's attire might lead them to believe him a slave, a mere plaything of the jungle. Yet, those who dared to cross him soon learned that he was no captive. Tarzan was the mightiest warrior ever known to the jungle, the undisputed king of all men and beasts. The villagers spoke of him with reverence, their voices hushed in awe and respect. "Tarzan, he is the guardian of our lands," they would say, their eyes glinting with admiration. "He keeps us safe, ensuring that the balance of nature remains unbroken." For the slavers, Tarzan was a prize that promised unimaginable wealth, a creature to be captured and put on display. "A wild man, they call him," they murmured, greed burning in their eyes. "Imagine the riches that would come from such a rare specimen." Poachers, their hearts filled with arrogance and cruelty, viewed Tarzan with disdain. "He thinks himself above us," they scoffed, oblivious to the irony. "But we'll show him where his place truly lies." Scientists, driven by a thirst for knowledge, regarded Tarzan as an enigma, a subject of endless fascination. "An undiscovered species, perhaps," they mused, their minds racing with theories and hypotheses. "He could hold the key to unlocking the secrets of the jungle." Natives, who had long coexisted with the rhythms of the jungle, regarded Tarzan with a mixture of respect and wariness. "He is a force of nature," they acknowledged, their voices tinged with a hint of caution. "Best not to cross paths with the jungle's chosen." And then there were those who dared to underestimate Tarzan, believing him to be nothing more than a feral creature. "He needs to be tamed," they proclaimed, their arrogance masking their ignorance. "A bit of discipline, and he'll learn his place." But Tarzan, with his cocky attitude and unyielding spirit, paid little heed to the opinions of others. He knew his worth, his place in the intricate dance of the jungle. He was the king, the ruler, and no one could challenge his dominion. With each confident stride through the verdant underbrush, Tarzan left an indelible mark on the jungle, a living symbol of the untamed spirit that dwelled within him. He was Tarzan, the mightiest of them all, and his legend would echo through the ages, a testament to the true king of the jungle. END OF CHAPTER ONE ----------------------------------------------- Thanks again for your emails! This is the first in a very long tarzan story. I can forewarn you, graphic sex is not the focus so much as good storytelling with the mighty hero of the jungle experiencing things he never has before. It's definitely racy, and always hot to me, but if you need endless graphic sex, this may not be your ideal. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Tue, 24 Oct 2023 23:53:11 +0000 (UTC)
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance, Chapter One
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
The story is my intellectual property and is (c) to tarzanstud1@gmail.com.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
----------------------------------------
Chapter 1: Tarzan, King of the Jungle
In the heart of the untamed wilderness, where the verdant canopy stretched
as far as the eye could see, there roamed a figure that commanded the very
essence of the jungle. His name was a whispered legend among villagers,
slavers, poachers, scientists, and natives alike. Tarzan, they called
him. A name synonymous with power, with dominion over both the wild and the
savage.
Tarzan's form was a sight to behold, an epitome of primal strength and
virility. His sinewy muscles rippled beneath his sun-kissed skin,
glistening with the sheen of sweat and jungle humidity. But it was the
attire that demanded attention--a loincloth that clung to his lithe frame,
leaving little to the imagination. Skimpy, yes, but for Tarzan, it was a
symbol of freedom, a reminder of the untamed spirit that coursed through
his veins.
To the uninitiated, Tarzan's attire might lead them to believe him a slave,
a mere plaything of the jungle. Yet, those who dared to cross him soon
learned that he was no captive. Tarzan was the mightiest warrior ever known
to the jungle, the undisputed king of all men and beasts.
The villagers spoke of him with reverence, their voices hushed in awe and
respect.
"Tarzan, he is the guardian of our lands," they would say, their eyes
glinting with admiration. "He keeps us safe, ensuring that the balance of
nature remains unbroken."
For the slavers, Tarzan was a prize that promised unimaginable wealth, a
creature to be captured and put on display.
"A wild man, they call him," they murmured, greed burning in their
eyes. "Imagine the riches that would come from such a rare specimen."
Poachers, their hearts filled with arrogance and cruelty, viewed Tarzan
with disdain. "He thinks himself above us," they scoffed, oblivious to the
irony. "But we'll show him where his place truly lies."
Scientists, driven by a thirst for knowledge, regarded Tarzan as an enigma,
a subject of endless fascination.
"An undiscovered species, perhaps," they mused, their minds racing with
theories and hypotheses. "He could hold the key to unlocking the secrets of
the jungle."
Natives, who had long coexisted with the rhythms of the jungle, regarded
Tarzan with a mixture of respect and wariness.
"He is a force of nature," they acknowledged, their voices tinged with a
hint of caution. "Best not to cross paths with the jungle's chosen."
And then there were those who dared to underestimate Tarzan, believing him
to be nothing more than a feral creature.
"He needs to be tamed," they proclaimed, their arrogance masking their
ignorance. "A bit of discipline, and he'll learn his place."
But Tarzan, with his cocky attitude and unyielding spirit, paid little heed
to the opinions of others. He knew his worth, his place in the intricate
dance of the jungle. He was the king, the ruler, and no one could challenge
his dominion.
With each confident stride through the verdant underbrush, Tarzan left an
indelible mark on the jungle, a living symbol of the untamed spirit that
dwelled within him. He was Tarzan, the mightiest of them all, and his
legend would echo through the ages, a testament to the true king of the
jungle.
END OF CHAPTER ONE -----------------------------------------------
Thanks again for your emails! This is the first in a very long tarzan
story. I can forewarn you, graphic sex is not the focus so much as good
storytelling with the mighty hero of the jungle experiencing things he
never has before. It's definitely racy, and always hot to me, but if you
need endless graphic sex, this may not be your ideal. If you have any
feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com.
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-9 | Date: Tue, 21 Nov 2023 00:26:42 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance Chapter 9 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 9: Merchandise -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com As the shackles clanged around his wrists and ankles, Tarzan stood resolute, his arms outstretched in submission. The cold steel bit into his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the jungle that surrounded them. The assistants worked swiftly and efficiently, their movements precise. One of them pulled Tarzan's hands up behind his head, ensuring his arms were fully extended. This not only showcased the raw power in Tarzan's frame but also presented him as an enticing piece of merchandise for the upcoming auction. The other assistant knelt at his feet, securing the restraints to his ankles, effectively tethering him to the heavy wooden block. Tarzan's chest heaved with each breath, his powerful muscles straining against the unyielding chains. His loincloth clung to him, the simple garment both a reminder of his primal existence and a symbol of his impending fate. The crowd that had gathered for the auction stared with a mix of anticipation and greed, their eyes fixed on the magnificent specimen before them. Kessler, hidden behind his disguise, watched with a sinister satisfaction. His plan was falling into place perfectly. Tarzan, bound and helpless, was soon to be his most valuable prize. He chuckled to himself, relishing the imminent success of his scheme. For a fleeting moment, doubt flickered in Tarzan's eyes. He glanced at Kessler, a seed of mistrust taking root. There was something in Kessler's demeanor that didn't sit right, a darkness that threatened to overshadow their supposed alliance. But the plan had been set, and Tarzan had committed himself to the ruse. Kessler had spent days training Tarzan to behave like a compliant slave, his authoritative commands and cunning manipulation molding Tarzan into the perfect pawn. Now, as Tarzan stood bound and on display, he drew upon that training. He focused on his breathing, on the bigger picture--the freedom of all the slaves he aimed to rescue. With renewed resolve, Tarzan pushed the doubt from his mind. He would play his part to the hilt, biding his time until the opportune moment for action presented itself. As the crowd's murmurs and whispers washed over him, Tarzan's gaze remained steady, his eyes gleaming with a fierce determination. In this moment, the chains that bound him were nothing more than physical restraints. His spirit, wild and untamed, remained unbroken. Tarzan, the king of the jungle, would not be a captive for long. He would fight for his own freedom and for the freedom of all those who suffered under the tyranny of the slavers. * * * * * Bound and helpless, Tarzan's senses heightened, attuned to every sound, every whispered exchange, every approaching footstep. The jungle around him seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the unfolding drama. His gaze swept over the crowd, searching for any sign of Kessler, any indication that their plan was still in motion. But the minutes slipped away, and uncertainty gnawed at him. What was taking Kessler so long? The auction would begin soon, and Tarzan's fate would be sealed. As the crowd gathered around him, some stood below the stage, peering up with a mixture of curiosity and greed. Others, bolder, ascended the stage, eager to inspect the prized merchandise up close. They circled him like vultures, their eyes raking over his bound form. Tarzan's jaw clenched, his muscles coiled with tension. He knew he had to endure this degrading scrutiny for the sake of their plan. Each bidder examined him with a different focus, assessing his potential value as a slave. They commented on his strength, his physique, and, inevitably, his loincloth--a symbol of his impending subjugation. One bidder, a tall man with a scar across his cheek, leaned in close, his eyes gleaming with a sinister hunger. "You'll fetch a fine price, savage," he sneered, his words dripping with contempt. Another, a woman with a shrewd glint in her eye, circled Tarzan, her fingers lightly tracing the contours of his arms. "Strong, but will he obey?" she mused aloud, directing her question to the surrounding crowd. A third bidder, older and more calculating, scrutinized Tarzan with a critical eye. "He's got spirit, I'll give him that," he remarked, a hint of grudging respect in his tone. Tarzan's gaze remained fixed straight ahead, a mask of stoicism concealing the roiling turmoil within. He swallowed his pride, reminding himself that this was a necessary step toward their ultimate goal. But the humiliation of being examined like a piece of property gnawed at him. He held onto the hope that Kessler would reappear, that their plan was still in motion. He could only trust that his ally was working diligently from the shadows, orchestrating the rescue of the enslaved souls. Minutes stretched into eternities as Tarzan stood bound, a sentinel of defiance in the face of impending captivity. The jungle, usually a source of solace and strength, felt distant and indifferent. It was a test of willpower, a trial by fire, and Tarzan steeled himself for what lay ahead. ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ The slave market bustled with activity, the air thick with the scent of sweat, leather, and the anticipation of potential buyers. Tarzan stood tall, his proud defiance radiating from every sinewy muscle. His tanned skin bore the marks of a life lived in the wild, a life of strength and resilience. Shackles bound his wrists, but they could not shackle the untamed spirit that burned in his eyes. Prospective buyers, draped in rich fabrics, circled him hungrily, eyes sharp with scrutiny. They examined his physique, running their fingers over the contours of his powerful arms and chest. Murmurs of appraisal and interest rippled through the crowd, for Tarzan was unlike any other slave they had seen. A portly merchant with a voracious appetite for luxury approached, his gaze appraising every inch of Tarzan's form. "Impressive, isn't he?" he mused to his companion, a shrewd smile playing on his lips. "A specimen of strength and vitality. He would make a fine addition to my estate." Tarzan's jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He understood every word, but his spirit remained unyielding. He was not a beast to be owned, but a king of the jungle, a force of nature. A stern-faced matron, her bearing regal, stepped forward, her fingers circling his hard nipple protruding from his mighty pec. "He seems defiant," she observed, her voice tinged with intrigue as she flicked at his nipple mischievously. "A challenge, perhaps, but one that can be overcome with proper discipline." Tarzan's nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling with controlled fury. He knew the world he faced now was vastly different from the one he knew, but he refused to submit. A tall, lean man, cloaked in the garb of a seasoned warrior, appraised Tarzan with a keen eye. "He's got the look of a survivor," he remarked, his voice gruff. "There's fire in those eyes. He'll fetch a high price among the gladiators." Tarzan's gaze met the warrior's, a silent acknowledgment of their shared understanding. In the heart of every fighter, there existed a primal connection, a recognition of the untamed spirit that dwelled within. A wizened scholar, his robes concealing a keen intellect, approached, his gaze fixated on Tarzan's every movement. "An intriguing specimen," he mused, his voice filled with scholarly detachment. "I wonder how the untamed mind of a man raised in the wilds would fare in the realm of intellect." Tarzan's mind remained sharp, his senses attuned to every detail. He knew that to survive, he would need to adapt, to learn the ways of this new world, but he would do so on his own terms. With the bidding poised to commence, Tarzan's fate hung in the balance. The voices of the crowd melded into a cacophony, each offering a proclamation of his worth, a measure of the awe he inspired. In the midst of the fervor, Tarzan's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his spirit unyielding. He was not a possession to be owned, but a force of nature, a king without a crown. And in that defiant stance, he vowed that no matter the chains that bound his body, his spirit would remain forever free. * * * * * One bidder, a man of ostentatious wealth and an eye for detail, approached Tarzan with an air of calculated curiosity. He bent down to examine the loincloth, his fingers delicately tracing the fabric. "Interesting," he mused, his voice tinged with an air of detached fascination. "The material is coarse, clearly crafted for durability rather than comfort. It speaks of a life lived in the wilds, consumed with survival." Tarzan's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his jaw clenched in silent defiance. He was acutely aware of the scrutiny, but he would not yield. The bidder's fingers continued their exploration, assessing the size and texture with clinical precision. "A simple garment, yet it tells a story," he said, scrapping at the dried residue of some recent excitement. "The stains and wear suggest a life of hardship, of battles won and challenges faced." Tarzan's loincloth bore the marks of countless journeys through the unforgiving terrain of the jungle. Each tear, each stain, evoked the trials he had overcome. A subtle wrinkling of the bidder's nose betrayed his assessment of the loincloth's scent. "A distinct aroma," he commented, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It carries the earthy scent of the wild, a reminder that this man is of a different world altogether." Tarzan's senses remained keen, attuned to every word, every movement. He understood the value of this inspection, for in every thread of the loincloth lay the essence of his untamed spirit. With a final, appraising glance, the bidder straightened, his assessment complete. "A humble garment, yet it carries the weight of a life untamed. It will be a fascinating addition to my collection." As the auctioneer's gavel struck, the bidding was on the verge of beginning, the loincloth serving as a tangible reminder of the untamed spirit that dwelled within Tarzan. In that simple garment, a story was woven, a story of a man who defied chains, whose spirit remained forever free. END OF CHAPTER NINE ----------------------------------------------- I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Tue, 21 Nov 2023 00:26:42 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance Chapter 9
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 9: Merchandise --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
As the shackles clanged around his wrists and ankles, Tarzan stood
resolute, his arms outstretched in submission. The cold steel bit into his
skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the jungle that surrounded
them. The assistants worked swiftly and efficiently, their movements
precise.
One of them pulled Tarzan's hands up behind his head, ensuring his arms
were fully extended. This not only showcased the raw power in Tarzan's
frame but also presented him as an enticing piece of merchandise for the
upcoming auction. The other assistant knelt at his feet, securing the
restraints to his ankles, effectively tethering him to the heavy wooden
block.
Tarzan's chest heaved with each breath, his powerful muscles straining
against the unyielding chains. His loincloth clung to him, the simple
garment both a reminder of his primal existence and a symbol of his
impending fate. The crowd that had gathered for the auction stared with a
mix of anticipation and greed, their eyes fixed on the magnificent specimen
before them.
Kessler, hidden behind his disguise, watched with a sinister
satisfaction. His plan was falling into place perfectly. Tarzan, bound and
helpless, was soon to be his most valuable prize. He chuckled to himself,
relishing the imminent success of his scheme.
For a fleeting moment, doubt flickered in Tarzan's eyes. He glanced at
Kessler, a seed of mistrust taking root. There was something in Kessler's
demeanor that didn't sit right, a darkness that threatened to overshadow
their supposed alliance. But the plan had been set, and Tarzan had
committed himself to the ruse.
Kessler had spent days training Tarzan to behave like a compliant slave,
his authoritative commands and cunning manipulation molding Tarzan into the
perfect pawn. Now, as Tarzan stood bound and on display, he drew upon that
training. He focused on his breathing, on the bigger picture--the freedom
of all the slaves he aimed to rescue.
With renewed resolve, Tarzan pushed the doubt from his mind. He would play
his part to the hilt, biding his time until the opportune moment for action
presented itself. As the crowd's murmurs and whispers washed over him,
Tarzan's gaze remained steady, his eyes gleaming with a fierce
determination.
In this moment, the chains that bound him were nothing more than physical
restraints. His spirit, wild and untamed, remained unbroken. Tarzan, the
king of the jungle, would not be a captive for long. He would fight for his
own freedom and for the freedom of all those who suffered under the tyranny
of the slavers.
* * * * *
Bound and helpless, Tarzan's senses heightened, attuned to every sound,
every whispered exchange, every approaching footstep. The jungle around him
seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the unfolding drama.
His gaze swept over the crowd, searching for any sign of Kessler, any
indication that their plan was still in motion. But the minutes slipped
away, and uncertainty gnawed at him. What was taking Kessler so long? The
auction would begin soon, and Tarzan's fate would be sealed.
As the crowd gathered around him, some stood below the stage, peering up
with a mixture of curiosity and greed. Others, bolder, ascended the stage,
eager to inspect the prized merchandise up close. They circled him like
vultures, their eyes raking over his bound form.
Tarzan's jaw clenched, his muscles coiled with tension. He knew he had to
endure this degrading scrutiny for the sake of their plan. Each bidder
examined him with a different focus, assessing his potential value as a
slave. They commented on his strength, his physique, and, inevitably, his
loincloth--a symbol of his impending subjugation.
One bidder, a tall man with a scar across his cheek, leaned in close, his
eyes gleaming with a sinister hunger.
"You'll fetch a fine price, savage," he sneered, his words dripping with
contempt.
Another, a woman with a shrewd glint in her eye, circled Tarzan, her
fingers lightly tracing the contours of his arms.
"Strong, but will he obey?" she mused aloud, directing her question to the
surrounding crowd.
A third bidder, older and more calculating, scrutinized Tarzan with a
critical eye.
"He's got spirit, I'll give him that," he remarked, a hint of grudging
respect in his tone.
Tarzan's gaze remained fixed straight ahead, a mask of stoicism concealing
the roiling turmoil within. He swallowed his pride, reminding himself that
this was a necessary step toward their ultimate goal. But the humiliation
of being examined like a piece of property gnawed at him.
He held onto the hope that Kessler would reappear, that their plan was
still in motion. He could only trust that his ally was working diligently
from the shadows, orchestrating the rescue of the enslaved souls.
Minutes stretched into eternities as Tarzan stood bound, a sentinel of
defiance in the face of impending captivity. The jungle, usually a source
of solace and strength, felt distant and indifferent. It was a test of
willpower, a trial by fire, and Tarzan steeled himself for what lay ahead.
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
The slave market bustled with activity, the air thick with the scent of
sweat, leather, and the anticipation of potential buyers. Tarzan stood
tall, his proud defiance radiating from every sinewy muscle. His tanned
skin bore the marks of a life lived in the wild, a life of strength and
resilience. Shackles bound his wrists, but they could not shackle the
untamed spirit that burned in his eyes.
Prospective buyers, draped in rich fabrics, circled him hungrily, eyes
sharp with scrutiny. They examined his physique, running their fingers over
the contours of his powerful arms and chest. Murmurs of appraisal and
interest rippled through the crowd, for Tarzan was unlike any other slave
they had seen.
A portly merchant with a voracious appetite for luxury approached, his gaze
appraising every inch of Tarzan's form.
"Impressive, isn't he?" he mused to his companion, a shrewd smile playing
on his lips. "A specimen of strength and vitality. He would make a fine
addition to my estate."
Tarzan's jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He understood every
word, but his spirit remained unyielding. He was not a beast to be owned,
but a king of the jungle, a force of nature.
A stern-faced matron, her bearing regal, stepped forward, her fingers
circling his hard nipple protruding from his mighty pec.
"He seems defiant," she observed, her voice tinged with intrigue as she
flicked at his nipple mischievously. "A challenge, perhaps, but one that
can be overcome with proper discipline."
Tarzan's nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling with controlled
fury. He knew the world he faced now was vastly different from the one he
knew, but he refused to submit.
A tall, lean man, cloaked in the garb of a seasoned warrior, appraised
Tarzan with a keen eye.
"He's got the look of a survivor," he remarked, his voice gruff. "There's
fire in those eyes. He'll fetch a high price among the gladiators."
Tarzan's gaze met the warrior's, a silent acknowledgment of their shared
understanding. In the heart of every fighter, there existed a primal
connection, a recognition of the untamed spirit that dwelled within.
A wizened scholar, his robes concealing a keen intellect, approached, his
gaze fixated on Tarzan's every movement.
"An intriguing specimen," he mused, his voice filled with scholarly
detachment. "I wonder how the untamed mind of a man raised in the wilds
would fare in the realm of intellect."
Tarzan's mind remained sharp, his senses attuned to every detail. He knew
that to survive, he would need to adapt, to learn the ways of this new
world, but he would do so on his own terms.
With the bidding poised to commence, Tarzan's fate hung in the balance. The
voices of the crowd melded into a cacophony, each offering a proclamation
of his worth, a measure of the awe he inspired.
In the midst of the fervor, Tarzan's gaze remained fixed on the horizon,
his spirit unyielding. He was not a possession to be owned, but a force of
nature, a king without a crown. And in that defiant stance, he vowed that
no matter the chains that bound his body, his spirit would remain forever
free.
* * * * *
One bidder, a man of ostentatious wealth and an eye for detail, approached
Tarzan with an air of calculated curiosity. He bent down to examine the
loincloth, his fingers delicately tracing the fabric.
"Interesting," he mused, his voice tinged with an air of detached
fascination. "The material is coarse, clearly crafted for durability rather
than comfort. It speaks of a life lived in the wilds, consumed with
survival."
Tarzan's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his jaw clenched in silent
defiance. He was acutely aware of the scrutiny, but he would not yield.
The bidder's fingers continued their exploration, assessing the size and
texture with clinical precision.
"A simple garment, yet it tells a story," he said, scrapping at the dried
residue of some recent excitement. "The stains and wear suggest a life of
hardship, of battles won and challenges faced."
Tarzan's loincloth bore the marks of countless journeys through the
unforgiving terrain of the jungle. Each tear, each stain, evoked the trials
he had overcome.
A subtle wrinkling of the bidder's nose betrayed his assessment of the
loincloth's scent.
"A distinct aroma," he commented, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It
carries the earthy scent of the wild, a reminder that this man is of a
different world altogether."
Tarzan's senses remained keen, attuned to every word, every movement. He
understood the value of this inspection, for in every thread of the
loincloth lay the essence of his untamed spirit.
With a final, appraising glance, the bidder straightened, his assessment
complete.
"A humble garment, yet it carries the weight of a life untamed. It will be
a fascinating addition to my collection."
As the auctioneer's gavel struck, the bidding was on the verge of
beginning, the loincloth serving as a tangible reminder of the untamed
spirit that dwelled within Tarzan. In that simple garment, a story was
woven, a story of a man who defied chains, whose spirit remained forever
free.
END OF CHAPTER NINE -----------------------------------------------
I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you have any feedback or
input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-57 | Date: Tue, 13 Aug 2024 21:47:15 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 57 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 57: Dreams of Dominion-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 57 -- Dreams of Dominion In the hazy realm of slumber, Baron von Richter found himself standing at the heart of the jungle, his every breath laced with the scent of verdant growth and untamed wilderness. The vibrant colors of exotic flora surrounded him, and the distant calls of elusive creatures echoed through the canopy. As he ventured deeper into the primeval expanse, the very air seemed to pulse with vitality. He felt an overwhelming sense of power, a sensation that surged through him like a force of nature. The ground beneath his boots was firm, yet yielding, as if it yielded to his every step. Suddenly, the dense vegetation gave way to a clearing, revealing a magnificent sight. Before him stood Tarzan, once the mighty ruler of this domain, now reduced to a mere shadow of his former self. Shackled and submissive, he knelt before the Baron, his eyes downcast in humble obedience. The Baron's heart swelled with triumph, relishing in the sight of his old nemesis brought to heel. He could feel the latent power emanating from the once indomitable king of the jungle, now redirected and harnessed for a purpose far greater. In this dream, the Baron's dominance was absolute. He issued commands, and Tarzan, ever the obedient servant, complied without hesitation. The Baron reveled in the feeling of control, every gesture and word speaking to his unassailable authority. As the dream unfolded, the jungle itself seemed to acknowledge the Baron's newfound supremacy. Trees bent to his will, their branches forming archways that framed the path ahead. The very earth seemed to vibrate with a subservient energy, a response to the Baron's dominion over this untamed realm. As the dream drew to a close, the Baron stood at the precipice of a roaring waterfall, the cascade of water symbolizing his unyielding power. He raised his arms, a gesture of command, and Tarzan obediently stepped forward, disappearing into the cascade, a willing sacrifice to the Baron's insatiable appetite for control. With a triumphant smile, the Baron awoke, his heart still pounding with the intoxicating rush of dominion. He knew that this dream was a glimpse of the future, a destiny in which he, Baron von Richter, would rise to unparalleled heights of power, with Tarzan forever in his thrall. to be continued... * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Tue, 13 Aug 2024 21:47:15 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 57
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 57: Dreams of Dominion--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 57 -- Dreams of Dominion
In the hazy realm of slumber, Baron von Richter found himself standing at
the heart of the jungle, his every breath laced with the scent of verdant
growth and untamed wilderness. The vibrant colors of exotic flora
surrounded him, and the distant calls of elusive creatures echoed through
the canopy.
As he ventured deeper into the primeval expanse, the very air seemed to
pulse with vitality. He felt an overwhelming sense of power, a sensation
that surged through him like a force of nature. The ground beneath his
boots was firm, yet yielding, as if it yielded to his every step.
Suddenly, the dense vegetation gave way to a clearing, revealing a
magnificent sight. Before him stood Tarzan, once the mighty ruler of this
domain, now reduced to a mere shadow of his former self. Shackled and
submissive, he knelt before the Baron, his eyes downcast in humble
obedience.
The Baron's heart swelled with triumph, relishing in the sight of his old
nemesis brought to heel. He could feel the latent power emanating from the
once indomitable king of the jungle, now redirected and harnessed for a
purpose far greater.
In this dream, the Baron's dominance was absolute. He issued commands, and
Tarzan, ever the obedient servant, complied without hesitation. The Baron
reveled in the feeling of control, every gesture and word speaking to his
unassailable authority.
As the dream unfolded, the jungle itself seemed to acknowledge the Baron's
newfound supremacy. Trees bent to his will, their branches forming archways
that framed the path ahead. The very earth seemed to vibrate with a
subservient energy, a response to the Baron's dominion over this untamed
realm.
As the dream drew to a close, the Baron stood at the precipice of a roaring
waterfall, the cascade of water symbolizing his unyielding power. He raised
his arms, a gesture of command, and Tarzan obediently stepped forward,
disappearing into the cascade, a willing sacrifice to the Baron's
insatiable appetite for control.
With a triumphant smile, the Baron awoke, his heart still pounding with the
intoxicating rush of dominion. He knew that this dream was a glimpse of the
future, a destiny in which he, Baron von Richter, would rise to
unparalleled heights of power, with Tarzan forever in his thrall.
to be continued...
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-56 | Date: Mon, 12 Aug 2024 21:27:00 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 56 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 56: The Jungle Consort-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 56 -- The Jungle Consort In the deepest recesses of Baron von Richter's imagination, a vivid scene unfolded, one where Tarzan, once the self-proclaimed king of the jungle, knelt before a powerful alpha, submitting to a new role in the grand tapestry of dominance. The chamber was bathed in the soft glow of flickering torches, casting dancing shadows upon the walls. The air was heavy with the scent of musk, a heady reminder of the power dynamic that now reigned supreme. Tarzan's once-mighty form was now adorned in nothing but the skimpiest of loincloths, a stark contrast to the regal figure he had once cut. The alpha, a figure of commanding presence, reclined upon a throne hewn from the heart of the jungle itself. His leather-clad form exuded an aura of raw dominance, a testament to the natural order that now prevailed. Tarzan, his once-proud chest now bearing the weight of his new reality, approached with a mixture of trepidation and eager anticipation. His eyes, once fierce and defiant, were now downcast, a symbol of his acknowledgment of the shifting power dynamics. The Baron relished every moment of the scene, his mind weaving a tapestry of vivid imagery. He watched as Tarzan knelt before the alpha, his powerful thighs pressing into the cool jungle floor. The alpha's hand, encased in leather, extended with commanding authority, cupping Tarzan's chin in a firm grasp. "Look upon your true master, Tarzan," the alpha's voice resonated, a deep timbre that seemed to echo through the chamber. Tarzan's eyes met the alpha's, a mixture of submission and longing flickering within their depths. The Baron reveled in the sight, the transformation of a once-mighty king into a humble consort. As the scene unfolded, the alpha guided Tarzan to recline upon a plush dais, a gesture that spoke volumes of the new order. The Baron imagined the touch of leather against skin, the sensation of dominance asserting itself in every caress and stroke. The alpha's fingers trailed along Tarzan's powerful form, mapping the contours of muscles that had once been wielded in defiance. Now, they were a canvas for the alpha's desires, a testament to the inevitability of submission. With deliberate precision, the alpha's hands ventured lower, tracing the lines of Tarzan's loincloth. The fabric yielded to the alpha's touch, baring the canvas of submission that awaited beneath. The Baron's mind raced, envisioning the consummation of this newfound dynamic. He watched as Tarzan surrendered to the alpha's desires, his body a vessel for the assertion of dominance. Every movement, every breath, was a testament to the unwavering power that now held sway. As the scene reached its crescendo, the Baron reveled in the culmination of his grand plan. Tarzan, once a thorn in the side of true alpha dominance, was now a living testament to the natural order, a consort to be admired and revered. In the depths of his imagination, the Baron knew that this vision was but a precursor to the reality that awaited. The Alpha Ascension loomed on the horizon, a stage upon which Tarzan's transformation would be laid bare for all to see. To be continued... * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Mon, 12 Aug 2024 21:27:00 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 56
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 56: The Jungle Consort--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 56 -- The Jungle Consort
In the deepest recesses of Baron von Richter's imagination, a vivid scene
unfolded, one where Tarzan, once the self-proclaimed king of the jungle,
knelt before a powerful alpha, submitting to a new role in the grand
tapestry of dominance.
The chamber was bathed in the soft glow of flickering torches, casting
dancing shadows upon the walls. The air was heavy with the scent of musk, a
heady reminder of the power dynamic that now reigned supreme. Tarzan's
once-mighty form was now adorned in nothing but the skimpiest of
loincloths, a stark contrast to the regal figure he had once cut.
The alpha, a figure of commanding presence, reclined upon a throne hewn
from the heart of the jungle itself. His leather-clad form exuded an aura
of raw dominance, a testament to the natural order that now prevailed.
Tarzan, his once-proud chest now bearing the weight of his new reality,
approached with a mixture of trepidation and eager anticipation. His eyes,
once fierce and defiant, were now downcast, a symbol of his acknowledgment
of the shifting power dynamics.
The Baron relished every moment of the scene, his mind weaving a tapestry
of vivid imagery. He watched as Tarzan knelt before the alpha, his powerful
thighs pressing into the cool jungle floor. The alpha's hand, encased in
leather, extended with commanding authority, cupping Tarzan's chin in a
firm grasp.
"Look upon your true master, Tarzan," the alpha's voice resonated, a deep
timbre that seemed to echo through the chamber.
Tarzan's eyes met the alpha's, a mixture of submission and longing
flickering within their depths. The Baron reveled in the sight, the
transformation of a once-mighty king into a humble consort.
As the scene unfolded, the alpha guided Tarzan to recline upon a plush
dais, a gesture that spoke volumes of the new order. The Baron imagined the
touch of leather against skin, the sensation of dominance asserting itself
in every caress and stroke.
The alpha's fingers trailed along Tarzan's powerful form, mapping the
contours of muscles that had once been wielded in defiance. Now, they were
a canvas for the alpha's desires, a testament to the inevitability of
submission.
With deliberate precision, the alpha's hands ventured lower, tracing the
lines of Tarzan's loincloth. The fabric yielded to the alpha's touch,
baring the canvas of submission that awaited beneath.
The Baron's mind raced, envisioning the consummation of this newfound
dynamic. He watched as Tarzan surrendered to the alpha's desires, his body
a vessel for the assertion of dominance. Every movement, every breath, was
a testament to the unwavering power that now held sway.
As the scene reached its crescendo, the Baron reveled in the culmination of
his grand plan. Tarzan, once a thorn in the side of true alpha dominance,
was now a living testament to the natural order, a consort to be admired
and revered.
In the depths of his imagination, the Baron knew that this vision was but a
precursor to the reality that awaited. The Alpha Ascension loomed on the
horizon, a stage upon which
Tarzan's transformation would be laid bare for all to see.
To be continued...
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-30 | Date: Sat, 10 Feb 2024 02:49:05 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 30 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 30: A Nemesis from The Shadows of the Night -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Shadows of the Night Tarzan is anxiously pacing backstage before a performance at the Dom's Den under the watchful eye of the club's security enforcers. Jonathon Alden is in attendance, getting the royal treatment with his own V.I.P. room backstage. Tarzan's brow is furrowed in deep contemplation. With security distracted, he finally slips into the V.I.P. room and approaches Alden, who is quietly reading by candlelight. TARZAN: (awkwardly) tarzan need talk ALDEN (looking up) Of course, Tarzan. You can always come to me. What's on your mind? Tarzan takes a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. TARZAN (softly) Tarzan make dream. Alden puts down his book, giving Tarzan his full attention. ALDEN (concerned) What kind of dreams, Tarzan? TARZAN (frustrated) Is much mighty dream....Much power. Is Mr. Blackwood....and is Baron....von Richter. ALDEN (raising an eyebrow) Are these nightmares, tarzan? TARZAN (shakes head slowly) Is like...lesson. Alden studies Tarzan's face, noting the genuine worry etched on it. ALDEN (supportive) Dreams can be strange, my friend. Sometimes they offer us insight, even if the message is not immediately clear. What do you think these dreams are trying to tell you? Tarzan hesitates, struggling to find the right words. TARZAN (quietly) Dreams...make show....tarzan place....show who is tarzan. Alden considers Tarzan's words carefully before responding. ALDEN (gently) It's natural to question our purpose, Tarzan. And it's okay to seek answers, even in dreams. But remember, dreams are just that--dreams. They may offer guidance, but it's up to us to interpret their meaning. TARZAN (nods resolutely) Is much powerful dream.... ALDEN (supportive) Then perhaps it's time to embrace what they're trying to tell you. Trust yourself, Tarzan. You have a strength and wisdom that goes beyond the jungle. Tarzan nods, gratitude in his eyes. TARZAN Is much help. Tarzan much thanks! ALDEN (smiling) You're always welcome, Tarzan. We're in this together, after all. The two men share a heartfelt moment of camaraderie, their bond strengthened by this candid conversation. * * * * * Dreams Unveiled Alden knocks on the door and enters Mr. Blackwood's chamber, finding him studying a ledger. ALDEN (sincerely) Mr. Blackwood, may I have a moment? BLACKWOOD (raising an eyebrow) Of course, Alden. What brings you here at this late hour? Alden steps closer, speaking in a hushed tone. ALDEN (whispering) It's about Tarzan, sir. I've noticed a significant development. Blackwood leans back. BLACKWOOD (intrigued) Oh? Do tell, Alden. ALDEN (confidentially) He's been having dreams, Mr. Blackwood. Vivid ones. And you, along with Lord Harrington, and some Baron, I believe he said, are a prominent part of them. Blackwood's eyes gleam with satisfaction. BLACKWOOD (smiling) Ah, it seems our subliminal messages are taking root. Excellent news, Alden. ALDEN (nodding) Indeed. But the content of these dreams, sir... They are puzzling. I can't help but wonder what they might mean. BLACKWOOD (pensively) Dreams can be a reflection of one's deepest desires and fears, Alden. Perhaps they are showing Tarzan a path he is meant to follow. ALDEN (curious) Shall we consider sharing these dreams with the public, Mr. Blackwood? It could generate more interest and, in turn, greater profits for us. Blackwood contemplates the idea, tapping his fingers against the ledger. BLACKWOOD (pondering) It's a bold suggestion, Alden. But we must be cautious. Revealing too much could backfire. We need to maintain an air of mystery. ALDEN (respectful) Understood, sir. I only seek to serve our mutual interests. BLACKWOOD (appreciative) And you do so admirably, Alden. Keep a close eye on Tarzan. His dreams may hold the key to our continued success. Alden nods, acknowledging the trust placed in him. ALDEN (rest assured) I will, Mr. Blackwood. Together, we will ensure our venture prospers. They exchange a meaningful look, knowing that their alliance is bound by more than just dreams. * * * * * Unveiling Shadows Alden enters tarzan's stall in the barn, finding Tarzan lost in thought. He approaches Tarzan with a gentle, reassuring demeanor. ALDEN (softly) Tarzan, I've been thinking about your dreams. I'm here to listen, if you'd like to share. TARZAN (looking up, hesitant) Is true? ALDEN (nodding) Yes, Tarzan. Sometimes, talking about our dreams can help us make sense of them. Tarzan starts to open up, speaking hesitantly about the vivid images that haunt him. TARZAN tarzan in jungle... Mr. Blackwood, Lord Harrington, too. Is guide tarzan. Alden listens intently, probing gently for more details. ALDEN And what do they say, Tarzan? What do they guide you towards? As Tarzan recounts the dreams, Alden senses there's more beneath the surface. ALDEN (pushes gently) Tarzan, I need you to be specific. What troubles you the most in these dreams? Tarzan hesitates, clearly struggling to articulate his feelings. TARZAN Is say....tarzan must...submit....is tarzan purpose. ALDEN (nodding, encouraging) Go on, Tarzan. Tell me more about this submission. Tarzan's voice grows firmer, his inner turmoil evident. TARZAN Is say submit is much strong, much power. Alden senses that he's on the verge of a breakthrough, but he pushes further. ALDEN (insistent) And how does it make you feel, Tarzan? To have the strength to submit? TARZAN (lost in thought) Is...tarzan destiny. Alden, realizing the gravity of what he's uncovered, presses on. ALDEN And what about your loincloth, Tarzan? How does it fit into all of this? Tarzan's eyes widen, surprised by the directness of the question. TARZAN Is...tarzan. ALDEN (encouraging) It's for a servant, tarzan. Do you find pleasure in this purpose? TARZAN (voice low) Is...true. Alden takes a step back, absorbing the revelation. He knows he's on the cusp of an extraordinary story. ALDEN (softly) Thank you, Tarzan. You've shared something profound with me tonight. Alden can't help but feel a mixture of awe and responsibility for the truth he now holds. He decides to push further, to be more aggressive. His curiosity is now mixed with a newfound determination. He needs every detail for his story. ALDEN (firmly) Tarzan, I need to know more. Who else appears in your dreams? TARZAN (hesitant) Is no one... ALDEN (impatient) Tarzan, I have the tools of Mr. Blackwood. Don't make me use them. Alden takes out a riding crop, its presence looming in the air. TARZAN (defeated) Baron...von Richter...is there too. ALDEN (satisfied) Good, now tell me about your history with him. Tarzan hesitates, struggling to put his emotions into words. TARZAN Is make...capture tarzan. Is much mighty enemy. Is want break tarzan, make tarzan submit. ALDEN (interested) And did he succeed, Tarzan? TARZAN (barely audible) No... ALDEN (determined) Tell me about the interactions, Tarzan. Every detail. Tarzan recounts the memories, the clashes, the moments of defiance. ALDEN (encouraging) And what about the moments of submission, Tarzan? When did you give in? TARZAN (quietly) Tarzan no had choice. Alden senses they're on the brink of a breakthrough. He presses further. ALDEN (details, details) Tell me, Tarzan. What exactly transpired? Tarzan's voice grows steadier, his reluctance fading as he relives the memories. TARZAN Is much mighty man. Much dom Master. Tarzan must yield. Alden listens intently, absorbing every word. He knows he's extracting something monumental. ALDEN Thank you, Tarzan. You've shared a part of yourself that few have ever known. As Alden leaves, he carries with him the weight of the truth, knowing he holds a story that will captivate his readers. * * * * * When Alden started to work on his story, he realized that he still needed more substance to make the story complete and to have the maximum input on his voracious readers. Alden enters Tarzan's chamber, the riding crop held firmly in his hand. He's lost his patience. ALDEN (rudely) Wake up, Tarzan. Alden swats Tarzan's pectoral muscles with the crop, waking him abruptly. ALDEN (firmly) An inferior like you has no choice but to answer quickly, honestly, and fully to a superior like me. TARZAN (defiant) Why... Alden swats him again, harder this time. ALDEN (sharply) Put a "Master" on it when you speak to me. Tarzan winces, understanding his place. ALDEN Now, recount an incident from your dream with Baron von Richter. Tell me the place, the exact actions, and the words spoken. Tarzan hesitates but begins to recount the details. TARZAN (resigned) Is deep in jungle. Mighty Baron approach tarzan. Alden listens intently, occasionally swatting Tarzan to maintain his dominance. TARZAN Is...control tarzan. Put tarzan in place. Tarzan no choice, must yield. Alden's eyes gleam with triumph. He's extracting exactly what he needs. TARZAN (softly) Is why Alden need know? Alden's patience snaps. He swats Tarzan again, harder than before. ALDEN (angry) It is not your place to ask such questions of a superior. Remember, you are a slave, legally acquired in auction. Your thoughts and ideas are not your own to keep from your Masters. Tarzan bows his head, understanding his role more clearly. ALDEN If I want to publish your dreams to the whole world, it is my right to do so. Alden leaves Tarzan, a fire of excitement burning within him. Tarzan's submission has awakened something new in Alden, a realization of his own superiority. * * * * * Alden enters the opulent Dom's Den club, his steps more assured after his encounter with Tarzan. He seeks out Mr. Blackwood, finding him in a dimly lit corner. ALDEN (uncertain) Mr. Blackwood, may I have a moment of your time? MR. BLACKWOOD (raising an eyebrow) Of course, Alden. What's on your mind? Alden hesitates, unsure of how to proceed. His newfound confidence wavers in the presence of Mr. Blackwood. ALDEN I... I have some information, something I've learned from Tarzan. Mr. Blackwood's interest is piqued. He leans in closer. MR. BLACKWOOD And what might that be? ALDEN It's about his dreams, the ones with Baron von Richter. There's a story there, something that could drive up sales for the Outpost and draw even more attention to our event. Mr. Blackwood studies Alden, his keen eyes assessing the situation. MR. BLACKWOOD You're gaining confidence, Alden. It's good to see. ALDEN (nodding) Yes, well... Tarzan's submission has provided me with a newfound clarity. Mr. Blackwood chuckles, sensing Alden's transformation. MR. BLACKWOOD Indeed, it seems so. You're growing into your role as a superior, it appears. ALDEN Thank you, Mr. Blackwood. I value your guidance in this matter. Should I proceed with the story? Mr. Blackwood considers for a moment, then nods approvingly. MR. BLACKWOOD Yes, Alden. Share the story with your readers. Let them see the truth of Tarzan's nature. Alden leaves Mr. Blackwood, his confidence restored. He heads back to the Outpost, eager to craft a story that will captivate their audience. * * * * * The next morning, Alden's story was in the hands of a growing hoard of captivated readers eager to hear about tarzan's capture and subjugation. This is what they read: Unveiling Shadows: The Enigma of Tarzan's Dreams By Jonathan Alden, Outpost Drama Critic In the shadowed realm of dreams, even the mightiest are vulnerable, and secrets long buried can resurface. This revelation, dear readers, comes from an unexpected source: our very own Tarzan, the enigmatic figure who has captured the imaginations of many. Lately, Tarzan's nights have been plagued by dreams, vivid and haunting. Among these dreams, one figure emerges with peculiar frequency - Baron von Richter. Who is this mysterious Baron, and what connection does he hold to our jungle-savvy protagonist? Though details remain shrouded in mystery, it is clear that these dreams hold a key to Tarzan's true nature, an aspect that he himself may not fully comprehend. As we delve deeper into the enigma of Tarzan, questions arise about the origins of his submission, his purpose in this world, and the forces that shape him. Is it possible, dear readers, that the chains of his destiny were forged long before his auction at Lord Harrington's estate? Are we witnessing the emergence of a new, more profound chapter in Tarzan's life? The Outpost is committed to bringing you the truth behind this beguiling tale. In the coming days, we will explore the complexities of Tarzan's dreams, endeavoring to decipher their significance. What hidden truths lie within these nocturnal adventures? Who is Baron von Richter, and what role does he play in Tarzan's journey? As we embark on this exploration, it is essential to remember that our enigmatic hero is not defined solely by his dreams. His days are a testament to his submission, his unwavering dedication to serving his superiors, and the power he finds in relinquishing control. So, dear readers, stay tuned for more revelations about Tarzan and the extraordinary path he treads. Let us unlock the secrets of his dreams together, and in doing so, uncover the profound truths that lie within. * * * * * Shadows of the Past In a distant corner of the jungle, Baron von Richter, a man as cunning as he was ruthless, sat alone in his dimly lit chamber, poring over the latest edition of the Outpost. His sharp eyes scanned the pages, seeking something that might ignite the fires of his old vendetta. And there it was, a headline that stirred the dormant embers of hatred within him. "Unveiling Shadows: The Enigma of Tarzan's Dreams," the headline read, accompanied by a sketch of a powerful figure bound and at the mercy of another. The Baron's blood ran cold. Could it be? Could the dreams of the jungle's legendary lord truly be haunted by the specter of Baron von Richter? Memories, sharp and unyielding, flooded the Baron's mind. He recalled their fateful encounters, each one ending in bitter defeat for him. Tarzan's strength and cunning had always proved insurmountable. Yet, now, to learn that the very man he had sought to conquer in the wilds of the jungle now dreamt of submitting to him... It was a revelation that could not be ignored. The Baron's steely resolve rekindled, burning brighter than ever. He would pursue this lead, track down Tarzan, and confront him in a way that would leave no doubt as to who held the upper hand. From the sound of things, perhaps he could employ the dark magic he learned from the jungle witch doctor, who taught him the secret to infiltrating the dreams of his adversaries. He envisioned the satisfaction of finally besting his old nemesis, of seeing Tarzan brought to his knees, willingly or not. In the days that followed, the Baron delved into every piece of information he could find about Tarzan's recent activities. He sought out rumors, whispers, and tales from the fringes of the jungle. It wasn't long before he had a rough idea of Tarzan's whereabouts. Through treacherous terrain and under the cloak of darkness, the Baron made his way towards Tarzan's domain. His mind raced with plans, strategies to exploit this newfound advantage. He would play on Tarzan's dreams, turn them into a reality that neither of them could escape. As he drew closer to Tarzan's territory, the Baron's heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and vindication. The jungle itself seemed to pulse with the energy of their impending confrontation. It was a reckoning long overdue. Finally, he stood at the edge of Tarzan's domain, hidden amidst the dense foliage. He observed Tarzan, a figure of raw power and primal grace, unaware of the predator lurking nearby. The Baron's lips curled into a sinister smile. This would be the moment he had waited for. With calculated precision, the Baron set his plan into motion. He would exploit Tarzan's dreams, use them as a weapon to break the jungle lord's spirit. He would force Tarzan to confront his deepest fears and desires, to submit willingly to the Baron's dominion. As the days passed, the Baron's presence in the jungle remained hidden, his movements shrouded in secrecy. He observed Tarzan closely, studying his habits, learning his routines. Every detail would be crucial in executing his plan. And then, the moment arrived. The Baron would confront Tarzan, not in a battle of brute strength, but in a battle of the mind and spirit. He would use Tarzan's own dreams against him, turn them into a weapon that would ultimately lead to Tarzan's undoing. With a sense of grim satisfaction, the Baron prepared to step out of the shadows and into the arena of their long-standing feud. This time, he would emerge victorious. This time, he would break Tarzan's spirit and prove once and for all that he was the true master of the jungle. The stage was set for a showdown that would echo through the ages, a battle between two titans of the wild. And as the first rays of dawn pierced through the canopy, illuminating the battleground, the jungle held its breath, awaiting the clash of its most formidable adversaries. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER THIRTY------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sat, 10 Feb 2024 02:49:05 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 30
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 30: A Nemesis from The Shadows of the Night --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Shadows of the Night
Tarzan is anxiously pacing backstage before a performance at the Dom's Den
under the watchful eye of the club's security enforcers. Jonathon Alden is
in attendance, getting the royal treatment with his own V.I.P. room
backstage. Tarzan's brow is furrowed in deep contemplation. With security
distracted, he finally slips into the V.I.P. room and approaches Alden, who
is quietly reading by candlelight.
TARZAN: (awkwardly) tarzan need talk
ALDEN (looking up) Of course, Tarzan. You can always come to me. What's on
your mind?
Tarzan takes a deep breath, struggling to find the right words.
TARZAN (softly) Tarzan make dream.
Alden puts down his book, giving Tarzan his full attention.
ALDEN (concerned) What kind of dreams, Tarzan?
TARZAN (frustrated) Is much mighty dream....Much power. Is
Mr. Blackwood....and is Baron....von Richter.
ALDEN (raising an eyebrow) Are these nightmares, tarzan?
TARZAN (shakes head slowly) Is like...lesson.
Alden studies Tarzan's face, noting the genuine worry etched on it.
ALDEN (supportive) Dreams can be strange, my friend. Sometimes they offer
us insight, even if the message is not immediately clear. What do you think
these dreams are trying to tell you?
Tarzan hesitates, struggling to find the right words.
TARZAN (quietly) Dreams...make show....tarzan place....show who is tarzan.
Alden considers Tarzan's words carefully before responding.
ALDEN (gently) It's natural to question our purpose, Tarzan. And it's okay
to seek answers, even in dreams. But remember, dreams are just
that--dreams. They may offer guidance, but it's up to us to interpret their
meaning.
TARZAN (nods resolutely) Is much powerful dream....
ALDEN (supportive) Then perhaps it's time to embrace what they're trying to
tell you. Trust yourself, Tarzan. You have a strength and wisdom that goes
beyond the jungle.
Tarzan nods, gratitude in his eyes.
TARZAN Is much help. Tarzan much thanks!
ALDEN (smiling) You're always welcome, Tarzan. We're in this together,
after all.
The two men share a heartfelt moment of camaraderie, their bond
strengthened by this candid conversation.
* * * * *
Dreams Unveiled
Alden knocks on the door and enters Mr. Blackwood's chamber, finding him
studying a ledger.
ALDEN (sincerely) Mr. Blackwood, may I have a moment?
BLACKWOOD (raising an eyebrow) Of course, Alden. What brings you here at
this late hour?
Alden steps closer, speaking in a hushed tone.
ALDEN (whispering) It's about Tarzan, sir. I've noticed a significant
development.
Blackwood leans back.
BLACKWOOD (intrigued) Oh? Do tell, Alden.
ALDEN (confidentially) He's been having dreams, Mr. Blackwood. Vivid
ones. And you, along with Lord Harrington, and some Baron, I believe he
said, are a prominent part of them.
Blackwood's eyes gleam with satisfaction.
BLACKWOOD (smiling) Ah, it seems our subliminal messages are taking
root. Excellent news, Alden.
ALDEN (nodding) Indeed. But the content of these dreams, sir... They are
puzzling. I can't help but wonder what they might mean.
BLACKWOOD (pensively) Dreams can be a reflection of one's deepest desires
and fears, Alden. Perhaps they are showing Tarzan a path he is meant to
follow.
ALDEN (curious) Shall we consider sharing these dreams with the public,
Mr. Blackwood? It could generate more interest and, in turn, greater
profits for us.
Blackwood contemplates the idea, tapping his fingers against the ledger.
BLACKWOOD (pondering) It's a bold suggestion, Alden. But we must be
cautious. Revealing too much could backfire. We need to maintain an air of
mystery.
ALDEN (respectful) Understood, sir. I only seek to serve our mutual
interests.
BLACKWOOD (appreciative) And you do so admirably, Alden. Keep a close eye
on Tarzan. His dreams may hold the key to our continued success.
Alden nods, acknowledging the trust placed in him.
ALDEN (rest assured) I will, Mr. Blackwood. Together, we will ensure our
venture prospers.
They exchange a meaningful look, knowing that their alliance is bound by
more than just dreams.
* * * * *
Unveiling Shadows
Alden enters tarzan's stall in the barn, finding Tarzan lost in thought. He
approaches Tarzan with a gentle, reassuring demeanor.
ALDEN (softly) Tarzan, I've been thinking about your dreams. I'm here to
listen, if you'd like to share.
TARZAN (looking up, hesitant) Is true?
ALDEN (nodding) Yes, Tarzan. Sometimes, talking about our dreams can help
us make sense of them.
Tarzan starts to open up, speaking hesitantly about the vivid images that
haunt him.
TARZAN tarzan in jungle... Mr. Blackwood, Lord Harrington, too. Is guide
tarzan.
Alden listens intently, probing gently for more details.
ALDEN And what do they say, Tarzan? What do they guide you towards?
As Tarzan recounts the dreams, Alden senses there's more beneath the
surface.
ALDEN (pushes gently) Tarzan, I need you to be specific. What troubles you
the most in these dreams?
Tarzan hesitates, clearly struggling to articulate his feelings.
TARZAN Is say....tarzan must...submit....is tarzan purpose.
ALDEN (nodding, encouraging) Go on, Tarzan. Tell me more about this
submission.
Tarzan's voice grows firmer, his inner turmoil evident.
TARZAN Is say submit is much strong, much power.
Alden senses that he's on the verge of a breakthrough, but he pushes
further.
ALDEN (insistent) And how does it make you feel, Tarzan? To have the
strength to submit?
TARZAN (lost in thought) Is...tarzan destiny.
Alden, realizing the gravity of what he's uncovered, presses on.
ALDEN And what about your loincloth, Tarzan? How does it fit into all of
this?
Tarzan's eyes widen, surprised by the directness of the question.
TARZAN Is...tarzan.
ALDEN (encouraging) It's for a servant, tarzan. Do you find pleasure in
this purpose?
TARZAN (voice low) Is...true.
Alden takes a step back, absorbing the revelation. He knows he's on the
cusp of an extraordinary story.
ALDEN (softly) Thank you, Tarzan. You've shared something profound with me
tonight.
Alden can't help but feel a mixture of awe and responsibility for the truth
he now holds. He decides to push further, to be more aggressive. His
curiosity is now mixed with a newfound determination. He needs every detail
for his story.
ALDEN (firmly) Tarzan, I need to know more. Who else appears in your
dreams?
TARZAN (hesitant) Is no one...
ALDEN (impatient) Tarzan, I have the tools of Mr. Blackwood. Don't make me
use them.
Alden takes out a riding crop, its presence looming in the air.
TARZAN (defeated) Baron...von Richter...is there too.
ALDEN (satisfied) Good, now tell me about your history with him.
Tarzan hesitates, struggling to put his emotions into words.
TARZAN Is make...capture tarzan. Is much mighty enemy. Is want break
tarzan, make tarzan submit.
ALDEN (interested) And did he succeed, Tarzan?
TARZAN (barely audible) No...
ALDEN (determined) Tell me about the interactions, Tarzan. Every detail.
Tarzan recounts the memories, the clashes, the moments of defiance.
ALDEN (encouraging) And what about the moments of submission, Tarzan? When
did you give in?
TARZAN (quietly) Tarzan no had choice.
Alden senses they're on the brink of a breakthrough. He presses further.
ALDEN (details, details) Tell me, Tarzan. What exactly transpired?
Tarzan's voice grows steadier, his reluctance fading as he relives the
memories.
TARZAN Is much mighty man. Much dom Master. Tarzan must yield.
Alden listens intently, absorbing every word. He knows he's extracting
something monumental.
ALDEN Thank you, Tarzan. You've shared a part of yourself that few have
ever known.
As Alden leaves, he carries with him the weight of the truth, knowing he
holds a story that will captivate his readers.
* * * * *
When Alden started to work on his story, he realized that he still needed
more substance to make the story complete and to have the maximum input on
his voracious readers.
Alden enters Tarzan's chamber, the riding crop held firmly in his
hand. He's lost his patience.
ALDEN (rudely) Wake up, Tarzan.
Alden swats Tarzan's pectoral muscles with the crop, waking him abruptly.
ALDEN (firmly) An inferior like you has no choice but to answer quickly,
honestly, and fully to a superior like me.
TARZAN (defiant) Why...
Alden swats him again, harder this time.
ALDEN (sharply) Put a "Master" on it when you speak to me.
Tarzan winces, understanding his place.
ALDEN Now, recount an incident from your dream with Baron von Richter. Tell
me the place, the exact actions, and the words spoken.
Tarzan hesitates but begins to recount the details.
TARZAN (resigned) Is deep in jungle. Mighty Baron approach tarzan.
Alden listens intently, occasionally swatting Tarzan to maintain his
dominance.
TARZAN Is...control tarzan. Put tarzan in place. Tarzan no choice, must
yield.
Alden's eyes gleam with triumph. He's extracting exactly what he needs.
TARZAN (softly) Is why Alden need know?
Alden's patience snaps. He swats Tarzan again, harder than before.
ALDEN (angry) It is not your place to ask such questions of a
superior. Remember, you are a slave, legally acquired in auction. Your
thoughts and ideas are not your own to keep from your Masters.
Tarzan bows his head, understanding his role more clearly.
ALDEN If I want to publish your dreams to the whole world, it is my right
to do so.
Alden leaves Tarzan, a fire of excitement burning within him. Tarzan's
submission has awakened something new in Alden, a realization of his own
superiority.
* * * * *
Alden enters the opulent Dom's Den club, his steps more assured after his
encounter with Tarzan. He seeks out Mr. Blackwood, finding him in a dimly
lit corner.
ALDEN (uncertain) Mr. Blackwood, may I have a moment of your time?
MR. BLACKWOOD (raising an eyebrow) Of course, Alden. What's on your mind?
Alden hesitates, unsure of how to proceed. His newfound confidence wavers
in the presence of Mr. Blackwood.
ALDEN I... I have some information, something I've learned from Tarzan.
Mr. Blackwood's interest is piqued. He leans in closer.
MR. BLACKWOOD And what might that be?
ALDEN It's about his dreams, the ones with Baron von Richter. There's a
story there, something that could drive up sales for the Outpost and draw
even more attention to our event.
Mr. Blackwood studies Alden, his keen eyes assessing the situation.
MR. BLACKWOOD You're gaining confidence, Alden. It's good to see.
ALDEN (nodding) Yes, well... Tarzan's submission has provided me with a
newfound clarity.
Mr. Blackwood chuckles, sensing Alden's transformation.
MR. BLACKWOOD Indeed, it seems so. You're growing into your role as a
superior, it appears.
ALDEN Thank you, Mr. Blackwood. I value your guidance in this
matter. Should I proceed with the story?
Mr. Blackwood considers for a moment, then nods approvingly.
MR. BLACKWOOD Yes, Alden. Share the story with your readers. Let them see
the truth of Tarzan's nature.
Alden leaves Mr. Blackwood, his confidence restored. He heads back to the
Outpost, eager to craft a story that will captivate their audience.
* * * * *
The next morning, Alden's story was in the hands of a growing hoard of
captivated readers eager to hear about tarzan's capture and
subjugation. This is what they read:
Unveiling Shadows: The Enigma of Tarzan's Dreams By Jonathan Alden, Outpost
Drama Critic
In the shadowed realm of dreams, even the mightiest are vulnerable, and
secrets long buried can resurface. This revelation, dear readers, comes
from an unexpected source: our very own Tarzan, the enigmatic figure who
has captured the imaginations of many.
Lately, Tarzan's nights have been plagued by dreams, vivid and
haunting. Among these dreams, one figure emerges with peculiar frequency -
Baron von Richter. Who is this mysterious Baron, and what connection does
he hold to our jungle-savvy protagonist?
Though details remain shrouded in mystery, it is clear that these dreams
hold a key to Tarzan's true nature, an aspect that he himself may not fully
comprehend. As we delve deeper into the enigma of Tarzan, questions arise
about the origins of his submission, his purpose in this world, and the
forces that shape him.
Is it possible, dear readers, that the chains of his destiny were forged
long before his auction at Lord Harrington's estate? Are we witnessing the
emergence of a new, more profound chapter in Tarzan's life? The Outpost is
committed to bringing you the truth behind this beguiling tale.
In the coming days, we will explore the complexities of Tarzan's dreams,
endeavoring to decipher their significance. What hidden truths lie within
these nocturnal adventures? Who is Baron von Richter, and what role does he
play in Tarzan's journey?
As we embark on this exploration, it is essential to remember that our
enigmatic hero is not defined solely by his dreams. His days are a
testament to his submission, his unwavering dedication to serving his
superiors, and the power he finds in relinquishing control.
So, dear readers, stay tuned for more revelations about Tarzan and the
extraordinary path he treads. Let us unlock the secrets of his dreams
together, and in doing so, uncover the profound truths that lie within.
* * * * *
Shadows of the Past
In a distant corner of the jungle, Baron von Richter, a man as cunning as
he was ruthless, sat alone in his dimly lit chamber, poring over the latest
edition of the Outpost. His sharp eyes scanned the pages, seeking something
that might ignite the fires of his old vendetta. And there it was, a
headline that stirred the dormant embers of hatred within him.
"Unveiling Shadows: The Enigma of Tarzan's Dreams," the headline read,
accompanied by a sketch of a powerful figure bound and at the mercy of
another. The Baron's blood ran cold. Could it be? Could the dreams of the
jungle's legendary lord truly be haunted by the specter of Baron von
Richter?
Memories, sharp and unyielding, flooded the Baron's mind. He recalled their
fateful encounters, each one ending in bitter defeat for him. Tarzan's
strength and cunning had always proved insurmountable. Yet, now, to learn
that the very man he had sought to conquer in the wilds of the jungle now
dreamt of submitting to him... It was a revelation that could not be
ignored.
The Baron's steely resolve rekindled, burning brighter than ever. He would
pursue this lead, track down Tarzan, and confront him in a way that would
leave no doubt as to who held the upper hand. From the sound of things,
perhaps he could employ the dark magic he learned from the jungle witch
doctor, who taught him the secret to infiltrating the dreams of his
adversaries. He envisioned the satisfaction of finally besting his old
nemesis, of seeing Tarzan brought to his knees, willingly or not.
In the days that followed, the Baron delved into every piece of information
he could find about Tarzan's recent activities. He sought out rumors,
whispers, and tales from the fringes of the jungle. It wasn't long before
he had a rough idea of Tarzan's whereabouts.
Through treacherous terrain and under the cloak of darkness, the Baron made
his way towards Tarzan's domain. His mind raced with plans, strategies to
exploit this newfound advantage. He would play on Tarzan's dreams, turn
them into a reality that neither of them could escape.
As he drew closer to Tarzan's territory, the Baron's heart pounded with a
mixture of anticipation and vindication. The jungle itself seemed to pulse
with the energy of their impending confrontation. It was a reckoning long
overdue.
Finally, he stood at the edge of Tarzan's domain, hidden amidst the dense
foliage. He observed Tarzan, a figure of raw power and primal grace,
unaware of the predator lurking nearby. The Baron's lips curled into a
sinister smile. This would be the moment he had waited for.
With calculated precision, the Baron set his plan into motion. He would
exploit Tarzan's dreams, use them as a weapon to break the jungle lord's
spirit. He would force Tarzan to confront his deepest fears and desires, to
submit willingly to the Baron's dominion.
As the days passed, the Baron's presence in the jungle remained hidden, his
movements shrouded in secrecy. He observed Tarzan closely, studying his
habits, learning his routines. Every detail would be crucial in executing
his plan.
And then, the moment arrived. The Baron would confront Tarzan, not in a
battle of brute strength, but in a battle of the mind and spirit. He would
use Tarzan's own dreams against him, turn them into a weapon that would
ultimately lead to Tarzan's undoing.
With a sense of grim satisfaction, the Baron prepared to step out of the
shadows and into the arena of their long-standing feud. This time, he would
emerge victorious. This time, he would break Tarzan's spirit and prove once
and for all that he was the true master of the jungle.
The stage was set for a showdown that would echo through the ages, a battle
between two titans of the wild. And as the first rays of dawn pierced
through the canopy, illuminating the battleground, the jungle held its
breath, awaiting the clash of its most formidable adversaries.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-36 | Date: Sat, 2 Mar 2024 05:07:42 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 36 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 36: The Moment of Subliminal Truth-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com In the midst of the night, Tarzan's mind wandered into the realm of dreams. The jungle canopy above seemed to blur and shift, transforming into a surreal tapestry of vibrant colors and shadows. He found himself standing at the edge of a clearing, where the lush green foliage gave way to a space bathed in a soft, ethereal light. Before him, a group of imposing figures stood, their silhouettes tall and powerful. These were the alpha males, the dominant forces that ruled the jungle and the upcoming Alpha Ascension. Their presence exuded an air of authority and strength that Tarzan couldn't deny. As he stepped forward, Tarzan felt a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. The ground beneath his feet felt different, almost as if it yielded to his every step. He glanced down and realized that he was no longer barefoot on the jungle floor. Instead, his feet were encased in ornate leather sandals, intricately designed with patterns of vines and leaves. The alpha males turned towards Tarzan, their eyes piercing and assessing. Each one seemed to represent a facet of power--Lord Harrington with his refined elegance, Mr. Blackwood with his unwavering confidence, and Alden with his sharp intellect. In this dreamworld, Tarzan's instincts urged him to kneel, to acknowledge the superiority of these figures. It was a sensation that coursed through his veins, a recognition of his true place in this hierarchy. He felt a strange sense of liberation in surrendering to the truth. As he descended to his knees, a low, rumbling growl of approval emanated from the alpha males. It was a sound that reverberated through the clearing, a primal affirmation of Tarzan's submission. Yet, just as Tarzan's forehead touched the soft earth, a new figure materialized before him--a dark and imposing presence that seemed to materialize from the shadows. It was Baron von Richter, the enigmatic and commanding force that had, unbeknownst to tarzan, emerged as a central figure in the Alpha Ascension. Baron von Richter's presence was overwhelming. His attire exuded dominance, adorned in dark leather that accentuated every sinew of his powerful form. A cloak billowed around him, its edges trailing like shadows in his wake. His gaze bore into Tarzan with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. In the dream, Tarzan felt a jolt of recognition and a surge of conflicting emotions. The Baron's arrival disrupted the delicate balance of submission and revealed new layers to the unfolding narrative. The Baron spoke, his voice a deep and resonant timbre that echoed through the clearing. His words were a challenge, a call to action that demanded Tarzan's acknowledgment. It was a moment of reckoning, a confrontation with a force that could shatter the very foundations of Tarzan's perception. As the dream wove its intricate tapestry, Tarzan grappled with these conflicting currents of submission and resistance. The jungle around him seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the next turn of events. In the dream's surreal tableau, the contrast between Tarzan and Baron von Richter was stark and unmistakable. As they stood face to face, the distinctions between them seemed to magnify, emphasizing the essence of who they were at their core. Baron von Richter's presence was a force of nature, an embodiment of raw power and unyielding authority. His frame exuded strength, muscles rippling beneath the dark leather that clung to him like a second skin. The outfit Tarzan imagined him in emphasized every sinew, leaving no room for doubt about the Baron's dominance. Tarzan's gaze swept over the Baron's form, taking in the intricate details of his attire. A spike-studded codpiece adorned his waist, a testament to the merciless cruelty that von Richter wielded with unwavering precision. It was a symbol of dominance, a declaration of superiority that left no room for doubt. In contrast, Tarzan's own form seemed to shift and waver, as if struggling to find its place within this dynamic. He felt a surge of vulnerability, an acknowledgment of the vast chasm that separated him from the Baron. His loincloth, once a symbol of his jungle prowess, now felt inadequate in the face of such unbridled dominance. As the dream unfolded, Tarzan found himself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. On one hand, there was a visceral recognition of the Baron's superiority--an instinctual understanding that resonated deep within him. It was a truth that stirred something primal, a recognition of the hierarchy that governed their interactions. Yet, alongside this acknowledgment, there simmered a sense of resistance--a spark of defiance that refused to be extinguished. It was Tarzan's indomitable spirit, a reminder that even in the face of overwhelming dominance, there remained a core of untamed strength. The air around them seemed charged with tension, as if the very fabric of the dreamworld pulsed with the currents of their conflicting energies. The jungle itself held its breath, bearing witness to this elemental clash of wills. In a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, Tarzan met the Baron's penetrating gaze. It was a gaze that bore into his soul, demanding submission, yet also hinting at a challenge--an invitation to rise to the occasion. As the dream danced on, Tarzan felt the weight of this pivotal moment. The choices he made in this ephemeral realm held the power to shape the course of his waking reality. It was a revelation that hung heavy in the air, a crossroads where the boundaries between instinct and conscious choice blurred. As the pivotal moment arrived, Tarzan stood on the precipice of a profound choice. The dreamworld held its breath, as if awaiting the verdict that would shape the course of their interaction. In a heartbeat, Tarzan's gaze met Baron von Richter's unyielding stare. The air between them seemed charged with an electric current, carrying the weight of their unspoken understanding. It was a juncture where the dance of dominance and submission hung in delicate balance. Tarzan felt a surge of primal energy coursing through him--a wellspring of untamed power that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. It was a force that emanated from the very core of his being, a reminder of the jungle's indomitable spirit that flowed within him. In that charged instant, Tarzan made a choice--an assertion of his own essence, a declaration of his untamed strength. With a resolute step forward, he closed the distance between them, meeting the Baron's unyielding presence with a force of his own. Baron von Richter's piercing gaze did not waver. Instead, it seemed to acknowledge Tarzan's unspoken challenge, accepting the mantle of dominance with a measured nod. In that acknowledgment, there was a tacit understanding--a recognition that, in this dreamworld, the dynamics were set. As if guided by an unspoken cue, Tarzan lowered himself to one knee, a gesture of deference that resonated with the ancient rhythms of hierarchy and submission. It was an acknowledgment of the Baron's authority, an affirmation of the power dynamic that pulsed between them. The dreamworld seemed to shift, its contours molding to the newfound dynamic. The jungle itself bore witness to this dance of dominance, embracing the primal truths that guided their interaction. With a voice that held the resonance of command, Baron von Richter spoke, his words cutting through the charged atmosphere. He set the terms of their encounter, directing Tarzan with a precision that left no room for ambiguity. Tarzan listened, his senses attuned to the Baron's every word. There was a clarity in the Baron's directives--an assurance that he understood the intricacies of dominance and submission on a level that transcended the dreamworld. As the dream unfolded, Tarzan found himself navigating this new dynamic with a sense of purpose and clarity. He responded to the Baron's commands with a fluidity that spoke to an instinctual understanding of their roles. The dance between them became a symphony of dominance and submission, each movement a testament to the unspoken truths that bound them. It was a revelation--a merging of primal energies that surged and swirled in harmonious cadence. In the heart of the dreamworld, Tarzan and Baron von Richter forged a connection that transcended the boundaries of the waking world. It was emblematic of the complexities of dominance and submission, a reminder that within each of them resided the capacity for untamed power. As Tarzan knelt before Baron von Richter, the dreamworld seemed to hold its breath, anticipating the Baron's next move. The air was charged with a palpable tension, carrying the weight of their unspoken understanding. The Baron's voice sliced through the charged atmosphere, each word carrying the resonance of command. His directives were clear and unwavering, leaving no room for ambiguity. "Submit, Tarzan," he intoned, his tone a declaration of dominance that echoed through the dreamworld. Tarzan's senses were attuned to the Baron's every word, his very being aligning with the rhythm of the interaction. He listened with a focus that bordered on reverence, a primal instinct guiding his responses. The Baron's commands were like a roadmap, guiding Tarzan through the intricacies of dominance and submission. "Kneel lower," he instructed, his voice a steady cadence that set the pace of their encounter. Tarzan complied, each movement a demonstration of his willingness to yield. "Place your hands at my feet," the Baron directed, his tone unyielding. Tarzan's palms met the jungle floor, his fingers splaying against the earth as if in acknowledgment of his place. With each command, the power dynamic between them crystallized, the dreamworld becoming a stage for the interplay of dominance and submission. It was a revelation--a merging of primal energies that surged and swirled in harmonious cadence. The Baron's understanding of these intricacies was palpable, an unspoken assurance that he wielded the authority inherent to his station. His words carried weight, but there was a subtlety to his directives--a finesse that spoke to a mastery of dominance. "Stand," the Baron commanded, his voice cutting through the charged air. Tarzan rose, every sinew of his body attuned to the Baron's lead. It was a dance--a choreography of dominance and submission that unfolded in perfect synchrony. The dreamworld seemed to shift, its contours molding to the newfound dynamic. The jungle itself bore witness to this dance, embracing the primal truths that guided their interaction. With each command, Tarzan's sense of self became intertwined with the Baron's dominant presence. It was a surrender--a yielding to the innate power that flowed through both of them. The culmination of their interaction left an indelible mark on Tarzan's psyche, a testament to the complexities of dominance and submission. In the heart of the dreamworld, he had found a connection that transcended the boundaries of the waking world. As the dream reached its crescendo, Tarzan and Baron von Richter stood as equals in the realm of dominance and submission. It was a revelation--a testament to the power that coursed through them, an affirmation that within each of them resided the capacity for untamed strength. Tarzan lost any sense of time or place, his mind swimming as it yielded control to a superior alpha Master. The words swirled around him, the Master's commands distorting his sense of self. They circled him, binding him, cementing themselves within his malleable mind as the Master repeated and augmented his variations on a theme. The jungle floor pressed against Tarzan's knees, the earthy scent mingling with the musk of primal anticipation. His hands rested beside Baron von Richter's feet, each finger poised as if to acknowledge the weight of dominance they bore witness to. "Kneel, Tarzan," the Baron's voice, deep and resonant, cut through the charged air. His words were a declaration, a testament to the authority that radiated from him. Tarzan's body responded, lowering him to the ground with a fluidity that spoke to a primal understanding. "Good," the Baron intoned, his voice carrying the weight of approval. "You understand your place." There was a subtle shift in the dreamworld, an acknowledgment of the dynamic taking shape. "Your strength is evident, Tarzan," the Baron continued, his gaze steady. "But it is a strength that must find its rightful place--beneath the firm hand of dominance." His words hung in the air, a directive that resonated through the dreamworld. "Submit," the Baron commanded, each syllable a revelation of primal truth. Tarzan felt the weight of the command settle upon him, a realization that his own strength could find its truest expression in surrender. "Your loincloth," the Baron's voice was a blade, slicing through the charged atmosphere. "It serves as a reminder of your status--of your willingness to be bound by the whims of a superior force." His assessment was unyielding, a proclamation of the symbolism that the loincloth bore. With each command, the Baron wove a narrative of dominance and submission, guiding Tarzan through the intricacies of their interaction. "You will wear it as a mark of your place, Tarzan," he declared, his words etching themselves into the fabric of the dream. "Rise," the Baron's voice echoed through the dreamworld, a directive that cut through the charged air. Tarzan obeyed, every sinew of his body aligning with the Baron's will. It was a testament--a physical embodiment of the dominance that coursed through them. "Your submission is a gift, Tarzan," the Baron's voice held a note of reverence. "It is a recognition of the power that resides within you--a power that finds its truest expression in the embrace of dominance." His words carried a wisdom born of experience, a knowing that transcended the boundaries of the dreamworld. "Embrace it," the Baron's command was a revelation, a call to Tarzan's subconscious to yield to the innate truths that guided them. "Let go of the pretense and allow the primal force within you to find its rightful place." With each directive, the dreamworld seemed to shift, its contours molding to the newfound dynamic. The jungle bore witness, the ancient trees standing sentinel to the primal truths that unfurled. The dream world pulsed with an energy that seemed to emanate from the Baron himself. Within its boundless expanse, the tools of dominance awaited, each a manifestation of the power that the Baron held. "Tarzan," the Baron's voice, commanding and unwavering, cut through the dreamworld. He held a riding crop in his hand, its leather tips a testament to the potential it held. "This," he intoned, "is an extension of my will. It is a conduit through which you will come to understand your place." With a deft motion, the Baron flicked the crop through the air, the leather tips slicing through the charged atmosphere. "Pay heed, Tarzan," he commanded. "Observe the precision, the control. It is a language unto itself--a language that you will come to speak." Tarzan's senses were attuned to the subtle nuances, his gaze fixed on the crop as it danced through the dreamworld. It was a revelation--a revelation of the power that could be harnessed, a revelation of the submission that awaited. "Kneel," the Baron's command was accompanied by a swift, deliberate motion of the crop. It traced an arc through the air, its path guiding Tarzan to his knees. "Understand, Tarzan," the Baron's voice held an edge of expectation, "that this is not merely an act. It is a declaration--a declaration of your willingness to yield." As Tarzan knelt, the Baron circled him, the crop a steady presence in his hand. "With this," he intoned, "I will guide you. I will instruct you. And you will respond in kind." The crop moved with a fluidity that spoke to the mastery the Baron held. "Stand," the Baron's command resonated through the dreamworld. Tarzan obeyed, every sinew of his body aligning with the Baron's will. The crop remained a silent witness to the power dynamic that unfolded. Next, the Baron wielded a cattle prod, its electric charge crackling with potential. "This, Tarzan," he declared, "is a reminder of the force that can be brought to bear. It is a symbol of the jolt of submission that awaits." The prod arced through the air, its charge sending sparks of energy cascading. "Submit," the Baron commanded, his voice a revelation of primal truth. The prod hummed to life, its electric pulse radiating with the power that coursed through it. Tarzan's body responded, yielding to the jolt of submission that surged. With each tool, the Baron wove a narrative of dominance and submission, guiding Tarzan through the intricacies of their interaction. "Remember, Tarzan," he intoned, "these are but extensions of the primal truths that reside within. They serve as conduits through which the dynamic finds its expression." Tarzan knelt before Baron von Richter, his body attuned to the tools of dominance that awaited his command. * * * * * As the morning sun began to cast its golden rays through the thick foliage, Tarzan stirred in his makeshift bed of leaves and vines. The vivid remnants of his dream clung to his consciousness, the memory of Baron von Richter's commanding presence still fresh in his mind. As he gradually transitioned from the ethereal realm of dreams to the tangible reality of the jungle, Tarzan couldn't help but imagine an ending to the dream--a conclusion that resonated with his true nature, his deepest desires. In his waking reverie, Tarzan envisioned himself kneeling before the Baron, not in submission, but in a gesture of mutual respect. The jungle king would meet the piercing gaze of his archenemy with unwavering determination, acknowledging the power that radiated from the formidable man. In this imagined ending, Tarzan would speak, his voice steady and resolute, expressing his understanding of the intricate dance between dominance and submission. He would assure the Baron that he, too, held the strength of a jungle king, but he recognized the Alpha force that emanated from the cruel Master. The dream-born Tarzan would pledge his loyalty, not as a meek servant, but as an equal in the realm of dominance and power. He would offer his submission not out of weakness, but as a deliberate choice--an affirmation of the unwavering force that bound them together. As the vivid imagery of his imagined ending played out in his mind, Tarzan felt a surge of energy course through his veins. The dream provided him with a glimpse into the intricate dynamics of power and submission, and he was determined to carry that revelation with him into the waking world. In the realm of dreams fading into consciousness, the jungle canopy seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly glow. Tarzan stood amidst the verdant foliage, his senses heightened, every fiber of his being attuned to the presence that dominated the clearing. Baron von Richter loomed before him, a specter of authority and power. Tarzan's breath quickened, a mixture of awe and trepidation coursing through him. This was his arch enemy, his eternal adversary, a force to be reckoned with. The Baron's gaze, cold and unyielding, bore down on him. In those piercing eyes, Tarzan glimpsed the truth--a truth that transcended the waking world. "Kneel," a voice, like thunder rolling through the jungle, commanded. It was a directive that brooked no resistance, the repeated command echoing throughout his dream, resonating with an unspoken understanding of their roles. Once more, Tarzan's legs gave way beneath him, his powerful frame brought low in obeisance to the dominant force that stood before him. The forest floor met his knees with a cool, grounding touch. Tarzan's hands, calloused and strong, found their place on either side of him, fingers curling into the earth. It was a posture of submission, a symbol of his acceptance of the natural order that governed their existence. "Master," the word escaped Tarzan's lips, a whisper of reverence and acknowledgement. It was not spoken out of coercion, but from a place of profound recognition. In the presence of the Baron, Tarzan understood his place--the place of an inferior, a servant, a vessel for the Baron's will. The Baron's presence seemed to swell around him, an all-encompassing force that left no room for doubt. There was no mercy here, no room for compromise. Only an unyielding commitment to putting Tarzan in his proper place--at the feet of his master. "Look at me," the Baron's voice, edged with steel, pierced through the stillness. Tarzan's gaze, once defiant and untamed, met the Baron's with unwavering intensity. It was a gaze that spoke of submission, a recognition of the power that flowed between them. "Serve," the command echoed through the clearing, a stark reminder of Tarzan's purpose. He knew what was expected of him--to please, to obey, to yield to the dominant force that held sway over him. The tools of direction were at the Baron's disposal, a potent reminder of the consequences of faltering. As the dream-born encounter continued, Tarzan's movements were measured, deliberate. Each action, each response, was a repeated refrain sounding his acceptance of his role. He moved not as a defeated captive, but as a willing participant in the dance of dominance and submission. The dream-born scene drew to a close, leaving Tarzan with a profound sense of understanding. As the images began to fade, he carried with him a deeper knowledge of the forces that shaped his existence--a knowledge that would guide him as he faced the challenges of the waking world once more. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sat, 2 Mar 2024 05:07:42 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 36
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 36: The Moment of Subliminal Truth--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
In the midst of the night, Tarzan's mind wandered into the realm of
dreams. The jungle canopy above seemed to blur and shift, transforming into
a surreal tapestry of vibrant colors and shadows. He found himself standing
at the edge of a clearing, where the lush green foliage gave way to a space
bathed in a soft, ethereal light.
Before him, a group of imposing figures stood, their silhouettes tall and
powerful. These were the alpha males, the dominant forces that ruled the
jungle and the upcoming Alpha Ascension. Their presence exuded an air of
authority and strength that Tarzan couldn't deny.
As he stepped forward, Tarzan felt a mixture of anticipation and
trepidation. The ground beneath his feet felt different, almost as if it
yielded to his every step. He glanced down and realized that he was no
longer barefoot on the jungle floor. Instead, his feet were encased in
ornate leather sandals, intricately designed with patterns of vines and
leaves.
The alpha males turned towards Tarzan, their eyes piercing and
assessing. Each one seemed to represent a facet of power--Lord Harrington
with his refined elegance, Mr. Blackwood with his unwavering confidence,
and Alden with his sharp intellect.
In this dreamworld, Tarzan's instincts urged him to kneel, to acknowledge
the superiority of these figures. It was a sensation that coursed through
his veins, a recognition of his true place in this hierarchy. He felt a
strange sense of liberation in surrendering to the truth.
As he descended to his knees, a low, rumbling growl of approval emanated
from the alpha males. It was a sound that reverberated through the
clearing, a primal affirmation of Tarzan's submission.
Yet, just as Tarzan's forehead touched the soft earth, a new figure
materialized before him--a dark and imposing presence that seemed to
materialize from the shadows. It was Baron von Richter, the enigmatic and
commanding force that had, unbeknownst to tarzan, emerged as a central
figure in the Alpha Ascension.
Baron von Richter's presence was overwhelming. His attire exuded dominance,
adorned in dark leather that accentuated every sinew of his powerful
form. A cloak billowed around him, its edges trailing like shadows in his
wake. His gaze bore into Tarzan with an intensity that was impossible to
ignore.
In the dream, Tarzan felt a jolt of recognition and a surge of conflicting
emotions. The Baron's arrival disrupted the delicate balance of submission
and revealed new layers to the unfolding narrative.
The Baron spoke, his voice a deep and resonant timbre that echoed through
the clearing. His words were a challenge, a call to action that demanded
Tarzan's acknowledgment. It was a moment of reckoning, a confrontation with
a force that could shatter the very foundations of Tarzan's perception.
As the dream wove its intricate tapestry, Tarzan grappled with these
conflicting currents of submission and resistance. The jungle around him
seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the next turn of events.
In the dream's surreal tableau, the contrast between Tarzan and Baron von
Richter was stark and unmistakable. As they stood face to face, the
distinctions between them seemed to magnify, emphasizing the essence of who
they were at their core.
Baron von Richter's presence was a force of nature, an embodiment of raw
power and unyielding authority. His frame exuded strength, muscles rippling
beneath the dark leather that clung to him like a second skin. The outfit
Tarzan imagined him in emphasized every sinew, leaving no room for doubt
about the Baron's dominance.
Tarzan's gaze swept over the Baron's form, taking in the intricate details
of his attire. A spike-studded codpiece adorned his waist, a testament to
the merciless cruelty that von Richter wielded with unwavering
precision. It was a symbol of dominance, a declaration of superiority that
left no room for doubt.
In contrast, Tarzan's own form seemed to shift and waver, as if struggling
to find its place within this dynamic. He felt a surge of vulnerability, an
acknowledgment of the vast chasm that separated him from the Baron. His
loincloth, once a symbol of his jungle prowess, now felt inadequate in the
face of such unbridled dominance.
As the dream unfolded, Tarzan found himself caught in a whirlwind of
conflicting emotions. On one hand, there was a visceral recognition of the
Baron's superiority--an instinctual understanding that resonated deep
within him. It was a truth that stirred something primal, a recognition of
the hierarchy that governed their interactions.
Yet, alongside this acknowledgment, there simmered a sense of resistance--a
spark of defiance that refused to be extinguished. It was Tarzan's
indomitable spirit, a reminder that even in the face of overwhelming
dominance, there remained a core of untamed strength. The air around them
seemed charged with tension, as if the very fabric of the dreamworld pulsed
with the currents of their conflicting energies. The jungle itself held its
breath, bearing witness to this elemental clash of wills.
In a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, Tarzan met the Baron's
penetrating gaze. It was a gaze that bore into his soul, demanding
submission, yet also hinting at a challenge--an invitation to rise to the
occasion.
As the dream danced on, Tarzan felt the weight of this pivotal moment. The
choices he made in this ephemeral realm held the power to shape the course
of his waking reality. It was a revelation that hung heavy in the air, a
crossroads where the boundaries between instinct and conscious choice
blurred.
As the pivotal moment arrived, Tarzan stood on the precipice of a profound
choice. The dreamworld held its breath, as if awaiting the verdict that
would shape the course of their interaction.
In a heartbeat, Tarzan's gaze met Baron von Richter's unyielding stare. The
air between them seemed charged with an electric current, carrying the
weight of their unspoken understanding. It was a juncture where the dance
of dominance and submission hung in delicate balance.
Tarzan felt a surge of primal energy coursing through him--a wellspring of
untamed power that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. It was a force that
emanated from the very core of his being, a reminder of the jungle's
indomitable spirit that flowed within him.
In that charged instant, Tarzan made a choice--an assertion of his own
essence, a declaration of his untamed strength. With a resolute step
forward, he closed the distance between them, meeting the Baron's
unyielding presence with a force of his own.
Baron von Richter's piercing gaze did not waver. Instead, it seemed to
acknowledge Tarzan's unspoken challenge, accepting the mantle of dominance
with a measured nod. In that acknowledgment, there was a tacit
understanding--a recognition that, in this dreamworld, the dynamics were
set.
As if guided by an unspoken cue, Tarzan lowered himself to one knee, a
gesture of deference that resonated with the ancient rhythms of hierarchy
and submission. It was an acknowledgment of the Baron's authority, an
affirmation of the power dynamic that pulsed between them.
The dreamworld seemed to shift, its contours molding to the newfound
dynamic. The jungle itself bore witness to this dance of dominance,
embracing the primal truths that guided their interaction.
With a voice that held the resonance of command, Baron von Richter spoke,
his words cutting through the charged atmosphere. He set the terms of their
encounter, directing Tarzan with a precision that left no room for
ambiguity.
Tarzan listened, his senses attuned to the Baron's every word. There was a
clarity in the Baron's directives--an assurance that he understood the
intricacies of dominance and submission on a level that transcended the
dreamworld.
As the dream unfolded, Tarzan found himself navigating this new dynamic
with a sense of purpose and clarity. He responded to the Baron's commands
with a fluidity that spoke to an instinctual understanding of their roles.
The dance between them became a symphony of dominance and submission, each
movement a testament to the unspoken truths that bound them. It was a
revelation--a merging of primal energies that surged and swirled in
harmonious cadence.
In the heart of the dreamworld, Tarzan and Baron von Richter forged a
connection that transcended the boundaries of the waking world. It was
emblematic of the complexities of dominance and submission, a reminder that
within each of them resided the capacity for untamed power.
As Tarzan knelt before Baron von Richter, the dreamworld seemed to hold its
breath, anticipating the Baron's next move. The air was charged with a
palpable tension, carrying the weight of their unspoken understanding.
The Baron's voice sliced through the charged atmosphere, each word carrying
the resonance of command. His directives were clear and unwavering, leaving
no room for ambiguity.
"Submit, Tarzan," he intoned, his tone a declaration of dominance that
echoed through the dreamworld.
Tarzan's senses were attuned to the Baron's every word, his very being
aligning with the rhythm of the interaction. He listened with a focus that
bordered on reverence, a primal instinct guiding his responses.
The Baron's commands were like a roadmap, guiding Tarzan through the
intricacies of dominance and submission.
"Kneel lower," he instructed, his voice a steady cadence that set the pace
of their encounter. Tarzan complied, each movement a demonstration of his
willingness to yield.
"Place your hands at my feet," the Baron directed, his tone
unyielding. Tarzan's palms met the jungle floor, his fingers splaying
against the earth as if in acknowledgment of his place.
With each command, the power dynamic between them crystallized, the
dreamworld becoming a stage for the interplay of dominance and
submission. It was a revelation--a merging of primal energies that surged
and swirled in harmonious cadence.
The Baron's understanding of these intricacies was palpable, an unspoken
assurance that he wielded the authority inherent to his station. His words
carried weight, but there was a subtlety to his directives--a finesse that
spoke to a mastery of dominance.
"Stand," the Baron commanded, his voice cutting through the charged
air. Tarzan rose, every sinew of his body attuned to the Baron's lead. It
was a dance--a choreography of dominance and submission that unfolded in
perfect synchrony.
The dreamworld seemed to shift, its contours molding to the newfound
dynamic. The jungle itself bore witness to this dance, embracing the primal
truths that guided their interaction.
With each command, Tarzan's sense of self became intertwined with the
Baron's dominant presence. It was a surrender--a yielding to the innate
power that flowed through both of them.
The culmination of their interaction left an indelible mark on Tarzan's
psyche, a testament to the complexities of dominance and submission. In the
heart of the dreamworld, he had found a connection that transcended the
boundaries of the waking world.
As the dream reached its crescendo, Tarzan and Baron von Richter stood as
equals in the realm of dominance and submission. It was a revelation--a
testament to the power that coursed through them, an affirmation that
within each of them resided the capacity for untamed strength.
Tarzan lost any sense of time or place, his mind swimming as it yielded
control to a superior alpha Master. The words swirled around him, the
Master's commands distorting his sense of self. They circled him, binding
him, cementing themselves within his malleable mind as the Master repeated
and augmented his variations on a theme.
The jungle floor pressed against Tarzan's knees, the earthy scent mingling
with the musk of primal anticipation. His hands rested beside Baron von
Richter's feet, each finger poised as if to acknowledge the weight of
dominance they bore witness to.
"Kneel, Tarzan," the Baron's voice, deep and resonant, cut through the
charged air. His words were a declaration, a testament to the authority
that radiated from him. Tarzan's body responded, lowering him to the ground
with a fluidity that spoke to a primal understanding.
"Good," the Baron intoned, his voice carrying the weight of approval. "You
understand your place." There was a subtle shift in the dreamworld, an
acknowledgment of the dynamic taking shape.
"Your strength is evident, Tarzan," the Baron continued, his gaze
steady. "But it is a strength that must find its rightful place--beneath
the firm hand of dominance." His words hung in the air, a directive that
resonated through the dreamworld.
"Submit," the Baron commanded, each syllable a revelation of primal
truth. Tarzan felt the weight of the command settle upon him, a realization
that his own strength could find its truest expression in surrender.
"Your loincloth," the Baron's voice was a blade, slicing through the
charged atmosphere. "It serves as a reminder of your status--of your
willingness to be bound by the whims of a superior force." His assessment
was unyielding, a proclamation of the symbolism that the loincloth bore.
With each command, the Baron wove a narrative of dominance and submission,
guiding Tarzan through the intricacies of their interaction.
"You will wear it as a mark of your place, Tarzan," he declared, his words
etching themselves into the fabric of the dream.
"Rise," the Baron's voice echoed through the dreamworld, a directive that
cut through the charged air. Tarzan obeyed, every sinew of his body
aligning with the Baron's will. It was a testament--a physical embodiment
of the dominance that coursed through them.
"Your submission is a gift, Tarzan," the Baron's voice held a note of
reverence. "It is a recognition of the power that resides within you--a
power that finds its truest expression in the embrace of dominance." His
words carried a wisdom born of experience, a knowing that transcended the
boundaries of the dreamworld.
"Embrace it," the Baron's command was a revelation, a call to Tarzan's
subconscious to yield to the innate truths that guided them. "Let go of the
pretense and allow the primal force within you to find its rightful place."
With each directive, the dreamworld seemed to shift, its contours molding
to the newfound dynamic. The jungle bore witness, the ancient trees
standing sentinel to the primal truths that unfurled.
The dream world pulsed with an energy that seemed to emanate from the Baron
himself. Within its boundless expanse, the tools of dominance awaited, each
a manifestation of the power that the Baron held.
"Tarzan," the Baron's voice, commanding and unwavering, cut through the
dreamworld. He held a riding crop in his hand, its leather tips a testament
to the potential it held. "This," he intoned, "is an extension of my
will. It is a conduit through which you will come to understand your
place."
With a deft motion, the Baron flicked the crop through the air, the leather
tips slicing through the charged atmosphere.
"Pay heed, Tarzan," he commanded. "Observe the precision, the control. It
is a language unto itself--a language that you will come to speak."
Tarzan's senses were attuned to the subtle nuances, his gaze fixed on the
crop as it danced through the dreamworld. It was a revelation--a revelation
of the power that could be harnessed, a revelation of the submission that
awaited.
"Kneel," the Baron's command was accompanied by a swift, deliberate motion
of the crop. It traced an arc through the air, its path guiding Tarzan to
his knees. "Understand, Tarzan," the Baron's voice held an edge of
expectation, "that this is not merely an act. It is a declaration--a
declaration of your willingness to yield."
As Tarzan knelt, the Baron circled him, the crop a steady presence in his
hand.
"With this," he intoned, "I will guide you. I will instruct you. And you
will respond in kind." The crop moved with a fluidity that spoke to the
mastery the Baron held.
"Stand," the Baron's command resonated through the dreamworld. Tarzan
obeyed, every sinew of his body aligning with the Baron's will. The crop
remained a silent witness to the power dynamic that unfolded.
Next, the Baron wielded a cattle prod, its electric charge crackling with
potential.
"This, Tarzan," he declared, "is a reminder of the force that can be
brought to bear. It is a symbol of the jolt of submission that awaits." The
prod arced through the air, its charge sending sparks of energy cascading.
"Submit," the Baron commanded, his voice a revelation of primal truth. The
prod hummed to life, its electric pulse radiating with the power that
coursed through it. Tarzan's body responded, yielding to the jolt of
submission that surged.
With each tool, the Baron wove a narrative of dominance and submission,
guiding Tarzan through the intricacies of their interaction.
"Remember, Tarzan," he intoned, "these are but extensions of the primal
truths that reside within. They serve as conduits through which the dynamic
finds its expression."
Tarzan knelt before Baron von Richter, his body attuned to the tools of
dominance that awaited his command.
* * * * * As the morning sun began to cast its golden rays through the
thick foliage, Tarzan stirred in his makeshift bed of leaves and vines. The
vivid remnants of his dream clung to his consciousness, the memory of Baron
von Richter's commanding presence still fresh in his mind.
As he gradually transitioned from the ethereal realm of dreams to the
tangible reality of the jungle, Tarzan couldn't help but imagine an ending
to the dream--a conclusion that resonated with his true nature, his deepest
desires.
In his waking reverie, Tarzan envisioned himself kneeling before the Baron,
not in submission, but in a gesture of mutual respect. The jungle king
would meet the piercing gaze of his archenemy with unwavering
determination, acknowledging the power that radiated from the formidable
man.
In this imagined ending, Tarzan would speak, his voice steady and resolute,
expressing his understanding of the intricate dance between dominance and
submission. He would assure the Baron that he, too, held the strength of a
jungle king, but he recognized the Alpha force that emanated from the cruel
Master.
The dream-born Tarzan would pledge his loyalty, not as a meek servant, but
as an equal in the realm of dominance and power. He would offer his
submission not out of weakness, but as a deliberate choice--an affirmation
of the unwavering force that bound them together. As the vivid imagery of
his imagined ending played out in his mind, Tarzan felt a surge of energy
course through his veins. The dream provided him with a glimpse into the
intricate dynamics of power and submission, and he was determined to carry
that revelation with him into the waking world.
In the realm of dreams fading into consciousness, the jungle canopy seemed
to shimmer with an otherworldly glow. Tarzan stood amidst the verdant
foliage, his senses heightened, every fiber of his being attuned to the
presence that dominated the clearing. Baron von Richter loomed before him,
a specter of authority and power.
Tarzan's breath quickened, a mixture of awe and trepidation coursing
through him. This was his arch enemy, his eternal adversary, a force to be
reckoned with. The Baron's gaze, cold and unyielding, bore down on him. In
those piercing eyes, Tarzan glimpsed the truth--a truth that transcended
the waking world.
"Kneel," a voice, like thunder rolling through the jungle, commanded. It
was a directive that brooked no resistance, the repeated command echoing
throughout his dream, resonating with an unspoken understanding of their
roles. Once more, Tarzan's legs gave way beneath him, his powerful frame
brought low in obeisance to the dominant force that stood before him.
The forest floor met his knees with a cool, grounding touch. Tarzan's
hands, calloused and strong, found their place on either side of him,
fingers curling into the earth. It was a posture of submission, a symbol of
his acceptance of the natural order that governed their existence.
"Master," the word escaped Tarzan's lips, a whisper of reverence and
acknowledgement. It was not spoken out of coercion, but from a place of
profound recognition. In the presence of the Baron, Tarzan understood his
place--the place of an inferior, a servant, a vessel for the Baron's will.
The Baron's presence seemed to swell around him, an all-encompassing force
that left no room for doubt. There was no mercy here, no room for
compromise. Only an unyielding commitment to putting Tarzan in his proper
place--at the feet of his master.
"Look at me," the Baron's voice, edged with steel, pierced through the
stillness. Tarzan's gaze, once defiant and untamed, met the Baron's with
unwavering intensity. It was a gaze that spoke of submission, a recognition
of the power that flowed between them.
"Serve," the command echoed through the clearing, a stark reminder of
Tarzan's purpose. He knew what was expected of him--to please, to obey, to
yield to the dominant force that held sway over him. The tools of direction
were at the Baron's disposal, a potent reminder of the consequences of
faltering.
As the dream-born encounter continued, Tarzan's movements were measured,
deliberate. Each action, each response, was a repeated refrain sounding his
acceptance of his role. He moved not as a defeated captive, but as a
willing participant in the dance of dominance and submission.
The dream-born scene drew to a close, leaving Tarzan with a profound sense
of understanding. As the images began to fade, he carried with him a deeper
knowledge of the forces that shaped his existence--a knowledge that would
guide him as he faced the challenges of the waking world once more.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
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please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-42 | Date: Tue, 19 Mar 2024 02:54:36 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 42 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 42: Spellbinding Submission at The Dom's Den------------------------ (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 42 -- Spellbinding Submission at The Dom's Den When he stopped by late that night, Mr. Blackwood's keen eyes surveyed the scene in the stable, where Tarzan lay bound by the leash. The dim light cast long shadows, emphasizing the powerful figure of the enslaved jungle hero. His muscles rippled even in repose, a reflection of the intense labor he had endured. The leash, a stark reminder of his submission, was secured firmly to the ring embedded in the wall. It ran beneath Tarzan's loincloth and tightly restricted tarzan's savage cock and his big bull balls, a symbol of his servitude, and the sight sent a shiver of dominance through Mr. Blackwood's veins. It was a potent reminder of the control he and the others held over this once mighty man. As he approached, the floorboards creaked beneath Mr. Blackwood's boots, but Tarzan remained still. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breath suggested a fitful slumber. The sight was mesmerizing -- a symbol of a fallen legend, now a pawn in their cruel game. Mr. Blackwood's fingers traced the path of the leash, feeling its tension, its unyielding connection to the man before him. He applied the faintest of pressure, and the slave responded with a groan that thrilled Blackwood. The power imbalance was palpable, a heady mix of dominance and submission that sent a surge of arousal through him. He lingered for a moment, absorbing the sight. Tarzan was now a mere shadow of his former self, stripped of his pride and dignity. The realization of his own superiority coursed through Mr. Blackwood, a heady elixir that fueled his desires. Mr. Blackwood saw no point in letting a fine asset go to waste for the night. With a calculated grin, he decides to bring tarzan to his club, The Dom's Den, knowing that the allure of this remarkable specimen would be irresistible to some of his patrons. It's a brisk journey, with Blackwood relaxing comfortably in the carriage while tarzan obediently follows, the leash to his cock and balls bound to the carriage and his ankles and wrists in strong steel shackles, making it a challenge to keep pace with the merciless tug of the carriage on his loins. As they arrive at the club, the atmosphere is electric. The dimly lit room is filled with a diverse crowd, each individual lost in their own world of indulgence. Mr. Blackwood leads tarzan to a discreet corner, where they can observe without being immediately noticed. The patrons, some in elegant attire and others more casually dressed, are engaged in various conversations and activities. Mr. Blackwood spots a few familiar faces, individuals with an affinity for dominance and submission, who might appreciate the sight of a powerful slave like tarzan. He discreetly approaches one of them, a wealthy businessman known for his proclivities in the realm of power dynamics. After a brief exchange of words, the man's eyes light up with interest. He's intrigued by the prospect of experiencing tarzan's submission firsthand. They return to where tarzan stands, still bound but now under the watchful eye of the wealthy patron. The businessman, with a mixture of authority and anticipation, issues his first command. Tarzan responds immediately, dropping to his knees before his betters, demonstrating the well-honed obedience instilled in him by his Masters. The scene unfolds, a dance of power and submission, with tarzan at the center. He performs with a grace and strength that captivates the onlookers. As the night progresses, other patrons express their interest, each wanting to test the limits of this extraordinary slave. For tarzan, it's a whirlwind of sensations and commands. He moves from one Master to another, adapting to their desires and their assertion of dominance, each in turn. The night is a celebration of his training and the power of his mighty body, even in his submission. As the early hours of the morning approach, Mr. Blackwood knows he's made the right decision. Tarzan's presence has added a new dimension to the club, creating an unforgettable experience for those in attendance. With a sense of satisfaction, he watches as tarzan continues to fulfill the desires of his Masters. The business man commands tarzan to jump. Tarzan obeys the command without hesitation, displaying an impressive agility. He leaps into the air at the businessman's command, his powerful muscles propelling him with ease. As the businessman tugs at the leash, Tarzan immediately adjusts his position, following the gentle pull on his genitals without hesitation. As the businessman begins to pull him in a circle by the leash, Tarzan adjusts his movements to maintain the circular motion. He continues to jump, his muscular physique on full display, and the businessman watches with a mixture of fascination and desire as the loincloth rises and falls with each leap. With the increasing pace set by the businessman, the leash twirls tarzan around in a controlled circle, the speed steadily building. Tarzan's form is impeccable, his obedience unwavering. His movements are smooth, his body language clearly communicating his understanding of his role. It's a display of total submission, drilled into tarzan by the training -- conscious and not -- he's undergone. The businessman grins, clearly pleased with the response. The cruel guidance of the leash keeps Tarzan revolving in a perfect circle, spotlighting his obedience and the businessman's control over him. The businessman grins, clearly pleased with the response he can elicit with a flick of his wrist. The businessman's focus remains fixed on the rising and falling of the loincloth, a clear indication of his pleasure in the display of power dynamics. The rhythmic motion of Tarzan's body and the tantalizing glimpse offered by the shifting fabric hold his attention. It's a potent visual demonstration of dominance and submission. The demonstration attracts some other patrons of the club, and a small crowd is soon gathered to watch. A muscular alpha male nods to the wealthy businessman, asking if he can try his hand on the leash. The wealthy businessman reluctantly relinquishes the leash, acknowledging the request of the muscular alpha male. There's a hint of reluctance in his gesture, as he's hesitant to let go of the power he holds in his hand. However, he's also eager to witness how this new contender will challenge Tarzan's limits. The muscular alpha male takes hold of the leash, feeling the weight of the chain and assessing the strength needed to control the slave at the other end. There's a surge of dominance and authority as he grasps the chain, a palpable connection to the raw power that Tarzan represents. The onlookers observe with anticipation, knowing that this new handler intends to put on a display of his own. The muscle master seizes the opportunity to exert his dominance and display his superiority. He yanks the leash with determination, showing Tarzan and the gathered crowd that he means business. Tarzan's eyes nearly pop out of his head in shock at the increased power exerted on the cock ring that holds him captive. The commands flow freely, the muscle master testing the limits of Tarzan's obedience and endurance. His voice carries an air of authority and power as he addresses both the slave and the onlookers. "Kneel, slave!" he commands, his voice cutting through the air. Tarzan responds immediately, dropping to his knees in submission. The crowd watches in awe, sensing the intensity of the power dynamic at play. "Up, now!" he barks, and Tarzan rises swiftly, demonstrating his readiness to comply. The muscle master continues, pushing Tarzan further, demanding displays of strength and submission that leave no doubt about who is in control. He tests the limits of Tarzan's physical endurance, pushing him to perform feats of strength that are both impressive and brutal. The crowd is both exhilarated and awed by the display of raw power. They cheer and jeer, their inhibitions unraveling in the charged atmosphere of the club. As the performance reaches its peak, it's evident that Tarzan is being pushed to his absolute limit. His muscles strain, and sweat drips from his exerted form. The muscle master, satisfied with his demonstration of dominance, finally releases the leash, allowing Tarzan a moment of respite. The onlookers erupt in applause, their excitement palpable. It's clear that this display has unleashed something primal within them, awakening the allure of power and submission. The atmosphere in the club is electric, and Tarzan, though exhausted, remains poised and ready for whatever comes next. Two men, their faces a mix of curiosity and sadistic glee, approach Tarzan with an air of ownership. They circle him like predators, their hands exploring the contours of his well-defined muscles, a silent assessment of the power that lies beneath the surface. Their touch, cool against the warmth of Tarzan's skin, sends shivers down his spine. As their fingers graze the edges of his loincloth, they seek to understand the hidden vulnerabilities, the spots that can be exploited for control. In one swift, calculated motion, one of the men propels the free end of Tarzan's leash over a high bar, the movement catching Tarzan off guard. The men, synchronized in their actions, grab hold of the descending leash, pulling it taut to remind Tarzan of his tethered state. "Jump!" one of them commands, his voice edged with authority as he indicates tarzan should leap for the bar. Tarzan's gaze rises to the distant bar, doubt clouding his features. He knows it's beyond his reach, but as the leash tightens, urging him upwards with the merciless pressure on his mighty cock and bull balls, he springs into action. The leap falls short, gravity pulling him back towards the ground, but the unrelenting tug of the leash halts his descent, causing tarzan to howl in agony. Dangling in the air, Tarzan feels the strain in his muscles, the leash biting into his flesh. The men's grins widen as they demand he reach the bar. With no other option, Tarzan seizes the leash that runs over the bar, the leather rough against his skin, and uses it to pull himself upward. When he reaches the bar, the men demand 100 pull-ups from tarzan, and Mr. Blackwood, ever the perfect host, provides a bull whip for the men to use in urging tarzan's compliance. His arms ache with each pull-up, his body a symphony of exertion. The men watch, their eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure, as Tarzan completes the grueling task. When he finally releases the bar, exhausted and breathless and no longer able to maintain his grip, the leash snaps taut once more, arresting his fall. Tarzan dangles just inches from the unforgiving ground, his muscles trembling with fatigue. With a herculean effort, he manages to get a toe to touch the floor, a desperate bid for relief from the relentless pressure of the leash beneath his loincloth. The scene demonstrates the unyielding dominance of the two men, their sadistic creativity knowing no bounds. The atmosphere in the club crackles with a twisted blend of arousal and sadistic satisfaction, a tableau of power and submission that leaves no doubt about who holds the reins. Tarzan barely caught his breath or found his footing before a group of three dominant men stepped forward, each exuding an aura of power and authority. One was a tall, broad-shouldered figure with a stern demeanor, his piercing gaze fixed firmly on Tarzan. Another was leaner but no less imposing, his every movement exuding controlled strength. The third, though slightly older, bore an air of ruthless confidence, his demeanor suggesting a man who was accustomed to getting exactly what he wanted. The trio encircled Tarzan, their hands exploring the contours of his well-defined muscles, sending shivers down the slave's spine. They took turns testing the limits of his endurance, demanding feats of strength and agility that pushed Tarzan to his very limits. Each command was delivered with an air of absolute authority, leaving no room for hesitation. At one point, they challenged Tarzan to a display of raw physical power. The first master gripped Tarzan's leash, pulling him towards a sturdy post, while the second secured Tarzan's wrists with strong leather restraints. The third, his voice low and commanding, ordered Tarzan to resist with all his might. The resulting struggle was a testament to Tarzan's remarkable strength, his muscles straining against the unyielding force of his captors. As the night wore on, the crowd grew more frenzied, their cheers and jeers mingling with the commanding voices of the masters. Each display of dominance sent waves of excitement through the onlookers, their arousal evident in their eager expressions. Tarzan, though bound and under the control of these powerful men, exuded a magnetic energy that only seemed to fuel the crowd's fervor. The trio's relentless testing of Tarzan's limits pushed the boundaries of what was thought possible. With each command, they demanded more, their dominance over the slave absolute. Tarzan, his body glistening with sweat, met every challenge with unwavering determination, submitting to their authority and the raw power of their control. The night unfolded in a whirlwind of dominance and submission, leaving the crowd in a fevered frenzy. The trio of masters had succeeded in creating a spectacle that would be talked about for years to come, cementing their status as true alphas in the eyes of all who witnessed the display. And through it all, Tarzan remained at the epicenter, helpless before the unyielding force of superior authority. Jonathan Alden, hidden in the shadows, watched with wide-eyed fascination as the trio of dominant men took center stage. His heart raced in tandem with the pulsing energy of the club, every beat echoing the electrifying displays of power before him. The first, a towering figure, exuded raw physical dominance. With each command, he sent shivers of anticipation down Alden's spine. The way he controlled Tarzan with a firm yet precise grip on the leash was nothing short of mesmerizing. Alden's breath caught in his throat, his body responding instinctively to the aura of authority that surrounded the man. The second, leaner but no less imposing, moved with a grace that belied the force he could wield. Alden's eyes were drawn to the way he effortlessly manipulated Tarzan, guiding him with a calculated touch. The tension in the room seemed to amplify with each tug of the leash, a palpable energy that Alden could almost taste. Then there was the third, a man whose years seemed to have only sharpened his dominance. His confidence was a palpable force, radiating from him in waves. Alden couldn't tear his gaze away from the ruthless precision with which he directed Tarzan's movements. It was a dance of power and submission, a symphony of dominance that left Alden breathless. As the trio encircled Tarzan, their collective authority seemed to create an almost hypnotic rhythm. Commands were delivered with unwavering certainty, met with a compliance that spoke volumes about Tarzan's submission. Each subtle shift, each forceful pull on the leash demonstrated the mastery of these men. Alden felt a fire ignite within him, a primal urge that pulsed in time with the dominant displays before him. He couldn't deny the arousal that coursed through his veins, the sheer potency of these men's control over Tarzan awakening something deep within him. It was a heady cocktail of power and desire, a potent brew that threatened to consume him. From his vantage point in the shadows, Alden committed every detail to memory. The way Tarzan's body responded to the commanding presence of his masters, the electric charge that hung in the air -- it was a sensory feast that Alden knew would fuel his words for weeks to come. In that dim corner of the club, Alden bore witness to a display of dominance that would forever be etched into his memory. As the night wore on, he remained a silent observer, his mind racing with the intoxicating images of power and submission that danced before him. And though he knew he could never replicate such displays, he also knew that he held the power to immortalize them in the ink of his pen. Alden's keen eyes absorbed every nuance of the trio's dominance over Tarzan. As they encircled him, their movements took on a hypnotic rhythm, a dance of command and submission. The first master, his voice a low growl of authority, ordered Tarzan to flex his powerful muscles, to display his strength for the eager crowd. Tarzan obeyed, his sinews rippling with primal force. The second master took a more tactile approach, his hands exploring the contours of Tarzan's form, testing the limits of his endurance. Then came the third master, the one to whom all others deferred. His commands were sharp and precise, a testament to his experience in controlling and dominating. He directed Tarzan through a series of movements that left the field slave breathless, his body pushed to its very limits. Every tug on the leash was a reminder of his place, every word a decree to be followed without question. Alden, hidden in the shadows, could barely contain the fire that surged through him. The displays of power were nothing short of intoxicating. He marveled at how Tarzan's body responded, how it yielded and obeyed, each sinewy muscle masterfully controlled by his captors. From his vantage point, Alden caught glimpses of what Tarzan's loincloth normally concealed, flashes of flesh from the powerful cock and balls, tightly bound by the steel ring and taut leash, the tantalizing hint of vulnerability that only served to heighten the erotic tension in the room. The trio's dominance over Tarzan was a symphony of power and submission, a ballet of command and obedience that left Alden breathless. He feverishly scribbled notes, determined to capture every detail, every nuance. This was a story that would captivate his readers, a tale of raw, unbridled dominance that would leave them as spellbound as he was in this moment. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FORTY-TWO------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Tue, 19 Mar 2024 02:54:36 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 42
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 42: Spellbinding Submission at The Dom's Den------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 42 -- Spellbinding Submission at The Dom's Den
When he stopped by late that night, Mr. Blackwood's keen eyes surveyed the
scene in the stable, where Tarzan lay bound by the leash. The dim light
cast long shadows, emphasizing the powerful figure of the enslaved jungle
hero. His muscles rippled even in repose, a reflection of the intense labor
he had endured.
The leash, a stark reminder of his submission, was secured firmly to the
ring embedded in the wall. It ran beneath Tarzan's loincloth and tightly
restricted tarzan's savage cock and his big bull balls, a symbol of his
servitude, and the sight sent a shiver of dominance through Mr. Blackwood's
veins. It was a potent reminder of the control he and the others held over
this once mighty man.
As he approached, the floorboards creaked beneath Mr. Blackwood's boots,
but Tarzan remained still. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breath
suggested a fitful slumber. The sight was mesmerizing -- a symbol of a
fallen legend, now a pawn in their cruel game.
Mr. Blackwood's fingers traced the path of the leash, feeling its tension,
its unyielding connection to the man before him. He applied the faintest of
pressure, and the slave responded with a groan that thrilled Blackwood.
The power imbalance was palpable, a heady mix of dominance and submission
that sent a surge of arousal through him.
He lingered for a moment, absorbing the sight. Tarzan was now a mere shadow
of his former self, stripped of his pride and dignity. The realization of
his own superiority coursed through Mr. Blackwood, a heady elixir that
fueled his desires.
Mr. Blackwood saw no point in letting a fine asset go to waste for the
night. With a calculated grin, he decides to bring tarzan to his club, The
Dom's Den, knowing that the allure of this remarkable specimen would be
irresistible to some of his patrons.
It's a brisk journey, with Blackwood relaxing comfortably in the carriage
while tarzan obediently follows, the leash to his cock and balls bound to
the carriage and his ankles and wrists in strong steel shackles, making it
a challenge to keep pace with the merciless tug of the carriage on his
loins.
As they arrive at the club, the atmosphere is electric. The dimly lit room
is filled with a diverse crowd, each individual lost in their own world of
indulgence. Mr. Blackwood leads tarzan to a discreet corner, where they can
observe without being immediately noticed.
The patrons, some in elegant attire and others more casually dressed, are
engaged in various conversations and activities. Mr. Blackwood spots a few
familiar faces, individuals with an affinity for dominance and submission,
who might appreciate the sight of a powerful slave like tarzan.
He discreetly approaches one of them, a wealthy businessman known for his
proclivities in the realm of power dynamics. After a brief exchange of
words, the man's eyes light up with interest. He's intrigued by the
prospect of experiencing tarzan's submission firsthand.
They return to where tarzan stands, still bound but now under the watchful
eye of the wealthy patron. The businessman, with a mixture of authority and
anticipation, issues his first command. Tarzan responds immediately,
dropping to his knees before his betters, demonstrating the well-honed
obedience instilled in him by his Masters.
The scene unfolds, a dance of power and submission, with tarzan at the
center. He performs with a grace and strength that captivates the
onlookers. As the night progresses, other patrons express their interest,
each wanting to test the limits of this extraordinary slave.
For tarzan, it's a whirlwind of sensations and commands. He moves from one
Master to another, adapting to their desires and their assertion of
dominance, each in turn. The night is a celebration of his training and the
power of his mighty body, even in his submission.
As the early hours of the morning approach, Mr. Blackwood knows he's made
the right decision. Tarzan's presence has added a new dimension to the
club, creating an unforgettable experience for those in attendance. With a
sense of satisfaction, he watches as tarzan continues to fulfill the
desires of his Masters.
The business man commands tarzan to jump. Tarzan obeys the command without
hesitation, displaying an impressive agility. He leaps into the air at the
businessman's command, his powerful muscles propelling him with ease. As
the businessman tugs at the leash, Tarzan immediately adjusts his position,
following the gentle pull on his genitals without hesitation.
As the businessman begins to pull him in a circle by the leash, Tarzan
adjusts his movements to maintain the circular motion. He continues to
jump, his muscular physique on full display, and the businessman watches
with a mixture of fascination and desire as the loincloth rises and falls
with each leap.
With the increasing pace set by the businessman, the leash twirls tarzan
around in a controlled circle, the speed steadily building. Tarzan's form
is impeccable, his obedience unwavering. His movements are smooth, his
body language clearly communicating his understanding of his role. It's a
display of total submission, drilled into tarzan by the training --
conscious and not -- he's undergone. The businessman grins, clearly pleased
with the response.
The cruel guidance of the leash keeps Tarzan revolving in a perfect circle,
spotlighting his obedience and the businessman's control over him. The
businessman grins, clearly pleased with the response he can elicit with a
flick of his wrist.
The businessman's focus remains fixed on the rising and falling of the
loincloth, a clear indication of his pleasure in the display of power
dynamics. The rhythmic motion of Tarzan's body and the tantalizing glimpse
offered by the shifting fabric hold his attention. It's a potent visual
demonstration of dominance and submission.
The demonstration attracts some other patrons of the club, and a small
crowd is soon gathered to watch. A muscular alpha male nods to the wealthy
businessman, asking if he can try his hand on the leash.
The wealthy businessman reluctantly relinquishes the leash, acknowledging
the request of the muscular alpha male. There's a hint of reluctance in his
gesture, as he's hesitant to let go of the power he holds in his
hand. However, he's also eager to witness how this new contender will
challenge Tarzan's limits.
The muscular alpha male takes hold of the leash, feeling the weight of the
chain and assessing the strength needed to control the slave at the other
end. There's a surge of dominance and authority as he grasps the chain, a
palpable connection to the raw power that Tarzan represents. The onlookers
observe with anticipation, knowing that this new handler intends to put on
a display of his own.
The muscle master seizes the opportunity to exert his dominance and display
his superiority. He yanks the leash with determination, showing Tarzan and
the gathered crowd that he means business. Tarzan's eyes nearly pop out of
his head in shock at the increased power exerted on the cock ring that
holds him captive. The commands flow freely, the muscle master testing the
limits of Tarzan's obedience and endurance. His voice carries an air of
authority and power as he addresses both the slave and the onlookers.
"Kneel, slave!" he commands, his voice cutting through the air. Tarzan
responds immediately, dropping to his knees in submission. The crowd
watches in awe, sensing the intensity of the power dynamic at play.
"Up, now!" he barks, and Tarzan rises swiftly, demonstrating his readiness
to comply. The muscle master continues, pushing Tarzan further, demanding
displays of strength and submission that leave no doubt about who is in
control.
He tests the limits of Tarzan's physical endurance, pushing him to perform
feats of strength that are both impressive and brutal. The crowd is both
exhilarated and awed by the display of raw power. They cheer and jeer,
their inhibitions unraveling in the charged atmosphere of the club.
As the performance reaches its peak, it's evident that Tarzan is being
pushed to his absolute limit. His muscles strain, and sweat drips from his
exerted form. The muscle master, satisfied with his demonstration of
dominance, finally releases the leash, allowing Tarzan a moment of respite.
The onlookers erupt in applause, their excitement palpable. It's clear that
this display has unleashed something primal within them, awakening the
allure of power and submission. The atmosphere in the club is electric, and
Tarzan, though exhausted, remains poised and ready for whatever comes next.
Two men, their faces a mix of curiosity and sadistic glee, approach Tarzan
with an air of ownership. They circle him like predators, their hands
exploring the contours of his well-defined muscles, a silent assessment of
the power that lies beneath the surface.
Their touch, cool against the warmth of Tarzan's skin, sends shivers down
his spine. As their fingers graze the edges of his loincloth, they seek to
understand the hidden vulnerabilities, the spots that can be exploited for
control.
In one swift, calculated motion, one of the men propels the free end of
Tarzan's leash over a high bar, the movement catching Tarzan off guard. The
men, synchronized in their actions, grab hold of the descending leash,
pulling it taut to remind Tarzan of his tethered state.
"Jump!" one of them commands, his voice edged with authority as he
indicates tarzan should leap for the bar. Tarzan's gaze rises to the
distant bar, doubt clouding his features. He knows it's beyond his reach,
but as the leash tightens, urging him upwards with the merciless pressure
on his mighty cock and bull balls, he springs into action. The leap falls
short, gravity pulling him back towards the ground, but the unrelenting tug
of the leash halts his descent, causing tarzan to howl in agony.
Dangling in the air, Tarzan feels the strain in his muscles, the leash
biting into his flesh. The men's grins widen as they demand he reach the
bar. With no other option, Tarzan seizes the leash that runs over the bar,
the leather rough against his skin, and uses it to pull himself upward.
When he reaches the bar, the men demand 100 pull-ups from tarzan, and
Mr. Blackwood, ever the perfect host, provides a bull whip for the men to
use in urging tarzan's compliance.
His arms ache with each pull-up, his body a symphony of exertion. The men
watch, their eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure, as Tarzan completes the
grueling task. When he finally releases the bar, exhausted and breathless
and no longer able to maintain his grip, the leash snaps taut once more,
arresting his fall.
Tarzan dangles just inches from the unforgiving ground, his muscles
trembling with fatigue. With a herculean effort, he manages to get a toe to
touch the floor, a desperate bid for relief from the relentless pressure of
the leash beneath his loincloth.
The scene demonstrates the unyielding dominance of the two men, their
sadistic creativity knowing no bounds. The atmosphere in the club crackles
with a twisted blend of arousal and sadistic satisfaction, a tableau of
power and submission that leaves no doubt about who holds the reins.
Tarzan barely caught his breath or found his footing before a group of
three dominant men stepped forward, each exuding an aura of power and
authority. One was a tall, broad-shouldered figure with a stern demeanor,
his piercing gaze fixed firmly on Tarzan. Another was leaner but no less
imposing, his every movement exuding controlled strength. The third, though
slightly older, bore an air of ruthless confidence, his demeanor suggesting
a man who was accustomed to getting exactly what he wanted.
The trio encircled Tarzan, their hands exploring the contours of his
well-defined muscles, sending shivers down the slave's spine. They took
turns testing the limits of his endurance, demanding feats of strength and
agility that pushed Tarzan to his very limits. Each command was delivered
with an air of absolute authority, leaving no room for hesitation.
At one point, they challenged Tarzan to a display of raw physical
power. The first master gripped Tarzan's leash, pulling him towards a
sturdy post, while the second secured Tarzan's wrists with strong leather
restraints. The third, his voice low and commanding, ordered Tarzan to
resist with all his might. The resulting struggle was a testament to
Tarzan's remarkable strength, his muscles straining against the unyielding
force of his captors.
As the night wore on, the crowd grew more frenzied, their cheers and jeers
mingling with the commanding voices of the masters. Each display of
dominance sent waves of excitement through the onlookers, their arousal
evident in their eager expressions. Tarzan, though bound and under the
control of these powerful men, exuded a magnetic energy that only seemed to
fuel the crowd's fervor.
The trio's relentless testing of Tarzan's limits pushed the boundaries of
what was thought possible. With each command, they demanded more, their
dominance over the slave absolute. Tarzan, his body glistening with sweat,
met every challenge with unwavering determination, submitting to their
authority and the raw power of their control.
The night unfolded in a whirlwind of dominance and submission, leaving the
crowd in a fevered frenzy. The trio of masters had succeeded in creating a
spectacle that would be talked about for years to come, cementing their
status as true alphas in the eyes of all who witnessed the display. And
through it all, Tarzan remained at the epicenter, helpless before the
unyielding force of superior authority.
Jonathan Alden, hidden in the shadows, watched with wide-eyed fascination
as the trio of dominant men took center stage. His heart raced in tandem
with the pulsing energy of the club, every beat echoing the electrifying
displays of power before him.
The first, a towering figure, exuded raw physical dominance. With each
command, he sent shivers of anticipation down Alden's spine. The way he
controlled Tarzan with a firm yet precise grip on the leash was nothing
short of mesmerizing. Alden's breath caught in his throat, his body
responding instinctively to the aura of authority that surrounded the man.
The second, leaner but no less imposing, moved with a grace that belied the
force he could wield. Alden's eyes were drawn to the way he effortlessly
manipulated Tarzan, guiding him with a calculated touch. The tension in the
room seemed to amplify with each tug of the leash, a palpable energy that
Alden could almost taste.
Then there was the third, a man whose years seemed to have only sharpened
his dominance. His confidence was a palpable force, radiating from him in
waves. Alden couldn't tear his gaze away from the ruthless precision with
which he directed Tarzan's movements. It was a dance of power and
submission, a symphony of dominance that left Alden breathless.
As the trio encircled Tarzan, their collective authority seemed to create
an almost hypnotic rhythm. Commands were delivered with unwavering
certainty, met with a compliance that spoke volumes about Tarzan's
submission. Each subtle shift, each forceful pull on the leash demonstrated
the mastery of these men.
Alden felt a fire ignite within him, a primal urge that pulsed in time with
the dominant displays before him. He couldn't deny the arousal that coursed
through his veins, the sheer potency of these men's control over Tarzan
awakening something deep within him. It was a heady cocktail of power and
desire, a potent brew that threatened to consume him.
From his vantage point in the shadows, Alden committed every detail to
memory. The way Tarzan's body responded to the commanding presence of his
masters, the electric charge that hung in the air -- it was a sensory feast
that Alden knew would fuel his words for weeks to come.
In that dim corner of the club, Alden bore witness to a display of
dominance that would forever be etched into his memory. As the night wore
on, he remained a silent observer, his mind racing with the intoxicating
images of power and submission that danced before him. And though he knew
he could never replicate such displays, he also knew that he held the power
to immortalize them in the ink of his pen.
Alden's keen eyes absorbed every nuance of the trio's dominance over
Tarzan. As they encircled him, their movements took on a hypnotic rhythm, a
dance of command and submission. The first master, his voice a low growl of
authority, ordered Tarzan to flex his powerful muscles, to display his
strength for the eager crowd. Tarzan obeyed, his sinews rippling with
primal force. The second master took a more tactile approach, his hands
exploring the contours of Tarzan's form, testing the limits of his
endurance.
Then came the third master, the one to whom all others deferred. His
commands were sharp and precise, a testament to his experience in
controlling and dominating. He directed Tarzan through a series of
movements that left the field slave breathless, his body pushed to its very
limits. Every tug on the leash was a reminder of his place, every word a
decree to be followed without question.
Alden, hidden in the shadows, could barely contain the fire that surged
through him. The displays of power were nothing short of intoxicating. He
marveled at how Tarzan's body responded, how it yielded and obeyed, each
sinewy muscle masterfully controlled by his captors.
From his vantage point, Alden caught glimpses of what Tarzan's loincloth
normally concealed, flashes of flesh from the powerful cock and balls,
tightly bound by the steel ring and taut leash, the tantalizing hint of
vulnerability that only served to heighten the erotic tension in the room.
The trio's dominance over Tarzan was a symphony of power and submission, a
ballet of command and obedience that left Alden breathless. He feverishly
scribbled notes, determined to capture every detail, every nuance. This was
a story that would captivate his readers, a tale of raw, unbridled
dominance that would leave them as spellbound as he was in this moment.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FORTY-TWO-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-51 | Date: Tue, 6 Aug 2024 01:32:28 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 51 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 51: Battle of Wills-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 51 -- Battle of Wills The clash reverberated through the jungle, a symphony of power and fury. The Baron and Tarzan were locked in a brutal dance of dominance, neither giving an inch. The Baron's whip cracked through the air, a weapon of precision and cruel intent. Its lash struck Tarzan's chest, leaving angry welts in its wake. The jungle king roared in agony, the searing pain a symbol of the Baron's determination. But as the whip swung for another strike, Tarzan's instincts kicked in. With a lightning-quick motion, he snatched the whip from the air, the crack of its impact echoing through the night. The tables had turned. With a surge of primal strength, Tarzan took control. He seized the Baron, his grip unyielding, and sent him hurtling to the ground with a resounding thud. The Baron grunted in pain, the impact rattling his resolve. For a moment, Tarzan stood tall, the victor in this savage contest. He bore down on the fallen Baron, determination gleaming in his eyes. But victory was not yet assured. With a desperate lunge, the Baron's hand closed around a fallen cattle prod. He turned the weapon on Tarzan, a surge of electric shock coursing through the jungle king's body. Tarzan convulsed, his muscles seizing with painful intensity. The Baron seized the opportunity, rising with a triumphant snarl. He advanced on Tarzan, a relentless force of nature. Blow after blow rained down on Tarzan, each strike calculated to break his spirit. The bullwhip slashed through the air, leaving fiery trails across Tarzan's flesh. The Baron's leather-clad boot slammed into Tarzan's chest, driving the breath from his lungs. Tarzan fought against the relentless assault, his every instinct screaming for survival. But the Baron's onslaught was unyielding, emblematic of his determination. As the battle raged on, the jungle itself seemed to hold its breath, the night bearing witness to this brutal contest of wills. Yet, within Tarzan, a spark of defiance still burned. He summoned reserves of strength he never knew he possessed, a primal surge of power. With a final, desperate surge, Tarzan launched himself at the Baron. Their bodies collided with bone-rattling force, a climatic confrontation between the unyielding spirits of both men. The fight had reached its climax, a tempest of fury and resolve. In the end, it was Tarzan who emerged victorious. With a final, mighty blow, he sent the Baron sprawling to the ground, defeated and broken. The jungle king stood tall, his breath ragged, his body battered but unbroken. He had triumphed over the Baron, reclaiming his dominion over the jungle. The night hung heavy around them, the echoes of their battle fading into the darkness. And as Tarzan looked down at his fallen adversary, a sense of grim satisfaction settled over him. The Baron's reign of terror had come to an end. To be continued... * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Tue, 6 Aug 2024 01:32:28 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 51
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 51: Battle of Wills--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 51 -- Battle of Wills
The clash reverberated through the jungle, a symphony of power and
fury. The Baron and Tarzan were locked in a brutal dance of dominance,
neither giving an inch.
The Baron's whip cracked through the air, a weapon of precision and cruel
intent. Its lash struck Tarzan's chest, leaving angry welts in its
wake. The jungle king roared in agony, the searing pain a symbol of the
Baron's determination.
But as the whip swung for another strike, Tarzan's instincts kicked
in. With a lightning-quick motion, he snatched the whip from the air, the
crack of its impact echoing through the night.
The tables had turned.
With a surge of primal strength, Tarzan took control. He seized the Baron,
his grip unyielding, and sent him hurtling to the ground with a resounding
thud. The Baron grunted in pain, the impact rattling his resolve.
For a moment, Tarzan stood tall, the victor in this savage contest. He bore
down on the fallen Baron, determination gleaming in his eyes.
But victory was not yet assured.
With a desperate lunge, the Baron's hand closed around a fallen cattle
prod. He turned the weapon on Tarzan, a surge of electric shock coursing
through the jungle king's body.
Tarzan convulsed, his muscles seizing with painful intensity. The Baron
seized the opportunity, rising with a triumphant snarl. He advanced on
Tarzan, a relentless force of nature.
Blow after blow rained down on Tarzan, each strike calculated to break his
spirit. The bullwhip slashed through the air, leaving fiery trails across
Tarzan's flesh. The Baron's leather-clad boot slammed into Tarzan's chest,
driving the breath from his lungs.
Tarzan fought against the relentless assault, his every instinct screaming
for survival. But the Baron's onslaught was unyielding, emblematic of his
determination.
As the battle raged on, the jungle itself seemed to hold its breath, the
night bearing witness to this brutal contest of wills.
Yet, within Tarzan, a spark of defiance still burned. He summoned reserves
of strength he never knew he possessed, a primal surge of power.
With a final, desperate surge, Tarzan launched himself at the Baron. Their
bodies collided with bone-rattling force, a climatic confrontation between
the unyielding spirits of both men.
The fight had reached its climax, a tempest of fury and resolve.
In the end, it was Tarzan who emerged victorious. With a final, mighty
blow, he sent the Baron sprawling to the ground, defeated and broken.
The jungle king stood tall, his breath ragged, his body battered but
unbroken. He had triumphed over the Baron, reclaiming his dominion over the
jungle.
The night hung heavy around them, the echoes of their battle fading into
the darkness.
And as Tarzan looked down at his fallen adversary, a sense of grim
satisfaction settled over him. The Baron's reign of terror had come to an
end.
To be continued...
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-40 | Date: Sun, 17 Mar 2024 11:12:52 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 40 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 40: The Scent of His Master-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 40 -- The Scent of His Master The first rays of dawn began to streak across the horizon, casting a dim light into the unfurnished stable where Tarzan lay upon a bed of sparse hay. His muscular form lay still, his breath slow and steady as he slept. The night had been restless, filled with dreams that offered little solace to his weary mind. A sudden, sharp voice pierced through the quietude of the stable, causing Tarzan to stir. The overseer, a man named Hargrove, stood at the entrance, his eyes narrowing as he impatiently waited for the slave to awaken. "Wake up, Tarzan!" Hargrove barked, his flogger in hand, ready for the day's labor. He cared little for the comfort of the jungle man; his only concern was extracting every ounce of value from the slave. Tarzan's eyes blinked open, and he groggily pushed himself up to a sitting position. His surroundings came into focus--the barren stable, the meager bowl of gruel on the ground, and the ever-imposing figure of Hargrove. Without a word, Hargrove gestured to the bowl with his whip. "Breakfast, slave. You've got a long day ahead." Tarzan nodded, understanding his place, and he reached for the bowl. The gruel was tasteless and thin, but it was sustenance nonetheless. He swallowed each spoonful without complaint, fueling his body for the arduous tasks that awaited him. After a hurried meal, Hargrove wasted no time. He cracked his whip, the sound echoing through the stable like a gunshot, and Tarzan knew it was time to go. Rising to his feet, he followed the overseer out of the stable and toward Harrington's mine. Today, the overseer had something different in mind. He had observed the techniques used by Blackwood to bring Tarzan to his knees, and he was eager to try them himself. As they approached the mine, Hargrove couldn't help but smile, anticipating the lessons he would impart to the mighty jungle slave. Their journey continued, with Tarzan walking a few paces behind Hargrove, aware that any delay or defiance would result in the unforgiving sting of the whip. The jungle that once embraced him was now a distant memory, replaced by the harsh reality of his enslavement. And so, as the sun climbed higher into the sky, Tarzan prepared to toil in the depths of Harrington's mine, under the watchful eye of the determined overseer, who was eager to bend the mighty jungle hero to his will. Before they entered the mine's shadowy depths, Hargrove took a moment to evaluate Tarzan's impressive physique. It was a formidable sight, one that belied any notion of inadequacy. Nevertheless, the overseer was meticulous in his assessment, leaving no muscle unexamined. Hargrove's fingers ran over Tarzan's biceps, tracing the powerful contours with a critical eye. "Solid, but we'll need to work on endurance," he mused aloud, making a mental note to incorporate exercises that would build stamina. Moving on, Hargrove's touch shifted to Tarzan's chest, where the sinewy pectoral muscles rippled beneath the skin. "Impressive," he acknowledged. "We'll focus on maintaining this strength while expanding your range of motion." As his hands moved down Tarzan's torso, Hargrove's fingers pressed lightly against the defined abs, gauging their resistance. "A sturdy core, but we'll need to ensure every muscle is prepared for the demands of the mine," he remarked, planning a regimen that would target the full spectrum of abdominal muscles. Hargrove continued his evaluation, assessing the power in Tarzan's thighs and the tautness of his calves. "Legs are the foundation of any laborer's strength," he explained, "and we'll concentrate on balance and stability to complement this raw power." Finally, Hargrove's touch shifted to Tarzan's loincloth, both front and back. He made a mental note of what lay beneath, acknowledging that there were strengths that couldn't be seen, only felt. "Your foundation is solid, Tarzan," he declared, his voice authoritative. "But we'll refine it, ensuring every muscle is primed for the tasks ahead." Tarzan stood in silent submission, absorbing the overseer's assessment. It was a thorough evaluation, one that left no doubt of Hargrove's intention to mold him into an even more efficient worker. As they stepped into the mine, the knowledge of the rigorous training that awaited him settled in Tarzan's mind. His days of free-spirited roaming through the jungle were long gone, replaced by the demanding reality of his new existence. With calculated precision, the overseer, Hargrove, prepared Tarzan for the grueling day ahead. The leather restraints he fastened around Tarzan's wrists were firm but not restrictive to the point of impeding his work. It was a calculated balance, one that allowed Tarzan to perform his labor efficiently while ensuring he remained under Hargrove's control. Next came the restraints for his ankles, securing them together. Hargrove made certain there was enough room for Tarzan to assume the necessary positions for the mine work, but not so much that he could maneuver freely. The shackles were a physical reminder of his status, a visual representation of his submission to the overseer's authority. Finally, Hargrove turned his attention to Tarzan's loincloth. With a deft hand, he moved it aside, revealing the powerful physique beneath. Securing a leash beneath, he fastened it with a ring that elicited a wince from Tarzan. It was a reminder, a constant presence of the tether that bound him to Hargrove's will. As Tarzan stood, now adorned with the restraints and leash, Hargrove's whip hung at his side, a silent but potent command. It was a language the overseer had perfected, one that required no words. With a firm nod, he signaled Tarzan to step forward, setting the rhythm for the day's labor. The mine awaited, and there was work to be done. With the restraints in place and the leash hanging as a tangible symbol of his submission, Tarzan was ready. Hargrove wasted no time in using his whip to command Tarzan's attention, a crisp crack filling the air as it passed close to the slave's powerful form. The message was clear -- there was no room for hesitation or resistance in the mine. Tarzan's muscles tensed in response, and he knew that this day would be one of relentless labor and obedience under the watchful eye of the overseer. The overseer, Hargrove, approached Tarzan with an air of authority, ready to reinforce the message of his subordinate status. He spoke sternly, making it clear that the leash dangling between his legs was a tangible reminder of Tarzan's servitude. "This leash will be your constant companion," Hargrove declared, his voice firm and unyielding. "It may be removed at times, but the steel ring it's attached to will remain. It signifies your place in this hierarchy, where you serve the superior alphas, including myself." Squatting in front of Tarzan, Hargrove wasted no time in demonstrating the power he held over the captive slave. With a sharp yank, he tugged on the leash, causing Tarzan's knees to buckle slightly under the force. It was a stark visual representation of the control Hargrove held. Swiftly, Hargrove secured the free end of the leash to the chain between Tarzan's ankle restraints. Tarzan winced at the sensation, adjusting his stance to maintain a bit of slack in the leash. He was acutely aware of the constant presence of the steel ring and the symbolic weight it held. With a final smirk, Hargrove delivered a swat to the front of Tarzan's loincloth, eliciting a groan of discomfort. Tarzan strained to understand the significance of the swat, knowing that each action carried meaning in this new world of servitude. Taking hold of the leash, Hargrove began to lead Tarzan into the mine, the weight of the steel ring a constant reminder of his place. As they moved deeper into the dark, foreboding tunnels, Tarzan's senses were heightened, acutely attuned to every command and cue from the overseer. As the overseer strives to perfect the technique inspired by Blackwood, he focuses on the specific spot in the front of Tarzan's loincloth. With careful precision, he aims the whip, seeking to replicate the move that can bring the powerful slave to his knees. Tarzan feels the whip's impact, the sensation both stinging and electrifying. He's learning to recognize the signals, to respond swiftly to the overseer's commands. It's a rigorous session, demanding Tarzan's full attention and physical prowess. The overseer watches closely, determined to see progress in Tarzan's responsiveness to the whip's language. Throughout the session, Tarzan's determination shines through, his body hard and strong despite the grueling labor he endures. The overseer pushes him harder, wanting to see the slave's muscles strain and flex with every movement. Tarzan's breaths are heavy, his skin slick with sweat, but he doesn't falter. He's learning, adapting, and becoming more attuned to the overseer's guidance. The whip cracks and Tarzan obeys, his movements more fluid and controlled. As the hours pass, the overseer continues to work Tarzan, refining the commands and directions. He's meticulous in his approach, seeking to hone Tarzan's ability to respond to the whip's language. The mine echoes with the sounds of labor, the rhythmic strikes of the pickaxe accompanied by the sharp cracks of the whip. Tarzan's body moves with purpose, his muscles working in tandem to meet the overseer's demands. The overseer's determination is unwavering, his eyes sharp and focused. He knows that Tarzan's progress is crucial, not just for the mine's productivity, but also for reinforcing the slave's place and purpose. Tarzan, for his part, gives his all, channeling his strength and resolve into every swing of the pickaxe, every response to the whip's commands. As the morning wears on, both overseer and slave continue their rigorous dance of labor and discipline. The mine is a harsh environment, but it's here that Tarzan learns to navigate the language of the whip, to understand and respond to its cues. The overseer, too, hones his skill, determined to master the technique that will bring Tarzan to his knees. Together, they work in tandem, each push and pull, each crack of the whip, bringing them closer to their respective goals. Hargrove observes Tarzan's labor with a critical eye, satisfied with the progress he's making under the whip's guidance. As mid-day arrives, he tosses a chow bar to Tarzan, who quickly bends down to retrieve it. The slight stoop in his posture is a small price to pay for avoiding the harsh pull of the leash. Tarzan consumes the hard, dry slave food, his muscles still tense from the morning's exertions. The ache in his back is a familiar discomfort, a reminder of the relentless demands placed upon him. Hargrove watches Tarzan with a mixture of satisfaction and pride. The slave is becoming a finely-tuned laborer, his body honed for the harsh conditions of the mine. He's learned to adapt, to find ways to mitigate the discomfort imposed by the chains and restraints. It's a testament to Tarzan's resilience and determination. As Tarzan finishes his meal, Harrington and Blackwood make their way into the mine, eager to witness the progress firsthand. Blackwood holds a blindfold, a clear indication that they intend to push Tarzan's responsiveness even further. He offers it to Hargrove, signaling their intent for a more rigorous test of Tarzan's abilities. Hargrove accepts the blindfold, his eyes narrowing in determination. He knows the significance of this demonstration, both for Tarzan's training and for reaffirming his place as a laboring slave. With precision, he secures the blindfold in place, ensuring that Tarzan is temporarily deprived of sight. It's a calculated move, meant to elevate the level of challenge and assess just how well Tarzan has come to understand the whip's language. Tarzan, now blindfolded, stands in the mine, his breath steady, muscles tense and ready for the overseer's commands. The atmosphere is charged with anticipation, as Hargrove readies himself to put Tarzan's newfound skills to the test. Harrington and Blackwood watch closely, eager to witness the outcome of this latest trial. The mine is filled with a tense energy, as everyone present recognizes the significance of this moment in Tarzan's training. Hargrove commands Tarzan with the whip, the powerful cracks ringing out in the confines of the mine. The slave moves with precision, every muscle responding to the overseer's direction. The atmosphere is charged with the energy of the demonstration, as Harrington and Blackwood watch intently, eager to gauge Tarzan's progress. As the demonstration reaches its climax, Hargrove attempts Blackwood's advanced move, aiming for the most vulnerable spot in Tarzan's loincloth. The whip strikes true, eliciting a howl of pain from the slave. Instinctively, Tarzan stands tall, momentarily resisting the force of the lash. However, the subsequent tightening of the leash is a powerful reminder of his place. The crack of the whip is replaced by the taut pull of the chain, and Tarzan is forced to bend to its command. Harrington and Blackwood share a laugh at Tarzan's discomfort, appreciating the challenge Hargrove presented. Blackwood steps forward, offering Hargrove a pointer on perfecting the move. He demonstrates the importance of finding the precise point of vulnerability, running his fingers over the front of Tarzan's loincloth to locate the crucial area. With a confident squeeze, he confirms his understanding of Tarzan's anatomy. Hargrove watches closely, following Blackwood's lead. He too explores the front of Tarzan's loincloth, seeking out the ideal target. After several moments of focused examination, Hargrove is satisfied that e's identified the sweet spot. He positions himself behind the blindfolded slave, ready to execute the move once more. The whip cracks through the air, finding its mark with precision. This time, Hargrove's aim is true, and Tarzan crumples to his knees, a guttural groan escaping him. Blackwood smiles with satisfaction, recognizing the successful execution of the maneuver. Tarzan, now on his knees, bows his head in acknowledgment of his place, the demonstration serving as a potent reminder of his submission. The atmosphere in the mine is charged with anticipation as Blackwood and Harrington observe Tarzan's progress. Hargrove's successful execution of the move has left them all impressed, and they share a knowing nod of approval. Blackwood, satisfied with Tarzan's demonstration, signals for a figure lurking in the shadows. The three men watch in awe as the imposing figure of the Baron emerges and strides confidently toward the kneeling slave. Dressed in the same commanding attire as before, the Baron circles Tarzan, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. He positions himself in front of the blindfolded slave, his spike-studded codpiece practically brushing against Tarzan's face. The unmistakable scent of the Baron envelops Tarzan, stirring a primal response within him. His muscles tense and flex instinctively, his loincloth shifting with the movement. The Baron's presence awakens a deep longing within Tarzan, a yearning for the touch of his Master. Unlike their previous encounter, it is Tarzan who leans forward, his face making contact with the studs of the codpiece. He presses himself into the potent aura of dominance, breathing in deeply, and reveling in the intoxicating sensation of being enveloped by his Master's musk." The atmosphere in the mine was charged with tension and anticipation as the imposing figure of Baron von Richter made his presence known. Dressed in his commanding attire, he exuded an air of superiority that left everyone in awe. Blackwood and Harrington watched with keen interest, while Hargrove stood by, eager to witness the power play between the baron and Tarzan. As the baron circled the blindfolded slave, a broad smile played on his lips, relishing the power he held over the once-mighty jungle hero. To Tarzan, this was merely a powerful alpha male, but he remained unaware of the true identity of his captor. With a swift, powerful motion, the baron reached down and seized the leash that was attached to the cock ring beneath Tarzan's loincloth. In one fluid motion, he yanked Tarzan to his feet. But he didn't stop there. Displaying his unmatched strength, the baron continued to pull until Tarzan was lifted off the ground, suspended by the cock ring beneath his loincloth. A howl of pain and surprise echoed through the mine as Tarzan was subjected to this sudden, intense pressure. The other men looked on, their astonishment and excitement palpable. The sheer dominance displayed by the baron left them in a state of rapt attention. With a triumphant flourish, the baron finally released his grip, allowing Tarzan to slam back down to the ground. Tarzan stood, his body trembling from the intense experience, yet his submission unwavering. The baron took charge, expertly turning Tarzan around and drawing his own bullwhip. Under the baron's merciless command, Tarzan's pace nearly doubled from the morning. The cruel Master's strikes were precise and unrelenting, urging Tarzan on with each crack of the whip. Tarzan's mind was a whirlwind, his thoughts unable to form as he moved purely on instinct. Every action was a direct response to the commands of the baron's whip. The sounds of the whip cracking against the earth and the sight of Tarzan's powerful frame working tirelessly filled the mine. The baron's dominance was unchallenged, and he reveled in every moment of it. His eyes bore into Tarzan, ensuring the slave understood his place beneath the baron's authority. As the afternoon wore on, the exertion took its toll on Tarzan. His muscles strained and his breath came in ragged gasps. Yet, he pressed on, his determination matched only by the baron's unyielding will. Finally, as the sun began its descent, the baron brought the session to a close. Tarzan, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, stood before his Master, awaiting further instruction. The baron's gaze held a mixture of satisfaction and a hint of something deeper, something that only he understood. The mine was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the echo of their labored breaths. The baron had proven his dominance, and Tarzan, though weary, stood as a symbol of the very power that now controlled him. As the blindfolded Tarzan kneels before him, Baron von Richter takes in the sight with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation. He observes the powerful form of the once-mighty jungle hero, now transformed into a laboring slave, muscles rippling under taut, tanned skin. Tarzan's physique, already formidable, has been further honed through ceaseless labor, unequivocally demonstrating the effectiveness of von Richter's methods. The Baron's gaze lingers on the slave's broad shoulders, sculpted chest, and sinewy arms. He notes the way Tarzan's powerful thighs ripple with every movement, a clear sign of the slave's formidable strength. Even Tarzan's calloused hands, evidence of a life spent toiling, speak to his endurance and resilience. Von Richter is particularly pleased with the obedience and submission he has instilled in Tarzan. The blindfolded slave, though unable to see, responds immediately and unquestioningly to the Baron's commands. It is an endorsement of the effectiveness of the Baron's training methods and a clear demonstration of his dominance over the once-proud jungle hero. As the Baron reaches out to run a gloved hand over Tarzan's sweat-slicked skin, he can feel the latent power that still courses through the slave's body. It is a power that now belongs to von Richter, a tool to be wielded at his command. The scent of sweat and exertion fills the air, mingling with the musk of leather and the earthy aroma of the mine. Satisfied with his assessment, von Richter steps back, allowing his dark form to retreat into the shadows. He knows that Tarzan is now firmly in his grasp, a powerful asset to be used in pursuit of his goals. The Alpha Ascension awaits, and with Tarzan under his command, von Richter is confident that he will achieve the ultimate triumph. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FORTY------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sun, 17 Mar 2024 11:12:52 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 40
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 40: The Scent of His Master--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 40 -- The Scent of His Master
The first rays of dawn began to streak across the horizon, casting a dim
light into the unfurnished stable where Tarzan lay upon a bed of sparse
hay. His muscular form lay still, his breath slow and steady as he
slept. The night had been restless, filled with dreams that offered little
solace to his weary mind.
A sudden, sharp voice pierced through the quietude of the stable, causing
Tarzan to stir. The overseer, a man named Hargrove, stood at the entrance,
his eyes narrowing as he impatiently waited for the slave to awaken.
"Wake up, Tarzan!" Hargrove barked, his flogger in hand, ready for the
day's labor. He cared little for the comfort of the jungle man; his only
concern was extracting every ounce of value from the slave.
Tarzan's eyes blinked open, and he groggily pushed himself up to a sitting
position. His surroundings came into focus--the barren stable, the meager
bowl of gruel on the ground, and the ever-imposing figure of Hargrove.
Without a word, Hargrove gestured to the bowl with his whip.
"Breakfast, slave. You've got a long day ahead."
Tarzan nodded, understanding his place, and he reached for the bowl. The
gruel was tasteless and thin, but it was sustenance nonetheless. He
swallowed each spoonful without complaint, fueling his body for the arduous
tasks that awaited him.
After a hurried meal, Hargrove wasted no time. He cracked his whip, the
sound echoing through the stable like a gunshot, and Tarzan knew it was
time to go. Rising to his feet, he followed the overseer out of the stable
and toward Harrington's mine.
Today, the overseer had something different in mind. He had observed the
techniques used by Blackwood to bring Tarzan to his knees, and he was eager
to try them himself. As they approached the mine, Hargrove couldn't help
but smile, anticipating the lessons he would impart to the mighty jungle
slave.
Their journey continued, with Tarzan walking a few paces behind Hargrove,
aware that any delay or defiance would result in the unforgiving sting of
the whip. The jungle that once embraced him was now a distant memory,
replaced by the harsh reality of his enslavement.
And so, as the sun climbed higher into the sky, Tarzan prepared to toil in
the depths of Harrington's mine, under the watchful eye of the determined
overseer, who was eager to bend the mighty jungle hero to his will.
Before they entered the mine's shadowy depths, Hargrove took a moment to
evaluate Tarzan's impressive physique. It was a formidable sight, one that
belied any notion of inadequacy. Nevertheless, the overseer was meticulous
in his assessment, leaving no muscle unexamined.
Hargrove's fingers ran over Tarzan's biceps, tracing the powerful contours
with a critical eye.
"Solid, but we'll need to work on endurance," he mused aloud, making a
mental note to incorporate exercises that would build stamina.
Moving on, Hargrove's touch shifted to Tarzan's chest, where the sinewy
pectoral muscles rippled beneath the skin.
"Impressive," he acknowledged. "We'll focus on maintaining this strength
while expanding your range of motion."
As his hands moved down Tarzan's torso, Hargrove's fingers pressed lightly
against the defined abs, gauging their resistance.
"A sturdy core, but we'll need to ensure every muscle is prepared for the
demands of the mine," he remarked, planning a regimen that would target the
full spectrum of abdominal muscles.
Hargrove continued his evaluation, assessing the power in Tarzan's thighs
and the tautness of his calves.
"Legs are the foundation of any laborer's strength," he explained, "and
we'll concentrate on balance and stability to complement this raw power."
Finally, Hargrove's touch shifted to Tarzan's loincloth, both front and
back. He made a mental note of what lay beneath, acknowledging that there
were strengths that couldn't be seen, only felt.
"Your foundation is solid, Tarzan," he declared, his voice
authoritative. "But we'll refine it, ensuring every muscle is primed for
the tasks ahead."
Tarzan stood in silent submission, absorbing the overseer's assessment. It
was a thorough evaluation, one that left no doubt of Hargrove's intention
to mold him into an even more efficient worker. As they stepped into the
mine, the knowledge of the rigorous training that awaited him settled in
Tarzan's mind. His days of free-spirited roaming through the jungle were
long gone, replaced by the demanding reality of his new existence.
With calculated precision, the overseer, Hargrove, prepared Tarzan for the
grueling day ahead. The leather restraints he fastened around Tarzan's
wrists were firm but not restrictive to the point of impeding his work. It
was a calculated balance, one that allowed Tarzan to perform his labor
efficiently while ensuring he remained under Hargrove's control.
Next came the restraints for his ankles, securing them together. Hargrove
made certain there was enough room for Tarzan to assume the necessary
positions for the mine work, but not so much that he could maneuver
freely. The shackles were a physical reminder of his status, a visual
representation of his submission to the overseer's authority.
Finally, Hargrove turned his attention to Tarzan's loincloth. With a deft
hand, he moved it aside, revealing the powerful physique beneath. Securing
a leash beneath, he fastened it with a ring that elicited a wince from
Tarzan. It was a reminder, a constant presence of the tether that bound him
to Hargrove's will.
As Tarzan stood, now adorned with the restraints and leash, Hargrove's whip
hung at his side, a silent but potent command. It was a language the
overseer had perfected, one that required no words. With a firm nod, he
signaled Tarzan to step forward, setting the rhythm for the day's
labor. The mine awaited, and there was work to be done.
With the restraints in place and the leash hanging as a tangible symbol of
his submission, Tarzan was ready. Hargrove wasted no time in using his whip
to command Tarzan's attention, a crisp crack filling the air as it passed
close to the slave's powerful form. The message was clear -- there was no
room for hesitation or resistance in the mine. Tarzan's muscles tensed in
response, and he knew that this day would be one of relentless labor and
obedience under the watchful eye of the overseer.
The overseer, Hargrove, approached Tarzan with an air of authority, ready
to reinforce the message of his subordinate status. He spoke sternly,
making it clear that the leash dangling between his legs was a tangible
reminder of Tarzan's servitude.
"This leash will be your constant companion," Hargrove declared, his voice
firm and unyielding. "It may be removed at times, but the steel ring it's
attached to will remain. It signifies your place in this hierarchy, where
you serve the superior alphas, including myself."
Squatting in front of Tarzan, Hargrove wasted no time in demonstrating the
power he held over the captive slave. With a sharp yank, he tugged on the
leash, causing Tarzan's knees to buckle slightly under the force. It was a
stark visual representation of the control Hargrove held.
Swiftly, Hargrove secured the free end of the leash to the chain between
Tarzan's ankle restraints. Tarzan winced at the sensation, adjusting his
stance to maintain a bit of slack in the leash. He was acutely aware of the
constant presence of the steel ring and the symbolic weight it held.
With a final smirk, Hargrove delivered a swat to the front of Tarzan's
loincloth, eliciting a groan of discomfort. Tarzan strained to understand
the significance of the swat, knowing that each action carried meaning in
this new world of servitude.
Taking hold of the leash, Hargrove began to lead Tarzan into the mine, the
weight of the steel ring a constant reminder of his place. As they moved
deeper into the dark, foreboding tunnels, Tarzan's senses were heightened,
acutely attuned to every command and cue from the overseer.
As the overseer strives to perfect the technique inspired by Blackwood, he
focuses on the specific spot in the front of Tarzan's loincloth. With
careful precision, he aims the whip, seeking to replicate the move that can
bring the powerful slave to his knees. Tarzan feels the whip's impact, the
sensation both stinging and electrifying. He's learning to recognize the
signals, to respond swiftly to the overseer's commands. It's a rigorous
session, demanding Tarzan's full attention and physical prowess. The
overseer watches closely, determined to see progress in Tarzan's
responsiveness to the whip's language.
Throughout the session, Tarzan's determination shines through, his body
hard and strong despite the grueling labor he endures. The overseer pushes
him harder, wanting to see the slave's muscles strain and flex with every
movement. Tarzan's breaths are heavy, his skin slick with sweat, but he
doesn't falter. He's learning, adapting, and becoming more attuned to the
overseer's guidance. The whip cracks and Tarzan obeys, his movements more
fluid and controlled.
As the hours pass, the overseer continues to work Tarzan, refining the
commands and directions. He's meticulous in his approach, seeking to hone
Tarzan's ability to respond to the whip's language. The mine echoes with
the sounds of labor, the rhythmic strikes of the pickaxe accompanied by the
sharp cracks of the whip. Tarzan's body moves with purpose, his muscles
working in tandem to meet the overseer's demands.
The overseer's determination is unwavering, his eyes sharp and focused. He
knows that Tarzan's progress is crucial, not just for the mine's
productivity, but also for reinforcing the slave's place and
purpose. Tarzan, for his part, gives his all, channeling his strength and
resolve into every swing of the pickaxe, every response to the whip's
commands.
As the morning wears on, both overseer and slave continue their rigorous
dance of labor and discipline. The mine is a harsh environment, but it's
here that Tarzan learns to navigate the language of the whip, to understand
and respond to its cues. The overseer, too, hones his skill, determined to
master the technique that will bring Tarzan to his knees. Together, they
work in tandem, each push and pull, each crack of the whip, bringing them
closer to their respective goals.
Hargrove observes Tarzan's labor with a critical eye, satisfied with the
progress he's making under the whip's guidance. As mid-day arrives, he
tosses a chow bar to Tarzan, who quickly bends down to retrieve it. The
slight stoop in his posture is a small price to pay for avoiding the harsh
pull of the leash. Tarzan consumes the hard, dry slave food, his muscles
still tense from the morning's exertions. The ache in his back is a
familiar discomfort, a reminder of the relentless demands placed upon him.
Hargrove watches Tarzan with a mixture of satisfaction and pride. The slave
is becoming a finely-tuned laborer, his body honed for the harsh conditions
of the mine. He's learned to adapt, to find ways to mitigate the discomfort
imposed by the chains and restraints. It's a testament to Tarzan's
resilience and determination.
As Tarzan finishes his meal, Harrington and Blackwood make their way into
the mine, eager to witness the progress firsthand. Blackwood holds a
blindfold, a clear indication that they intend to push Tarzan's
responsiveness even further. He offers it to Hargrove, signaling their
intent for a more rigorous test of Tarzan's abilities.
Hargrove accepts the blindfold, his eyes narrowing in determination. He
knows the significance of this demonstration, both for Tarzan's training
and for reaffirming his place as a laboring slave. With precision, he
secures the blindfold in place, ensuring that Tarzan is temporarily
deprived of sight. It's a calculated move, meant to elevate the level of
challenge and assess just how well Tarzan has come to understand the whip's
language.
Tarzan, now blindfolded, stands in the mine, his breath steady, muscles
tense and ready for the overseer's commands. The atmosphere is charged with
anticipation, as Hargrove readies himself to put Tarzan's newfound skills
to the test. Harrington and Blackwood watch closely, eager to witness the
outcome of this latest trial. The mine is filled with a tense energy, as
everyone present recognizes the significance of this moment in Tarzan's
training.
Hargrove commands Tarzan with the whip, the powerful cracks ringing out in
the confines of the mine. The slave moves with precision, every muscle
responding to the overseer's direction. The atmosphere is charged with the
energy of the demonstration, as Harrington and Blackwood watch intently,
eager to gauge Tarzan's progress.
As the demonstration reaches its climax, Hargrove attempts Blackwood's
advanced move, aiming for the most vulnerable spot in Tarzan's
loincloth. The whip strikes true, eliciting a howl of pain from the
slave. Instinctively, Tarzan stands tall, momentarily resisting the force
of the lash. However, the subsequent tightening of the leash is a powerful
reminder of his place. The crack of the whip is replaced by the taut pull
of the chain, and Tarzan is forced to bend to its command.
Harrington and Blackwood share a laugh at Tarzan's discomfort, appreciating
the challenge Hargrove presented. Blackwood steps forward, offering
Hargrove a pointer on perfecting the move. He demonstrates the importance
of finding the precise point of vulnerability, running his fingers over the
front of Tarzan's loincloth to locate the crucial area. With a confident
squeeze, he confirms his understanding of Tarzan's anatomy.
Hargrove watches closely, following Blackwood's lead. He too explores the
front of Tarzan's loincloth, seeking out the ideal target. After several
moments of focused examination, Hargrove is satisfied that e's identified
the sweet spot. He positions himself behind the blindfolded slave, ready to
execute the move once more.
The whip cracks through the air, finding its mark with precision. This
time, Hargrove's aim is true, and Tarzan crumples to his knees, a guttural
groan escaping him. Blackwood smiles with satisfaction, recognizing the
successful execution of the maneuver. Tarzan, now on his knees, bows his
head in acknowledgment of his place, the demonstration serving as a potent
reminder of his submission.
The atmosphere in the mine is charged with anticipation as Blackwood and
Harrington observe Tarzan's progress. Hargrove's successful execution of
the move has left them all impressed, and they share a knowing nod of
approval.
Blackwood, satisfied with Tarzan's demonstration, signals for a figure
lurking in the shadows. The three men watch in awe as the imposing figure
of the Baron emerges and strides confidently toward the kneeling
slave. Dressed in the same commanding attire as before, the Baron circles
Tarzan, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. He positions himself in front
of the blindfolded slave, his spike-studded codpiece practically brushing
against Tarzan's face.
The unmistakable scent of the Baron envelops Tarzan, stirring a primal
response within him. His muscles tense and flex instinctively, his
loincloth shifting with the movement. The Baron's presence awakens a deep
longing within Tarzan, a yearning for the touch of his Master. Unlike their
previous encounter, it is Tarzan who leans forward, his face making contact
with the studs of the codpiece. He presses himself into the potent aura of
dominance, breathing in deeply, and reveling in the intoxicating sensation
of being enveloped by his Master's musk."
The atmosphere in the mine was charged with tension and anticipation as the
imposing figure of Baron von Richter made his presence known. Dressed in
his commanding attire, he exuded an air of superiority that left everyone
in awe. Blackwood and Harrington watched with keen interest, while Hargrove
stood by, eager to witness the power play between the baron and Tarzan.
As the baron circled the blindfolded slave, a broad smile played on his
lips, relishing the power he held over the once-mighty jungle hero. To
Tarzan, this was merely a powerful alpha male, but he remained unaware of
the true identity of his captor.
With a swift, powerful motion, the baron reached down and seized the leash
that was attached to the cock ring beneath Tarzan's loincloth. In one fluid
motion, he yanked Tarzan to his feet. But he didn't stop there. Displaying
his unmatched strength, the baron continued to pull until Tarzan was lifted
off the ground, suspended by the cock ring beneath his loincloth. A howl of
pain and surprise echoed through the mine as Tarzan was subjected to this
sudden, intense pressure.
The other men looked on, their astonishment and excitement palpable. The
sheer dominance displayed by the baron left them in a state of rapt
attention.
With a triumphant flourish, the baron finally released his grip, allowing
Tarzan to slam back down to the ground. Tarzan stood, his body trembling
from the intense experience, yet his submission unwavering. The baron took
charge, expertly turning Tarzan around and drawing his own bullwhip.
Under the baron's merciless command, Tarzan's pace nearly doubled from the
morning. The cruel Master's strikes were precise and unrelenting, urging
Tarzan on with each crack of the whip. Tarzan's mind was a whirlwind, his
thoughts unable to form as he moved purely on instinct. Every action was a
direct response to the commands of the baron's whip.
The sounds of the whip cracking against the earth and the sight of Tarzan's
powerful frame working tirelessly filled the mine. The baron's dominance
was unchallenged, and he reveled in every moment of it. His eyes bore into
Tarzan, ensuring the slave understood his place beneath the baron's
authority.
As the afternoon wore on, the exertion took its toll on Tarzan. His muscles
strained and his breath came in ragged gasps. Yet, he pressed on, his
determination matched only by the baron's unyielding will.
Finally, as the sun began its descent, the baron brought the session to a
close. Tarzan, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, stood before his
Master, awaiting further instruction. The baron's gaze held a mixture of
satisfaction and a hint of something deeper, something that only he
understood.
The mine was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the echo of their
labored breaths. The baron had proven his dominance, and Tarzan, though
weary, stood as a symbol of the very power that now controlled him.
As the blindfolded Tarzan kneels before him, Baron von Richter takes in the
sight with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation. He observes the
powerful form of the once-mighty jungle hero, now transformed into a
laboring slave, muscles rippling under taut, tanned skin. Tarzan's
physique, already formidable, has been further honed through ceaseless
labor, unequivocally demonstrating the effectiveness of von Richter's
methods.
The Baron's gaze lingers on the slave's broad shoulders, sculpted chest,
and sinewy arms. He notes the way Tarzan's powerful thighs ripple with
every movement, a clear sign of the slave's formidable strength. Even
Tarzan's calloused hands, evidence of a life spent toiling, speak to his
endurance and resilience.
Von Richter is particularly pleased with the obedience and submission he
has instilled in Tarzan. The blindfolded slave, though unable to see,
responds immediately and unquestioningly to the Baron's commands. It is an
endorsement of the effectiveness of the Baron's training methods and a
clear demonstration of his dominance over the once-proud jungle hero.
As the Baron reaches out to run a gloved hand over Tarzan's sweat-slicked
skin, he can feel the latent power that still courses through the slave's
body. It is a power that now belongs to von Richter, a tool to be wielded
at his command. The scent of sweat and exertion fills the air, mingling
with the musk of leather and the earthy aroma of the mine.
Satisfied with his assessment, von Richter steps back, allowing his dark
form to retreat into the shadows. He knows that Tarzan is now firmly in his
grasp, a powerful asset to be used in pursuit of his goals. The Alpha
Ascension awaits, and with Tarzan under his command, von Richter is
confident that he will achieve the ultimate triumph.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FORTY-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-5 | Date: Thu, 9 Nov 2023 15:18:18 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 5 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. The story is my intellectual property. Copyright 2023 tarzanstud1@gmail.com I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 5: Practice Mades Perfect -------------------------------- The morning sun filtered through the dense canopy, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the forest floor. Tarzan and Kessler stood at the edge of their makeshift camp, the air tingling with anticipation. Kessler turned to Tarzan, his gaze steady. "Before we proceed, Tarzan, I think it's wise for you to familiarize yourself with the role you might play if circumstances change," he suggested, his tone measured but carrying an air of authority. Tarzan nodded, recognizing the wisdom in Kessler's words. He understood the importance of being prepared for any eventuality. "What Tarzan do?" he asked, a willingness to learn gleaming in his eyes. Kessler's expression shifted slightly, his demeanor becoming more instructive. "First, Tarzan, you must understand the posture of a slave. It is one of submission, of acknowledging one's inferior status," he explained, his words carrying a weight of expectation. Tarzan watched Kessler closely, committing every nuance to memory. He dropped to one knee, the action a symbol of his willingness to heed Kessler's guidance. Kessler's eyes narrowed, his gaze intense. "Not bad, but there is room for improvement," he remarked, his voice firm but not unkind. He proceeded to correct Tarzan's posture, guiding him towards a more refined version of the slave's stance, taking a riding crop out of his belt holster and tapping tarzan's one upraised knee with it to indicate a slave's proper position on both knees before a superior. Kessler nodded with satisfaction as Tarzan complied with his instructions. "Next, you need to get in the habit of calling your betters `Sir' or `Master,'" Kessler instructed. "Play it safe, and assume everyone is your better. And get used to calling me `Master.'" "Master," Tarzan spoke, his voice carrying a mixture of reverence and obedience, as Kessler had instructed. The word felt foreign on his tongue, but he understood its significance. As the morning sun climbed higher in the sky, Tarzan practiced, each correction from Kessler bringing him closer to the embodiment of subservience. The forest echoed with the sounds of their efforts, the rustling leaves bearing witness to the transformation taking place. Kessler nodded in approval, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. "You're getting the hang of it, Tarzan. Keep practicing, and remember to address me as Master, or I'll have to correct you before any onlookers," he advised, a subtle undercurrent of command woven into his words. To reinforce his instruction, Kessler snapped off a switch from a sturdy branch, holding it in his hand and whipping it quickly back and forth, making an intimidating whistling sound as he wielded the tangible reminder of Tarzan's commitment to his role. It was a symbol of authority, a tool that Kessler could use if the situation called for it. Tarzan glanced at Kessler, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "Shouldn't you practice as well...Master?" he inquired, a hint of mischief dancing in his gaze. Kessler's response was swift and stern, accompanied by a stinging smack of the switch against tarzan's left pec. "I know what I'm doing, Tarzan. I don't require instruction from a savage in a loincloth," he stated, his words carrying an unspoken implication of his own superiority as he used the switch to strike tarzan lightly in his loincloth, making the muscle stud's eyes grow large at the warning shot to his only vulnerability. When Kessler was satisfied with Tarzan's progress, they set out towards the slavers' camp, their mission clear and their roles defined. The forest seemed to hold its breath, as if aware of the gravity of the task at hand. Together, they moved forward, their destinies entwined in a dance of deception and purpose. END OF CHAPTER FIVE ----------------------------------------------- Thanks for your emails! This is part of a very long tarzan story with the mighty hero of the jungle experiencing things he never has imagined before. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Thu, 9 Nov 2023 15:18:18 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 5
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
The story is my intellectual property.
Copyright 2023 tarzanstud1@gmail.com
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 5: Practice Mades Perfect --------------------------------
The morning sun filtered through the dense canopy, casting dappled patterns
of light and shadow on the forest floor. Tarzan and Kessler stood at the
edge of their makeshift camp, the air tingling with anticipation.
Kessler turned to Tarzan, his gaze steady.
"Before we proceed, Tarzan, I think it's wise for you to familiarize
yourself with the role you might play if circumstances change," he
suggested, his tone measured but carrying an air of authority.
Tarzan nodded, recognizing the wisdom in Kessler's words. He understood the
importance of being prepared for any eventuality.
"What Tarzan do?" he asked, a willingness to learn gleaming in his eyes.
Kessler's expression shifted slightly, his demeanor becoming more
instructive.
"First, Tarzan, you must understand the posture of a slave. It is one of
submission, of acknowledging one's inferior status," he explained, his
words carrying a weight of expectation.
Tarzan watched Kessler closely, committing every nuance to memory. He
dropped to one knee, the action a symbol of his willingness to heed
Kessler's guidance.
Kessler's eyes narrowed, his gaze intense.
"Not bad, but there is room for improvement," he remarked, his voice firm
but not unkind. He proceeded to correct Tarzan's posture, guiding him
towards a more refined version of the slave's stance, taking a riding crop
out of his belt holster and tapping tarzan's one upraised knee with it to
indicate a slave's proper position on both knees before a superior.
Kessler nodded with satisfaction as
Tarzan complied with his instructions.
"Next, you need to get in the habit of calling your betters `Sir' or
`Master,'" Kessler instructed. "Play it safe, and assume everyone is your
better. And get used to calling me `Master.'"
"Master," Tarzan spoke, his voice carrying a mixture of reverence and
obedience, as Kessler had instructed. The word felt foreign on his tongue,
but he understood its significance.
As the morning sun climbed higher in the sky, Tarzan practiced, each
correction from Kessler bringing him closer to the embodiment of
subservience. The forest echoed with the sounds of their efforts, the
rustling leaves bearing witness to the transformation taking place.
Kessler nodded in approval, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.
"You're getting the hang of it, Tarzan. Keep practicing, and remember to
address me as Master, or I'll have to correct you before any onlookers," he
advised, a subtle undercurrent of command woven into his words.
To reinforce his instruction, Kessler snapped off a switch from a sturdy
branch, holding it in his hand and whipping it quickly back and forth,
making an intimidating whistling sound as he wielded the tangible reminder
of Tarzan's commitment to his role. It was a symbol of authority, a tool
that Kessler could use if the situation called for it.
Tarzan glanced at Kessler, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.
"Shouldn't you practice as well...Master?" he inquired, a hint of mischief
dancing in his gaze.
Kessler's response was swift and stern, accompanied by a stinging smack of
the switch against tarzan's left pec.
"I know what I'm doing, Tarzan. I don't require instruction from a savage
in a loincloth," he stated, his words carrying an unspoken implication of
his own superiority as he used the switch to strike tarzan lightly in his
loincloth, making the muscle stud's eyes grow large at the warning shot to
his only vulnerability.
When Kessler was satisfied with Tarzan's progress, they set out towards the
slavers' camp, their mission clear and their roles defined. The forest
seemed to hold its breath, as if aware of the gravity of the task at
hand. Together, they moved forward, their destinies entwined in a dance of
deception and purpose.
END OF CHAPTER FIVE -----------------------------------------------
Thanks for your emails! This is part of a very long tarzan story with the
mighty hero of the jungle experiencing things he never has imagined before.
If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at
tarzanstud1@gmail.com.
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-35 | Date: Fri, 1 Mar 2024 02:13:53 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 35
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 35: Choose Partners and...--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
The Outpost Gazette
Gossip Column
Tarzan's Dance of Dominance
By Jonathan Alden
In the heart of the lush Outpost, where the wild embraces the civilized, a
spectacle of both strength and submission unfolds.
Picture this, dear readers: Tarzan, once the untamed king of the jungle,
now bound and yoked, toiling under the watchful gaze of his masters.
Lord Harrington's estate serves as the backdrop for this curious
display. Tarzan, once a symbol of primal might, is now reduced to a mere
pawn in the hands of his new overlords. While they sip chilled beverages
in the dappled shade, he sweats and strains, his once free spirit now
tethered by invisible chains.
The contrast is stark and thought-provoking. Tarzan, a name that once
echoed through the treetops, now bends to the will of others. Is this the
fate of a mighty hero, or has he become the most lowly, inferior beast of a
slave?
As I stand witness to this transformation, I cannot help but wonder about
the journey that led us to this point. Tarzan's legend is one of defiance,
of a man who ruled nature with an iron will. Yet, here he is, bending his
back to the earth, his every movement directed by the whims of his masters.
The overseer cracks his whip, a cruel conductor orchestrating the ballet of
labor. Tarzan's muscles ripple and strain, a testament to the power that
still courses through him. But it is a power now harnessed, restrained, and
wielded by those who hold the reins. And what of Tarzan's masters? They
sit in comfort, their glasses clinking in leisurely rhythm, their laughter
mingling with the sounds of toil. They are the architects of this new
reality, the ones who have brought Tarzan to heel.
As I write these words, I am struck by the weight of the scene before
me. It is a tableau of dominance and submission, a visual testament to the
complexities of power dynamics. Tarzan, once the embodiment of wild
freedom, now embodies a different kind of strength -- the strength to
endure, to adapt, and to survive.
So, dear readers, I leave you with a question: What do you see in this
scene? Is it the fall of a hero, or the rise of a new archetype? Is Tarzan
a symbol of submission, or of the resilience of the human spirit?
As you ponder these questions, remember that the story is far from
over. The Alpha Ascension looms on the horizon, promising even more
revelations about the nature of power and dominance. Stay tuned, for the
Outpost will be there to bring you every twist and turn in this unfolding
drama.
* * * * *
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the fields
of Lord Harrington's estate. The day's labor had taken its toll on Tarzan,
leaving him coated in a fine layer of sweat and dirt. As the weary slave
was led away for his post-labor cleanup, Lord Harrington, Mr. Blackwood,
and Jonathan Alden gathered in the shade, their faces touched by the last
golden rays of sunlight.
"Remarkable, isn't it?" Lord Harrington mused, his eyes fixed on the
distant figure of Tarzan being led away. "To see a once mighty king reduced
to this... It's almost poetic." Mr. Blackwood chuckled softly, the corners
of his lips curling with a cruel satisfaction. "Indeed, my lord. The Alpha
Ascension promises to be a spectacle unlike any other. And yet, I can't
help but feel that it lacks a certain... antagonist."
Alden's brow furrowed in thought.
"You mean Baron von Richter, don't you? He would be the perfect foil for
Tarzan, the yin to his yang, so to speak."
Harrington nodded thoughtfully.
"Ah, the Baron. A true master of dominance and cruelty. If we could only
convince him to join us, the Ascension would reach new heights."
The three men fell into a contemplative silence, each lost in his own
thoughts. The mention of Baron von Richter had stirred something within
them, a hunger for the ultimate showdown between two forces of nature.
"Perhaps," Blackwood mused, "we should send an emissary to extend an
invitation to the Baron. Appeal to his... competitive spirit."
Alden's eyes sparkled with excitement.
"Yes, a challenge he can't resist. It's a bold move, but one that could
elevate the Ascension to legendary status."
Harrington's lips curled into a wry smile.
"Then it's settled. We shall send word to Baron von Richter, and hope that
he recognizes the opportunity that awaits him."
Meanwhile, in the distant part of the estate, Tarzan was being led to a
small clearing where a makeshift cleaning station had been prepared for the
slaves. The water, cold and powerful as it blasted him from the hosed
wielded by the overseer, offered a welcome respite from the day's toil. As
Tarzan was roughly hosed down, he couldn't help but reflect on the events
that had brought him to this point.
Once a king, now a slave. The irony was not lost on him. He felt the weight
of his captivity, the chains that bound him both physically and
metaphorically. And yet, there was a fire within him, a determination to
endure, to survive, and perhaps, to one day reclaim his lost kingdom.
Back in the shade, Harrington, Blackwood, and Alden continued their
discussion, their voices low and conspiratorial. The prospect of Baron von
Richter's involvement had injected a renewed energy into their plans.
"And once the Baron agrees," Blackwood declared, "we shall have a showdown
for the ages. Tarzan versus von Richter, a battle of wills and dominance
that will be talked about for generations."
As the conversation reached its climax, Tarzan emerged from the clearing,
cleaned and refreshed, his body glistening in the dying light. He was
leashed and caged, ready for the journey to Mr. Blackwood's club, where
final rehearsals for the Alpha Ascension awaited.
The trio watched him approach, a mix of fascination and anticipation in
their eyes. Tarzan, once the uncontested ruler of the jungle, now stood
before them, a living embodiment of the ever-shifting sands of power and
dominance.
And in the distance, the promise of the Ascension loomed large, a gathering
storm of primal forces, waiting to clash in a battle that would define them
all.
* * * * *
Lord Harrington leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the parchment
before him. The question hung in the air, the weight of its implications
settling over the three men gathered in the shaded alcove.
Alden cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
"It should be someone with a certain... finesse. Someone who understands
the intricacies of power dynamics and can appeal to the Baron's competitive
spirit."
Mr. Blackwood's eyes gleamed with a sly determination.
"Indeed, finesse is crucial. We need a representative who can convey the
magnitude of the Alpha Ascension, and the unparalleled opportunity it
presents for a master of the Baron's caliber."
Harrington nodded in agreement, his mind already sifting through potential
candidates.
"It must be someone with a certain... presence. Someone who can command
respect, even from a man like von Richter."
As the seconds ticked by, each man weighed the options, contemplating who
among their inner circle possessed the necessary qualities. The decision
was not one to be taken lightly, for the emissary would bear the
responsibility of convincing the formidable Baron to join their cause.
Finally, after a pregnant pause, Harrington's lips curled into a knowing
smile. "I believe I have the perfect candidate in mind. A man of charm,
intellect, and, most importantly, a master of the art of persuasion."
Alden and Blackwood exchanged a glance, curiosity piqued.
"And who might that be, my lord?" Alden inquired.
Harrington leaned forward, his voice low and conspiratorial.
"Sir Reginald Huxley. A man of impeccable taste, with a reputation for
swaying even the most stubborn minds. He possesses the charisma and wit
required for this delicate task. And he is an equal to the Baron in terms
of his status and authority."
Blackwood's eyes gleamed with approval.
"Ah, Huxley. An excellent choice, my lord. He has a way of making one see
reason, even in the face of staunch opposition. I have every confidence in
his abilities."
Alden nodded, his unfamiliarity with man appeased by his confidence in Lord
Harrington. "Sir Reginald it is, then. Let us dispatch him at once to
extend the invitation to Baron von Richter. With any luck, he shall return
bearing good news."
And so, the decision was made. Sir Reginald Huxley would be entrusted with
the crucial mission of convincing Baron von Richter to join the ranks of
the Alpha Ascension. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long
shadows across the estate, the fate of their grand event rested in the
hands of a man known for his powers of persuasion. The three men imagined
their chosen emissary setting forth, his steps purposeful and his resolve
unwavering, determined to secure the participation of the feared and mighty
Baron.
But as the idea hung in the air, Alden's mind raced with the
possibilities. He felt himself moved by a subconscious yearning he couldn't
place, but he knew where it led him. The thought of being the one to sway
the formidable Baron von Richter was both exhilarating and daunting. Alden
cleared his throat, his voice steady.
"Gentlemen, I understand the gravity of this task, but perhaps approaching
the Baron with an equal is not the most sensible approach. I believe I
possess the qualities necessary to make a compelling case to the Baron
while perhaps lowering his competitive guard."
Blackwood leaned back in his chair, a sly smile playing at the corners of
his lips.
"Alden, my dear fellow, while I admire your enthusiasm, one must consider
the... shall we say, dynamics at play here. The Baron is not one to be
easily swayed."
Alden met Blackwood's gaze, his determination unwavering.
"But isn't that the challenge, Mr. Blackwood? To present a case so
compelling, so irresistible, that even a man of the Baron's stature cannot
help but see the potential glory that awaits him at the Alpha Ascension?"
Harrington watched the exchange with keen interest, his fingers tapping
rhythmically on the arm of his chair.
"Alden, I value your eagerness. However, we must approach this with utmost
caution. The Baron is not known for his leniency, and any misstep could
prove... costly."
Alden nodded, acknowledging the weight of Harrington's words.
"Of course, my lord. I understand the risks, but I also understand the
potential rewards. If given the chance, I believe I can present our case
with the passion and persuasion it deserves."
Blackwood's eyes twinkled with mischief.
"And what, Alden, do you envision saying to the Baron? How will you
convince him that this endeavor is worth his time and consideration?"
Alden's mind raced, formulating his pitch.
"I would appeal to his sense of legacy, to the opportunity to demonstrate
his unparalleled mastery before an audience of esteemed peers. I would make
it clear that the Alpha Ascension is an event like no other, one that
history will remember for generations to come."
Harrington leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Alden.
"You speak eloquently, Alden, and your passion is evident. Very well, if
you are willing to take on this task, I shall entrust you with the mission
to approach Baron von Richter."
Alden's heart pounded with a mix of excitement and trepidation. This was
his chance to make his mark, to prove his worth in the eyes of these
formidable men. He nodded, gratitude shining in his eyes.
"Thank you, my lord. I shall not disappoint."
With the decision made, Alden's mind began to race with preparations. He
would need to craft the perfect appeal, one that would capture the Baron's
attention and secure his participation in the Alpha Ascension. As he set to
work on his plan, he couldn't help but feel a surge of determination
coursing through him. This was his moment to shine, and he would seize it
with both hands.
* * * * *
Outpost Exclusive: An Open Letter to Baron von Richter
To the Distinguished Baron von Richter,
I pen these words with utmost respect for your formidable reputation and
the legacy you have forged as a master beyond compare. Your name is
synonymous with power, dominance, and a level of mastery that inspires awe
in all who hear it. It is with the deepest humility that I extend this
missive to you, hoping for the honor of your esteemed audience.
In the hallowed halls of the upcoming Alpha Ascension, an event of
unparalleled significance, there is a void waiting to be filled by a master
of your caliber. The world awaits the opportunity to witness your unmatched
prowess, to see you command with a finesse that is both awe-inspiring and
humbling.
I come before you not as a supplicant, but as an admirer of your
indomitable spirit, a witness to the legacy you have carved. It is my
fervent hope to have the privilege of meeting with you, Baron von Richter,
to discuss a proposition that I believe holds the potential for glory on an
unprecedented scale.
I extend the offer to meet on any terms you deem fit, at any location that
you find suitable. Your comfort and convenience are of the utmost
importance, and I shall accommodate your preferences without reservation.
With the deepest respect and anticipation,
Jonathan Alden Gossip Columnist, The Outpost
As the ink dried on the parchment, Alden's heart pounded with a mixture of
trepidation and excitement. The die was cast, the message dispatched into
the world, where it would find its way to the enigmatic Baron von
Richter. The outcome was uncertain, but Alden was undeterred. This was his
moment to seize, his chance to bring an unparalleled force to the Alpha
Ascension.
* * * * *
Baron von Richter's Response:
Dear Mr. Alden,
Your words have reached me in the midst of my pursuits, a missive both
unexpected and intriguing. It is not often that I entertain such
invitations, but your letter bears the mark of genuine respect, a rare
commodity in this world.
I shall accede to your request. Choose a venue where we may meet, a place
befitting the gravity of our discourse. A secluded alcove within the city,
far removed from the prying eyes of the uninitiated, would be most
suitable.
Know this, Mr. Alden, that my time is precious, and I do not squander it on
idle pursuits. Come prepared with your proposition, and we shall see if it
merits my consideration.
Yours in anticipation of an intriguing meeting,
Baron von Richter
Alden stared at the words, his heart racing. The Baron had accepted his
invitation, a fact that both thrilled and unnerved him. The gravity of the
situation settled upon him as he considered the implications of this
rendezvous. It was not merely an encounter; it was a dance of wills, a
negotiation with a man who had long operated in the shadows of power.
With newfound determination, Alden set to work, preparing for the meeting
that would shape the course of the Alpha Ascension. The fate of tarzan, the
legacy of Baron von Richter, and the very essence of dominance hung in the
balance.
* * * * *
The atmosphere in the abandoned slaver's camp was stifling, the weight of
history hanging heavily in the air. Rusty chains dangled from decrepit
crosses, and the eerie creaking of weather-worn wood echoed through the
desolation. This was the chosen arena, where the dance of dominance and
submission would unfold.
Alden stood, resolute yet cautious, in the heart of the camp. His eyes
scanned the remnants of a cruel past, a relic of the depths of human
depravity. He felt the Baron's presence before he saw him, an imposing
figure emerging from the shadows, cloaked in an aura of power.
"Mr. Alden," the Baron's voice rumbled, his tone laced with an undercurrent
of amusement. "You have chosen an... evocative setting for our discourse."
Alden's gaze met the Baron's unyielding stare.
"Baron von Richter," he acknowledged, his voice steady. "It seemed only
fitting to meet where the echoes of the past still linger, where the
struggle for dominance once reigned."
The Baron let out a low, rumbling chuckle, a sound that sent shivers down
Alden's spine.
"Indeed, a place fraught with history, both sordid and significant. Now,
state your purpose, Mr. Alden. I am a man of action, and my time is not to
be idly wasted."
Alden took a deep breath, summoning his resolve. He recounted the
proposition he had discussed with Harrington and Blackwood, the plan to
incorporate the Baron into the Alpha Ascension, to showcase his
unparalleled dominance alongside tarzan.
"The event," Alden explained, "will be a celebration of the dynamic between
master and slave, a theatrical display of power and submission. Your
presence, Baron, would elevate it to unparalleled heights. You and tarzan,
locked in a dance of dominance, would be a sight to behold."
The Baron listened in silence, his piercing gaze never wavering. When Alden
finished, there was a palpable tension in the air, a moment of anticipation
that seemed to stretch into eternity.
Finally, the Baron spoke.
"You come to me with a proposal that carries weight, Mr. Alden. To stand
alongside tarzan, to command the stage in such a manner... it is an
intriguing notion."
Alden's heart raced. He could sense the potential, the seismic impact this
collaboration could have on the Alpha Ascension. Yet, he also knew that the
Baron was a man of exacting standards, a force to be reckoned with.
"If you agree," Alden ventured, "we are prepared to accommodate any
conditions you may have. Your terms will be met, Baron, to ensure your full
participation in the event." The Baron's gaze bore into Alden, assessing
him with an intensity that left no room for pretense. After a moment that
felt like an eternity, he nodded, a slow and deliberate motion.
"Very well, Mr. Alden. Your proposal intrigues me, and I am not one to shy
away from a challenge. I shall participate in your Alpha Ascension, under
my own terms, and under the condition that my presence will be acknowledged
with the utmost respect."
Alden's heart soared with triumph, a surge of exhilaration coursing through
him. The Baron had agreed, and the fate of the event hung in the balance,
poised to redefine the very essence of dominance and submission.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the
slaver's camp, Alden stood ready to seal their pact as the Baron's fierce
gaze penetrated Alden to the core. In the heart of that forsaken place, the
seeds of a new era were being sown, bound by the unyielding force of
dominance, and destined to leave an indelible mark on history.
Alden held the Baron's gaze, unflinching, though he could feel the weight
of the Baron's scrutiny, a palpable force that seemed to reach into the
depths of his soul. It was as though the Baron sought to dissect him, to
discern the very essence of his character. This was the test, the moment
that would determine the trajectory of their collaboration.
"Rest assured, Baron," Alden replied, his voice steady despite the
intensity of the moment, "that your presence will be honored with the
utmost respect. Your reputation precedes you, and I hold no illusions about
the magnitude of your dominance."
The Baron's lips curled into a slight, almost imperceptible smirk.
"Words are easily spoken, Mr. Alden. Actions, however, are the true measure
of one's understanding. You stand before a man who brooks no insolence, who
demands obedience and reverence in equal measure."
Alden felt the weight of the Baron's words, a stern reminder of the man he
addressed. He nodded, acknowledging the gravity of the situation.
"I understand, Baron. I am prepared to demonstrate my respect in whatever
manner you see fit."
The Baron's piercing gaze remained fixed on Alden, powerfully touching deep
to the very core of Alden's being.
"Very well. Let us not delay the inevitable. Demonstrate to me that you
comprehend the significance of this arrangement."
With deliberate precision, the Baron extended a hand, palm down, an
unspoken command for Alden to kneel. It was a gesture that brooked no
dissent, a demand for submission that left no room for negotiation.
Alden hesitated for only a fraction of a second before sinking to his
knees, his movements fluid and controlled. He lowered his head, offering a
silent acknowledgment of the Baron's dominance. In that moment, he was not
the journalist seeking a story, but a supplicant before a force far greater
than himself.
The Baron's gaze bore into Alden, a scrutiny that seemed to pierce through
the layers of his being.
"You show promise, Mr. Alden. You understand the dynamics at play here, the
intricacies of power and submission."
Alden's voice was steady, tinged with a humility that bordered on
reverence.
"Thank you, Baron. I am honored by your acknowledgment."
The Baron nodded, a gesture of approval that carried the weight of his
authority.
"Our collaboration will proceed, then, under the understanding that you
comprehend the gravity of this endeavor. You will heed my guidance, and you
will ensure that my dominance is acknowledged without question."
Alden's heart swelled with a sense of purpose, a recognition that he stood
at the precipice of a moment that would redefine the boundaries of
dominance and submission. He understood the Baron's expectations, the
unyielding standards he set.
"As you command, Baron," Alden affirmed, his voice unwavering.
The Baron's gaze held Alden's for a moment longer, a silent confirmation of
their agreement. Then, he withdrew his hand, a signal that their meeting
had reached its conclusion.
"Assemble the necessary preparations, Mr. Alden," the Baron instructed, his
tone carrying the weight of finality. "The Alpha Ascension approaches, and
we shall not falter in our pursuit of dominance."
With a final nod, the Baron turned and disappeared into the shadows,
leaving Alden to contemplate the gravity of their agreement. The die was
cast, and the stage was set for a spectacle that would leave an indelible
mark on history.
* * * * *
It was all Alden could do to keep from a passionate explosion as he raced
to file his latest column in The Outpost:
A Mysterious Encounter: The Alluring Dominant
Dear readers,
I am thrilled to share a captivating encounter that has left me in a state
of electrifying anticipation. While I must refrain from revealing the
identity of this captivating individual, allow me to offer you a
tantalizing glimpse into his enigmatic allure.
Our rendezvous occurred in an eerie setting--an abandoned slaver's camp,
where the ghosts of past cruelties seemed to linger in the air. Amidst this
haunting backdrop, my guest emerged, exuding a magnetic aura of dominance
that was impossible to ignore.
His attire was nothing short of mesmerizing--a tantalizing fusion of
leather, metal, and skin that emphasized his powerful physique. His chest
was adorned with a harness that accentuated every sculpted muscle, while a
spiked codpiece hinted at the potency of his desires. Leather bracers
adorned his forearms, along with arm bands that hinted at a history of
conquest and control.
In the presence of this imposing figure, I couldn't help but feel a
profound sense of submission and arousal. The allure of his attire,
combined with his formidable presence, was a heady cocktail that sent
shivers down my spine.
While I cannot confirm the specific implements he carried, it would be safe
to assume that a man of such commanding dominance would be
well-equipped. Whether it be a flogger, a riding crop, or a cattle prod,
his arsenal undoubtedly adds to the aura of control that surrounds him.
As I recount this encounter, I am reminded of the imminent Alpha
Ascension--an event that promises to be a celebration of unparalleled
dominance. The anticipation surrounding the revelation of our enigmatic
guest is palpable, and I am confident that when the time comes, Outpost
readers will be eager to witness the spectacle that awaits us.
For now, I leave you with these alluring hints, dear readers. The allure of
our mysterious guest continues to grow, and I invite you to revel in the
anticipation that has enraptured us all.
Until next time,
Jonathan Alden
Outpost Columnist
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE-------------------------------------
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<pre>Date: Fri, 1 Mar 2024 02:13:53 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 35
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 35: Choose Partners and...--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
The Outpost Gazette
Gossip Column
Tarzan's Dance of Dominance
By Jonathan Alden
In the heart of the lush Outpost, where the wild embraces the civilized, a
spectacle of both strength and submission unfolds.
Picture this, dear readers: Tarzan, once the untamed king of the jungle,
now bound and yoked, toiling under the watchful gaze of his masters.
Lord Harrington's estate serves as the backdrop for this curious
display. Tarzan, once a symbol of primal might, is now reduced to a mere
pawn in the hands of his new overlords. While they sip chilled beverages
in the dappled shade, he sweats and strains, his once free spirit now
tethered by invisible chains.
The contrast is stark and thought-provoking. Tarzan, a name that once
echoed through the treetops, now bends to the will of others. Is this the
fate of a mighty hero, or has he become the most lowly, inferior beast of a
slave?
As I stand witness to this transformation, I cannot help but wonder about
the journey that led us to this point. Tarzan's legend is one of defiance,
of a man who ruled nature with an iron will. Yet, here he is, bending his
back to the earth, his every movement directed by the whims of his masters.
The overseer cracks his whip, a cruel conductor orchestrating the ballet of
labor. Tarzan's muscles ripple and strain, a testament to the power that
still courses through him. But it is a power now harnessed, restrained, and
wielded by those who hold the reins. And what of Tarzan's masters? They
sit in comfort, their glasses clinking in leisurely rhythm, their laughter
mingling with the sounds of toil. They are the architects of this new
reality, the ones who have brought Tarzan to heel.
As I write these words, I am struck by the weight of the scene before
me. It is a tableau of dominance and submission, a visual testament to the
complexities of power dynamics. Tarzan, once the embodiment of wild
freedom, now embodies a different kind of strength -- the strength to
endure, to adapt, and to survive.
So, dear readers, I leave you with a question: What do you see in this
scene? Is it the fall of a hero, or the rise of a new archetype? Is Tarzan
a symbol of submission, or of the resilience of the human spirit?
As you ponder these questions, remember that the story is far from
over. The Alpha Ascension looms on the horizon, promising even more
revelations about the nature of power and dominance. Stay tuned, for the
Outpost will be there to bring you every twist and turn in this unfolding
drama.
* * * * *
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the fields
of Lord Harrington's estate. The day's labor had taken its toll on Tarzan,
leaving him coated in a fine layer of sweat and dirt. As the weary slave
was led away for his post-labor cleanup, Lord Harrington, Mr. Blackwood,
and Jonathan Alden gathered in the shade, their faces touched by the last
golden rays of sunlight.
"Remarkable, isn't it?" Lord Harrington mused, his eyes fixed on the
distant figure of Tarzan being led away. "To see a once mighty king reduced
to this... It's almost poetic." Mr. Blackwood chuckled softly, the corners
of his lips curling with a cruel satisfaction. "Indeed, my lord. The Alpha
Ascension promises to be a spectacle unlike any other. And yet, I can't
help but feel that it lacks a certain... antagonist."
Alden's brow furrowed in thought.
"You mean Baron von Richter, don't you? He would be the perfect foil for
Tarzan, the yin to his yang, so to speak."
Harrington nodded thoughtfully.
"Ah, the Baron. A true master of dominance and cruelty. If we could only
convince him to join us, the Ascension would reach new heights."
The three men fell into a contemplative silence, each lost in his own
thoughts. The mention of Baron von Richter had stirred something within
them, a hunger for the ultimate showdown between two forces of nature.
"Perhaps," Blackwood mused, "we should send an emissary to extend an
invitation to the Baron. Appeal to his... competitive spirit."
Alden's eyes sparkled with excitement.
"Yes, a challenge he can't resist. It's a bold move, but one that could
elevate the Ascension to legendary status."
Harrington's lips curled into a wry smile.
"Then it's settled. We shall send word to Baron von Richter, and hope that
he recognizes the opportunity that awaits him."
Meanwhile, in the distant part of the estate, Tarzan was being led to a
small clearing where a makeshift cleaning station had been prepared for the
slaves. The water, cold and powerful as it blasted him from the hosed
wielded by the overseer, offered a welcome respite from the day's toil. As
Tarzan was roughly hosed down, he couldn't help but reflect on the events
that had brought him to this point.
Once a king, now a slave. The irony was not lost on him. He felt the weight
of his captivity, the chains that bound him both physically and
metaphorically. And yet, there was a fire within him, a determination to
endure, to survive, and perhaps, to one day reclaim his lost kingdom.
Back in the shade, Harrington, Blackwood, and Alden continued their
discussion, their voices low and conspiratorial. The prospect of Baron von
Richter's involvement had injected a renewed energy into their plans.
"And once the Baron agrees," Blackwood declared, "we shall have a showdown
for the ages. Tarzan versus von Richter, a battle of wills and dominance
that will be talked about for generations."
As the conversation reached its climax, Tarzan emerged from the clearing,
cleaned and refreshed, his body glistening in the dying light. He was
leashed and caged, ready for the journey to Mr. Blackwood's club, where
final rehearsals for the Alpha Ascension awaited.
The trio watched him approach, a mix of fascination and anticipation in
their eyes. Tarzan, once the uncontested ruler of the jungle, now stood
before them, a living embodiment of the ever-shifting sands of power and
dominance.
And in the distance, the promise of the Ascension loomed large, a gathering
storm of primal forces, waiting to clash in a battle that would define them
all.
* * * * *
Lord Harrington leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the parchment
before him. The question hung in the air, the weight of its implications
settling over the three men gathered in the shaded alcove.
Alden cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
"It should be someone with a certain... finesse. Someone who understands
the intricacies of power dynamics and can appeal to the Baron's competitive
spirit."
Mr. Blackwood's eyes gleamed with a sly determination.
"Indeed, finesse is crucial. We need a representative who can convey the
magnitude of the Alpha Ascension, and the unparalleled opportunity it
presents for a master of the Baron's caliber."
Harrington nodded in agreement, his mind already sifting through potential
candidates.
"It must be someone with a certain... presence. Someone who can command
respect, even from a man like von Richter."
As the seconds ticked by, each man weighed the options, contemplating who
among their inner circle possessed the necessary qualities. The decision
was not one to be taken lightly, for the emissary would bear the
responsibility of convincing the formidable Baron to join their cause.
Finally, after a pregnant pause, Harrington's lips curled into a knowing
smile. "I believe I have the perfect candidate in mind. A man of charm,
intellect, and, most importantly, a master of the art of persuasion."
Alden and Blackwood exchanged a glance, curiosity piqued.
"And who might that be, my lord?" Alden inquired.
Harrington leaned forward, his voice low and conspiratorial.
"Sir Reginald Huxley. A man of impeccable taste, with a reputation for
swaying even the most stubborn minds. He possesses the charisma and wit
required for this delicate task. And he is an equal to the Baron in terms
of his status and authority."
Blackwood's eyes gleamed with approval.
"Ah, Huxley. An excellent choice, my lord. He has a way of making one see
reason, even in the face of staunch opposition. I have every confidence in
his abilities."
Alden nodded, his unfamiliarity with man appeased by his confidence in Lord
Harrington. "Sir Reginald it is, then. Let us dispatch him at once to
extend the invitation to Baron von Richter. With any luck, he shall return
bearing good news."
And so, the decision was made. Sir Reginald Huxley would be entrusted with
the crucial mission of convincing Baron von Richter to join the ranks of
the Alpha Ascension. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long
shadows across the estate, the fate of their grand event rested in the
hands of a man known for his powers of persuasion. The three men imagined
their chosen emissary setting forth, his steps purposeful and his resolve
unwavering, determined to secure the participation of the feared and mighty
Baron.
But as the idea hung in the air, Alden's mind raced with the
possibilities. He felt himself moved by a subconscious yearning he couldn't
place, but he knew where it led him. The thought of being the one to sway
the formidable Baron von Richter was both exhilarating and daunting. Alden
cleared his throat, his voice steady.
"Gentlemen, I understand the gravity of this task, but perhaps approaching
the Baron with an equal is not the most sensible approach. I believe I
possess the qualities necessary to make a compelling case to the Baron
while perhaps lowering his competitive guard."
Blackwood leaned back in his chair, a sly smile playing at the corners of
his lips.
"Alden, my dear fellow, while I admire your enthusiasm, one must consider
the... shall we say, dynamics at play here. The Baron is not one to be
easily swayed."
Alden met Blackwood's gaze, his determination unwavering.
"But isn't that the challenge, Mr. Blackwood? To present a case so
compelling, so irresistible, that even a man of the Baron's stature cannot
help but see the potential glory that awaits him at the Alpha Ascension?"
Harrington watched the exchange with keen interest, his fingers tapping
rhythmically on the arm of his chair.
"Alden, I value your eagerness. However, we must approach this with utmost
caution. The Baron is not known for his leniency, and any misstep could
prove... costly."
Alden nodded, acknowledging the weight of Harrington's words.
"Of course, my lord. I understand the risks, but I also understand the
potential rewards. If given the chance, I believe I can present our case
with the passion and persuasion it deserves."
Blackwood's eyes twinkled with mischief.
"And what, Alden, do you envision saying to the Baron? How will you
convince him that this endeavor is worth his time and consideration?"
Alden's mind raced, formulating his pitch.
"I would appeal to his sense of legacy, to the opportunity to demonstrate
his unparalleled mastery before an audience of esteemed peers. I would make
it clear that the Alpha Ascension is an event like no other, one that
history will remember for generations to come."
Harrington leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Alden.
"You speak eloquently, Alden, and your passion is evident. Very well, if
you are willing to take on this task, I shall entrust you with the mission
to approach Baron von Richter."
Alden's heart pounded with a mix of excitement and trepidation. This was
his chance to make his mark, to prove his worth in the eyes of these
formidable men. He nodded, gratitude shining in his eyes.
"Thank you, my lord. I shall not disappoint."
With the decision made, Alden's mind began to race with preparations. He
would need to craft the perfect appeal, one that would capture the Baron's
attention and secure his participation in the Alpha Ascension. As he set to
work on his plan, he couldn't help but feel a surge of determination
coursing through him. This was his moment to shine, and he would seize it
with both hands.
* * * * *
Outpost Exclusive: An Open Letter to Baron von Richter
To the Distinguished Baron von Richter,
I pen these words with utmost respect for your formidable reputation and
the legacy you have forged as a master beyond compare. Your name is
synonymous with power, dominance, and a level of mastery that inspires awe
in all who hear it. It is with the deepest humility that I extend this
missive to you, hoping for the honor of your esteemed audience.
In the hallowed halls of the upcoming Alpha Ascension, an event of
unparalleled significance, there is a void waiting to be filled by a master
of your caliber. The world awaits the opportunity to witness your unmatched
prowess, to see you command with a finesse that is both awe-inspiring and
humbling.
I come before you not as a supplicant, but as an admirer of your
indomitable spirit, a witness to the legacy you have carved. It is my
fervent hope to have the privilege of meeting with you, Baron von Richter,
to discuss a proposition that I believe holds the potential for glory on an
unprecedented scale.
I extend the offer to meet on any terms you deem fit, at any location that
you find suitable. Your comfort and convenience are of the utmost
importance, and I shall accommodate your preferences without reservation.
With the deepest respect and anticipation,
Jonathan Alden Gossip Columnist, The Outpost
As the ink dried on the parchment, Alden's heart pounded with a mixture of
trepidation and excitement. The die was cast, the message dispatched into
the world, where it would find its way to the enigmatic Baron von
Richter. The outcome was uncertain, but Alden was undeterred. This was his
moment to seize, his chance to bring an unparalleled force to the Alpha
Ascension.
* * * * *
Baron von Richter's Response:
Dear Mr. Alden,
Your words have reached me in the midst of my pursuits, a missive both
unexpected and intriguing. It is not often that I entertain such
invitations, but your letter bears the mark of genuine respect, a rare
commodity in this world.
I shall accede to your request. Choose a venue where we may meet, a place
befitting the gravity of our discourse. A secluded alcove within the city,
far removed from the prying eyes of the uninitiated, would be most
suitable.
Know this, Mr. Alden, that my time is precious, and I do not squander it on
idle pursuits. Come prepared with your proposition, and we shall see if it
merits my consideration.
Yours in anticipation of an intriguing meeting,
Baron von Richter
Alden stared at the words, his heart racing. The Baron had accepted his
invitation, a fact that both thrilled and unnerved him. The gravity of the
situation settled upon him as he considered the implications of this
rendezvous. It was not merely an encounter; it was a dance of wills, a
negotiation with a man who had long operated in the shadows of power.
With newfound determination, Alden set to work, preparing for the meeting
that would shape the course of the Alpha Ascension. The fate of tarzan, the
legacy of Baron von Richter, and the very essence of dominance hung in the
balance.
* * * * *
The atmosphere in the abandoned slaver's camp was stifling, the weight of
history hanging heavily in the air. Rusty chains dangled from decrepit
crosses, and the eerie creaking of weather-worn wood echoed through the
desolation. This was the chosen arena, where the dance of dominance and
submission would unfold.
Alden stood, resolute yet cautious, in the heart of the camp. His eyes
scanned the remnants of a cruel past, a relic of the depths of human
depravity. He felt the Baron's presence before he saw him, an imposing
figure emerging from the shadows, cloaked in an aura of power.
"Mr. Alden," the Baron's voice rumbled, his tone laced with an undercurrent
of amusement. "You have chosen an... evocative setting for our discourse."
Alden's gaze met the Baron's unyielding stare.
"Baron von Richter," he acknowledged, his voice steady. "It seemed only
fitting to meet where the echoes of the past still linger, where the
struggle for dominance once reigned."
The Baron let out a low, rumbling chuckle, a sound that sent shivers down
Alden's spine.
"Indeed, a place fraught with history, both sordid and significant. Now,
state your purpose, Mr. Alden. I am a man of action, and my time is not to
be idly wasted."
Alden took a deep breath, summoning his resolve. He recounted the
proposition he had discussed with Harrington and Blackwood, the plan to
incorporate the Baron into the Alpha Ascension, to showcase his
unparalleled dominance alongside tarzan.
"The event," Alden explained, "will be a celebration of the dynamic between
master and slave, a theatrical display of power and submission. Your
presence, Baron, would elevate it to unparalleled heights. You and tarzan,
locked in a dance of dominance, would be a sight to behold."
The Baron listened in silence, his piercing gaze never wavering. When Alden
finished, there was a palpable tension in the air, a moment of anticipation
that seemed to stretch into eternity.
Finally, the Baron spoke.
"You come to me with a proposal that carries weight, Mr. Alden. To stand
alongside tarzan, to command the stage in such a manner... it is an
intriguing notion."
Alden's heart raced. He could sense the potential, the seismic impact this
collaboration could have on the Alpha Ascension. Yet, he also knew that the
Baron was a man of exacting standards, a force to be reckoned with.
"If you agree," Alden ventured, "we are prepared to accommodate any
conditions you may have. Your terms will be met, Baron, to ensure your full
participation in the event." The Baron's gaze bore into Alden, assessing
him with an intensity that left no room for pretense. After a moment that
felt like an eternity, he nodded, a slow and deliberate motion.
"Very well, Mr. Alden. Your proposal intrigues me, and I am not one to shy
away from a challenge. I shall participate in your Alpha Ascension, under
my own terms, and under the condition that my presence will be acknowledged
with the utmost respect."
Alden's heart soared with triumph, a surge of exhilaration coursing through
him. The Baron had agreed, and the fate of the event hung in the balance,
poised to redefine the very essence of dominance and submission.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the
slaver's camp, Alden stood ready to seal their pact as the Baron's fierce
gaze penetrated Alden to the core. In the heart of that forsaken place, the
seeds of a new era were being sown, bound by the unyielding force of
dominance, and destined to leave an indelible mark on history.
Alden held the Baron's gaze, unflinching, though he could feel the weight
of the Baron's scrutiny, a palpable force that seemed to reach into the
depths of his soul. It was as though the Baron sought to dissect him, to
discern the very essence of his character. This was the test, the moment
that would determine the trajectory of their collaboration.
"Rest assured, Baron," Alden replied, his voice steady despite the
intensity of the moment, "that your presence will be honored with the
utmost respect. Your reputation precedes you, and I hold no illusions about
the magnitude of your dominance."
The Baron's lips curled into a slight, almost imperceptible smirk.
"Words are easily spoken, Mr. Alden. Actions, however, are the true measure
of one's understanding. You stand before a man who brooks no insolence, who
demands obedience and reverence in equal measure."
Alden felt the weight of the Baron's words, a stern reminder of the man he
addressed. He nodded, acknowledging the gravity of the situation.
"I understand, Baron. I am prepared to demonstrate my respect in whatever
manner you see fit."
The Baron's piercing gaze remained fixed on Alden, powerfully touching deep
to the very core of Alden's being.
"Very well. Let us not delay the inevitable. Demonstrate to me that you
comprehend the significance of this arrangement."
With deliberate precision, the Baron extended a hand, palm down, an
unspoken command for Alden to kneel. It was a gesture that brooked no
dissent, a demand for submission that left no room for negotiation.
Alden hesitated for only a fraction of a second before sinking to his
knees, his movements fluid and controlled. He lowered his head, offering a
silent acknowledgment of the Baron's dominance. In that moment, he was not
the journalist seeking a story, but a supplicant before a force far greater
than himself.
The Baron's gaze bore into Alden, a scrutiny that seemed to pierce through
the layers of his being.
"You show promise, Mr. Alden. You understand the dynamics at play here, the
intricacies of power and submission."
Alden's voice was steady, tinged with a humility that bordered on
reverence.
"Thank you, Baron. I am honored by your acknowledgment."
The Baron nodded, a gesture of approval that carried the weight of his
authority.
"Our collaboration will proceed, then, under the understanding that you
comprehend the gravity of this endeavor. You will heed my guidance, and you
will ensure that my dominance is acknowledged without question."
Alden's heart swelled with a sense of purpose, a recognition that he stood
at the precipice of a moment that would redefine the boundaries of
dominance and submission. He understood the Baron's expectations, the
unyielding standards he set.
"As you command, Baron," Alden affirmed, his voice unwavering.
The Baron's gaze held Alden's for a moment longer, a silent confirmation of
their agreement. Then, he withdrew his hand, a signal that their meeting
had reached its conclusion.
"Assemble the necessary preparations, Mr. Alden," the Baron instructed, his
tone carrying the weight of finality. "The Alpha Ascension approaches, and
we shall not falter in our pursuit of dominance."
With a final nod, the Baron turned and disappeared into the shadows,
leaving Alden to contemplate the gravity of their agreement. The die was
cast, and the stage was set for a spectacle that would leave an indelible
mark on history.
* * * * *
It was all Alden could do to keep from a passionate explosion as he raced
to file his latest column in The Outpost:
A Mysterious Encounter: The Alluring Dominant
Dear readers,
I am thrilled to share a captivating encounter that has left me in a state
of electrifying anticipation. While I must refrain from revealing the
identity of this captivating individual, allow me to offer you a
tantalizing glimpse into his enigmatic allure.
Our rendezvous occurred in an eerie setting--an abandoned slaver's camp,
where the ghosts of past cruelties seemed to linger in the air. Amidst this
haunting backdrop, my guest emerged, exuding a magnetic aura of dominance
that was impossible to ignore.
His attire was nothing short of mesmerizing--a tantalizing fusion of
leather, metal, and skin that emphasized his powerful physique. His chest
was adorned with a harness that accentuated every sculpted muscle, while a
spiked codpiece hinted at the potency of his desires. Leather bracers
adorned his forearms, along with arm bands that hinted at a history of
conquest and control.
In the presence of this imposing figure, I couldn't help but feel a
profound sense of submission and arousal. The allure of his attire,
combined with his formidable presence, was a heady cocktail that sent
shivers down my spine.
While I cannot confirm the specific implements he carried, it would be safe
to assume that a man of such commanding dominance would be
well-equipped. Whether it be a flogger, a riding crop, or a cattle prod,
his arsenal undoubtedly adds to the aura of control that surrounds him.
As I recount this encounter, I am reminded of the imminent Alpha
Ascension--an event that promises to be a celebration of unparalleled
dominance. The anticipation surrounding the revelation of our enigmatic
guest is palpable, and I am confident that when the time comes, Outpost
readers will be eager to witness the spectacle that awaits us.
For now, I leave you with these alluring hints, dear readers. The allure of
our mysterious guest continues to grow, and I invite you to revel in the
anticipation that has enraptured us all.
Until next time,
Jonathan Alden
Outpost Columnist
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</pre>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-4 | Date: Tue, 7 Nov 2023 02:37:23 +0000 (UTC) From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance, Chapter Four Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. The story is my intellectual property. Copyrigh 2023 tarzanstud1@gmail.com I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 4: A Deceptive Plan As the dense canopy above gradually muted the waning sunlight, Tarzan and the disguised slaver, now revealed as Vincent Kessler, set up a makeshift camp amidst the undergrowth. The atmosphere was fraught with both anticipation and urgency. Kessler crouched by the crackling fire, his eyes fixed on Tarzan. "We need a plan, and a good one at that," he said, his voice low and steady. "We're outnumbered, and storming the encampment would be suicide." Tarzan nodded, his mind racing through the possibilities. His experience with the jungle had taught him to be patient and strategic. "Is true! Tarzan much triumph over slaver, but this much mighty challenge." Kessler leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with a mix of determination and apprehension. "There's one tactic we could employ," he suggested tentatively. "We could arrange for one of us to be captured--gain their trust, become an insider. From there, we'll bide our time, wait for the opportune moment to strike." Tarzan's gaze met Kessler's, a flicker of understanding passing between them. The gravity of the decision weighed heavily on both their minds. "Who take risk?" Tarzan asked, his voice steady. Kessler hesitated for only a moment before speaking. "I'll do it," he declared, his jaw set with resolve. "I've tangled with slavers before, and I know how their minds work. I can get close to them without arousing suspicion." Tarzan considered Kessler's words carefully. The man had an air of confidence about him, a resilience forged through his own harrowing experiences. "Is good," Tarzan conceded. "But if change come and Tarzan in position to be capture, we make change plan, get man inside." Kessler nodded, gratitude and determination etched across his features. "Agreed. Our focus is on saving those men. We'll do whatever it takes." As the night settled around them, they fine-tuned their plan, plotting their moves with meticulous precision. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the jungle, as Tarzan and Kessler prepared for the perilous task ahead. In the distance, the encampment lay shrouded in darkness, a fortress of captivity and cruelty. Within its confines, innocent men suffered, their spirits crushed by the weight of their chains. Tarzan's heart surged with a sense of duty -- a duty to free them, to put an end to the slavers' malevolent reign. With the plan in place, Tarzan and Kessler steeled themselves for what lay ahead. They knew the risks, understood the dangers, but they were united by a common cause. Together, they would face the encampment, armed with determination, cunning, and the unwavering belief that freedom was worth any sacrifice. * * * * * Under the tranquil veil of the jungle night, Tarzan and Kessler sat beside their campfire, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the surrounding foliage. The air was filled with the symphony of nocturnal creatures, the sounds of nature serenading them as they talked. Kessler, though cloaked in the guise of an ally, couldn't fully shake off his underlying motives. He watched Tarzan closely, seeking to discern the true nature of the man he had allied himself with. This first night would serve as the litmus test--a subtle probing of Tarzan's character. As they conversed, Kessler casually inserted requests, each one carefully calculated to gauge Tarzan's reactions. "Tarzan, could you fetch some water from the nearby stream?" he asked, his tone measured but carrying an air of casual authority. Tarzan regarded him for a moment, his piercing eyes assessing the situation. Then, without hesitation, he rose and moved towards the stream, a silent acknowledgment of the request. Kessler's gaze followed Tarzan, his mind whirring with analysis. The man before him was no mere brute; he possessed a keen intellect and a capacity for discernment. It was a promising sign. Throughout the evening, Kessler repeated this subtle testing, each time met with Tarzan's compliant response. It was a dance of words and actions, a delicate interplay that revealed more about Tarzan than any overt confrontation ever could. As they settled back around the fire, Kessler broached a subject he had been mulling over. "Tarzan, your attire... it marks you as different. It makes you stand out," he remarked, his voice tinged with curiosity. Tarzan looked down at his loincloth, a garment that had been a symbol of his identity for as long as he could remember. It represented his connection to the wild, his bond with the jungle. "Is tarzan loincloth! Tarzan always wear," he replied, a hint of steadfastness in his voice. Kessler leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. "Perhaps it's time for a change," he suggested, his tone suggesting something deeper. Tarzan furrowed his brow, contemplating Kessler's words. The idea of altering his attire was not one he had considered before. Yet, as he looked into Kessler's eyes, he saw a flicker of something--an understanding, perhaps, of a world beyond the jungle. "Or should I change to look more like you -- more like a slave?" Kessler continued, a hint of mocking superiority in his tone. It was a question that went beyond mere clothing--it delved into the very essence of their identities. Tarzan studied Kessler, seeing a man burdened by his own past, a past that had led him to don a mask of deception. The revelation was a subtle one, but it spoke volumes about the complexity of the man before him. In that moment, Tarzan understood that their alliance was forged not just in circumstance, but in a shared desire for something greater--for freedom, for justice, for a world where men like Kessler need not resort to subterfuge to achieve their aims. As the night wore on, the fire burned low, casting long, dancing shadows across the forest floor. Tarzan and Kessler sat in companionable silence, the weight of their shared mission binding them together, setting the stage for the challenges that lay ahead. END OF CHAPTER FOUR ----------------------------------------------- Thanks for your emails! This is part of a very long tarzan story with the mighty hero of the jungle experiencing things he never has imagined before. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Tue, 7 Nov 2023 02:37:23 +0000 (UTC)
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance, Chapter Four
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
The story is my intellectual property.
Copyrigh 2023 tarzanstud1@gmail.com
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 4: A Deceptive Plan
As the dense canopy above gradually muted the waning sunlight, Tarzan and
the disguised slaver, now revealed as Vincent Kessler, set up a makeshift
camp amidst the undergrowth. The atmosphere was fraught with both
anticipation and urgency.
Kessler crouched by the crackling fire, his eyes fixed on Tarzan. "We need
a plan, and a good one at that," he said, his voice low and steady.
"We're outnumbered, and storming the encampment would be suicide."
Tarzan nodded, his mind racing through the possibilities. His experience
with the jungle had taught him to be patient and strategic.
"Is true! Tarzan much triumph over slaver, but this much mighty
challenge."
Kessler leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with a mix of determination and
apprehension.
"There's one tactic we could employ," he suggested tentatively. "We could
arrange for one of us to be captured--gain their trust, become an
insider. From there, we'll bide our time, wait for the opportune moment to
strike."
Tarzan's gaze met Kessler's, a flicker of understanding passing between
them. The gravity of the decision weighed heavily on both their minds.
"Who take risk?" Tarzan asked, his voice steady.
Kessler hesitated for only a moment before speaking.
"I'll do it," he declared, his jaw set with resolve. "I've tangled with
slavers before, and I know how their minds work. I can get close to them
without arousing suspicion."
Tarzan considered Kessler's words carefully. The man had an air of
confidence about him, a resilience forged through his own harrowing
experiences.
"Is good," Tarzan conceded. "But if change come and Tarzan in position to
be capture, we make change plan, get man inside."
Kessler nodded, gratitude and determination etched across his features.
"Agreed. Our focus is on saving those men. We'll do whatever it takes."
As the night settled around them, they fine-tuned their plan, plotting
their moves with meticulous precision. The moon hung high in the sky,
casting a silvery glow over the jungle, as Tarzan and Kessler prepared for
the perilous task ahead.
In the distance, the encampment lay shrouded in darkness, a fortress of
captivity and cruelty. Within its confines, innocent men suffered, their
spirits crushed by the weight of their chains. Tarzan's heart surged with a
sense of duty -- a duty to free them, to put an end to the slavers'
malevolent reign.
With the plan in place, Tarzan and Kessler steeled themselves for what lay
ahead. They knew the risks, understood the dangers, but they were united by
a common cause. Together, they would face the encampment, armed with
determination, cunning, and the unwavering belief that freedom was worth
any sacrifice.
* * * * *
Under the tranquil veil of the jungle night, Tarzan and Kessler sat beside
their campfire, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the
surrounding foliage. The air was filled with the symphony of nocturnal
creatures, the sounds of nature serenading them as they talked.
Kessler, though cloaked in the guise of an ally, couldn't fully shake off
his underlying motives. He watched Tarzan closely, seeking to discern the
true nature of the man he had allied himself with. This first night would
serve as the litmus test--a subtle probing of Tarzan's character.
As they conversed, Kessler casually inserted requests, each one carefully
calculated to gauge Tarzan's reactions.
"Tarzan, could you fetch some water from the nearby stream?" he asked, his
tone measured but carrying an air of casual authority.
Tarzan regarded him for a moment, his piercing eyes assessing the
situation. Then, without hesitation, he rose and moved towards the stream,
a silent acknowledgment of the request.
Kessler's gaze followed Tarzan, his mind whirring with analysis. The man
before him was no mere brute; he possessed a keen intellect and a capacity
for discernment. It was a promising sign.
Throughout the evening, Kessler repeated this subtle testing, each time met
with Tarzan's compliant response. It was a dance of words and actions, a
delicate interplay that revealed more about Tarzan than any overt
confrontation ever could.
As they settled back around the fire, Kessler broached a subject he had
been mulling over.
"Tarzan, your attire... it marks you as different. It makes you stand out,"
he remarked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
Tarzan looked down at his loincloth, a garment that had been a symbol of
his identity for as long as he could remember. It represented his
connection to the wild, his bond with the jungle.
"Is tarzan loincloth! Tarzan always wear," he replied, a hint of
steadfastness in his voice.
Kessler leaned forward, his gaze unwavering.
"Perhaps it's time for a change," he suggested, his tone suggesting
something deeper.
Tarzan furrowed his brow, contemplating Kessler's words. The idea of
altering his attire was not one he had considered before. Yet, as he looked
into Kessler's eyes, he saw a flicker of something--an understanding,
perhaps, of a world beyond the jungle.
"Or should I change to look more like you -- more like a slave?" Kessler
continued, a hint of mocking superiority in his tone. It was a question
that went beyond mere clothing--it delved into the very essence of their
identities.
Tarzan studied Kessler, seeing a man burdened by his own past, a past that
had led him to don a mask of deception. The revelation was a subtle one,
but it spoke volumes about the complexity of the man before him.
In that moment, Tarzan understood that their alliance was forged not just
in circumstance, but in a shared desire for something greater--for freedom,
for justice, for a world where men like Kessler need not resort to
subterfuge to achieve their aims.
As the night wore on, the fire burned low, casting long, dancing shadows
across the forest floor. Tarzan and Kessler sat in companionable silence,
the weight of their shared mission binding them together, setting the stage
for the challenges that lay ahead.
END OF CHAPTER FOUR -----------------------------------------------
Thanks for your emails! This is part of a very long tarzan story with the
mighty hero of the jungle experiencing things he never has imagined before.
If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at
tarzanstud1@gmail.com.
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-28 | Date: Fri, 19 Jan 2024 02:45:15 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 28 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 28: Tarzan in The Gossip Gazette -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com The night at The Dom's Den was unforgettable for everyone in attendance, but soon enough word of the night reached well beyond those at Mr. Blackwood's club. Tarzan's fate was about to take a major turn, thanks to Jonathan Alden, the theater critic at The Outpost, the local gay newsweekly, who doubled as the gossip columnist. Few events generated more buzz than tarzan's dramatic performance at The Dom's Den, perfectively captured in the pages of The Outpost. Here is his first story on the savage stud's debut performance: Tarzan: A Captivating Display of Strength and Submission By Jonathan Alden, Outpost Critic In the heart of our vibrant city lies a gem that never ceases to amaze its patrons. Mr. Blackwood's club, The Dom's Den, has once again raised the bar with their latest performance, featuring none other than the jungle-adorned sensation, Tarzan. The event was nothing short of spectacular, a mesmerizing display of strength, submission, and an exploration of primal desires. From the moment Tarzan graced the stage, there was an undeniable magnetic pull. His sinewy physique, accentuated by a barely-there loincloth, left many in the audience breathless. It's hard not to confess to having a slight infatuation with the way the fabric clung to his every contour, highlighting the sheer power emanating from this extraordinary individual. Blackwood's portrayal of Tarzan's adventure with the Umballa tribe was a masterstroke. The immersive experience transported us to a world where the untamed met the ritualistic, where the alpha male faced his match in Rok Hard, and where dominance and submission played a central role. The choreography and execution were nothing short of brilliant, a testament to the incredible talent involved. Tarzan's portrayal of himself was nothing short of a revelation. His primal presence, the raw intensity in his eyes, had the audience in rapt attention. As he battled Rok Hard, the sheer physicality on display was awe-inspiring. It was a gripping contest that had the audience on the edge of their seats, cheering for the noble savage who had come to symbolize the ultimate expression of strength. The climax, with Tarzan bound and displayed before the Umballa tribe, was a powerful statement on the duality of dominance and submission. The ritualistic dances and ceremonies performed around him were captivating, immersing the audience in a world where hierarchy and servitude played pivotal roles. Quotes from the evening: Mr. Blackwood himself shared, "Tarzan's performance tonight exemplifies the essence of power, both physical and psychological. It's a celebration of the noble path of submission, a journey we can all learn from." Tarzan, in a moment of reflection, shared, "Tarzan much big! Much strong!" Audience member Preston Dow exclaimed, "I've never witnessed anything quite like it. Tarzan's performance is a revelation, a thrilling exploration of the complexities of dominance and submission." In conclusion, The Dom's Den has once again proven why it stands at the forefront of captivating entertainment. Tarzan's performance was an immersive experience, a tantalizing journey through the realms of power dynamics. It's an evening that will linger in the memory of every attendee, a testament to the indomitable spirit of Tarzan and the mastery of Mr. Blackwood. * * * * * But Alden wore more than one hat, and he had further interest beyond merely singing tarzan's praises as a theater critic. The initial review was just the tip of the iceberg. Mr. Blackwood saw to it that Alden had a backstage meeting with the muscle stud at the center of his new production. After the opening performance, Tarzan was introduced to Alden as the drama critic for the local weekly news publication. Alden, a man of medium build with sharp features and an air of sophistication, extended his hand to Tarzan, who firmly shook it. "Tarzan, it's an absolute pleasure to meet you. Your performance was absolutely captivating," Alden began, his voice carrying a warm, genuine tone. Tarzan's eyes, still shining with the remnants of the performance, met Alden's. "Is much kind, Mr. All In," tarzan said. Alden couldn't help but be taken aback by the sincerity in Tarzan's gaze. "Please, call me Jonathan," Alden said. "And truly, your portrayal was nothing short of remarkable. It's not often one witnesses such a powerful embodiment of submission on stage." Tarzan's brow furrowed in curiosity. "Is true?" tarzan said, unsure what to make of Alden's comments when tarzan was only playing himself on stage. "Tarzan make try show tarzan." Alden nodded, enthusiasm shining in his eyes. "You succeeded, Tarzan. It's not just about the physicality, it's about the spirit behind it. The way you moved, the way you held yourself... it was all so... compelling." Tarzan couldn't help but feel flattered by Alden's words, and his chest puffed with pride as he was praised. "Johnny Thing much kind!" Alden leaned in slightly, his tone a touch more confidential. "If I may offer a bit of advice, Tarzan? I'd suggest exploring even deeper into the emotional core of your character. It's where you'll find the true heart of your portrayal." Tarzan took in Alden's words, grateful for the critique. "Tarzan make try," he said, nodding at the wise advice. As the conversation flowed, Alden found himself drawn into Tarzan's world. They discussed the nuances of the performance, Tarzan's approach to character development, and even delved into their shared appreciation for the arts. It was a decidedly one-sided conversation, as Alden learned that tarzan was a man of few words, to say the least. In a moment of boldness, Alden asked the question igniting his curiosity. "Tarzan, if you don't mind my asking, do you have a love interest at the moment?" Alden asked. "I imagine someone as...captivating as you must have quite the romantic life." Tarzan lowered his eyes, a hint of bashfulness coloring his cheeks. "Is much personal," he blushed. Alden couldn't help but smile at Tarzan's response. "I must say, if there is someone, they're a very lucky individual." As the conversation continued, Alden couldn't help but feel a connection forming. He was impressed not just by Tarzan's performance on stage, but by the man he was offstage - humble, genuine, and utterly captivating. As he talked to the near-naked ape man, Alden's eyes occasionally flickered towards Tarzan's loincloth. He couldn't help but wonder about the practicalities of such an iconic garment. "Tarzan," Alden began tentatively, "if you don't mind me asking... how do you maintain your loincloth? It always looks so... pristine." Tarzan scratched his head, unsure of how to answer. "tarzan make swim," he replied. "Make fresh." Alden leaned in, intrigued. "And the way you tie it, it's almost like an art form itself. Do you have a specific technique?" Tarzan glanced down at his loincloth. "Is tie." Alden nodded appreciatively, taking mental notes. "Fascinating. I'm sure our readers would love to know the secrets behind your iconic attire. It's a symbol of strength and nobility." Tarzan's furrowed his brow, finding himself at a loss for words. "Is tarzan," he said simply. Alden couldn't help but be captivated by Tarzan's reverence for his loincloth. Tarzan's minimalistic description of his minimalistic attire captured the relationship perfectly. It was more than just clothing; it was a piece of his identity, an embodiment of his connection with nature. As the conversation continued, Alden gleaned more insights into Tarzan's world. They discussed everything from Tarzan's upbringing in the jungle to his experiences adapting to a more civilized environment. Before long, it was time for them to part ways. Alden couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with Tarzan, a connection forged through shared conversation and mutual appreciation. As he bid farewell, Alden couldn't wait to share this intimate glimpse into Tarzan's life with his readers. It wasn't just about the performance on stage; it was about the man behind the character, a man whose strength and humility were as captivating as any portrayal. By the time they parted ways, Alden knew he had material for a month's worth of gossip columns. Yet, he also left with a newfound respect for Tarzan, as a person. * * * * * Alden never turned a story around quicker than the column he fired off after his encounter with the scantily clad muscle stud. Here is what ran the next day on The Outpost's gossip page, known as The Gossip Gazette: Tarzan Unveiled: The Loincloth, The Legend, The Legacy By Jonathan Alden Greetings, dear readers! Oh, the stories I have to share today will surely set hearts aflutter and tongues wagging. Yours truly had the immense pleasure of meeting none other than the jungle's very own legend -- Tarzan! As you can imagine, dear readers, my heart raced at the prospect of an encounter with this enigmatic figure. And let me assure you, he did not disappoint. From the moment I laid eyes on him, I was entranced by the aura of strength and humility that surrounds him. Now, let's talk about the pièce de résistance -- Tarzan's iconic loincloth. As we all know, this garment has become as much a part of his legend as his incredible feats of strength. But what lies beneath the fabric? What secrets does it hold? In our candid conversation, Tarzan shared with me that the loincloth is, to him, more than just clothing. It's a representation of his very essence. A connection to the wild beauty of the jungle he calls home. A symbol of his purpose in life. As he so eloquently put it, "It's tarzan," indicating the scant scrap of leather covering his most intimate parts is an essential piece of who he is. But, dear readers, allow me to offer a theory of my own. Could it be that the loincloth, with its modesty and simplicity, is actually a reflection of something deeper? Something that speaks to the heart of Tarzan's true nature? Consider this: a loincloth is designed for one who is unburdened by the trappings of luxury, one who is ready and willing to serve. It leaves little room for excess, emphasizing instead the essentials. It's a garment for a servant, a humble figure ready to fulfill their purpose. So, I ask you, dear readers -- are there any superiors out there brave enough to put my theory to the test? To see if this legend of the jungle, this embodiment of strength and servitude, is indeed as noble in his heart as he appears? In other revelations, Tarzan regaled me with tales of his upbringing in the heart of the jungle and his experiences adapting to a more civilized environment. The contrast between his wild roots and his current life is nothing short of fascinating. As our conversation came to a close, I couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with this remarkable man. There is a depth to Tarzan that goes beyond the surface, a humility that belies his incredible physical prowess. Dear readers, stay tuned for more tantalizing tales from the heart of the jungle. Who knows what secrets and surprises await us in this captivating world? Until next time, keep your eyes peeled for the next thrilling installment! * * * * * Alden's Gossip Gazette story captivated his readers far beyond the columnist's wildest imagination. His phone never stopped ringing the day it ran, with each caller confident they were superior enough to put tarzan in his proper place. Alden could scarcely wrap his head around the phenomenon he'd accidentally ignited, and he quickly returned to The Dom's Den for advice from its authoritative proprietor. Alden: (Entering the club, holding a copy of the Gossip Gazette) Mr. Blackwood! Ah, there you are. Have you had the pleasure of reading my latest column? Blackwood: (Looking up from his paperwork, intrigued) Ah, Jonathan Alden! Always a pleasure. I must confess, I haven't had a chance to peruse the latest edition just yet. What have you got for us? Alden: (Eagerly) Well, my dear fellow, it seems our friend Tarzan has inadvertently sparked quite the stir. The column on his loincloth and its deeper symbolism has garnered us quite the reaction. Blackwood: (Leaning in, interested) Oh, do tell! Alden: (Animated) Hundreds of phone calls have been pouring in, each claiming to be a "superior" eager to put my theories to the test. It seems our readers are intrigued by the challenge, Mr. Blackwood. Blackwood: (Chuckles) Well, well. It seems Tarzan's loincloth has quite the magnetic effect, doesn't it? What an unexpected turn of events. Alden: (Grinning) Unexpected indeed. But you know what they say, any press is good press, and this certainly has the town talking. Blackwood: (Rubbing his chin, thoughtful) Indeed. But let's not stop at just talk, shall we? I see an opportunity here, Alden. An opportunity for both The Outpost and my club. Alden: (Intrigued) Oh? Do elaborate, Mr. Blackwood. Blackwood: (Leaning in closer) We could arrange a little event, a gathering if you will. A chance for these self-proclaimed "superiors" to prove their mettle. It would undoubtedly draw a crowd and, well, you know how they love to spend. Alden: (Eyes lighting up) A gathering, you say? Oh, the possibilities! A challenge, an exhibition... why, the town would be buzzing for weeks. Blackwood: (Smirking) Precisely. And of course, the Outpost would have exclusive coverage. It would be a win-win, don't you think? Alden: (Nodding) Oh, indeed. The circulation would skyrocket. And the patrons at your club... well, let's just say they'll be flocking in droves. Blackwood: (Satisfied) It's settled then. We'll make the necessary arrangements. And Tarzan? He need not concern himself with these details. Alden: (With a smirk) Quite right, Mr. Blackwood. His opinion is of no matter -- he serves your will, yes? It's about the allure of that loincloth and the fantasies it's sparked. And his loincloth is in your hands, so to speak. Blackwood: (Raising his glass) To profitable ventures, Alden. May this be the first of many. The two men clink their glasses together, sealing their partnership in this unexpected venture. Alden: (Eagerly) I must say, Mr. Blackwood, this event has the potential to be the talk of the town for months, if not longer. The anticipation alone will draw in crowds. Blackwood: (Nodding) Indeed, Alden. The fascination with Tarzan's loincloth is undeniable. It's amazing how such a simple garment can provoke such intrigue. Alden: (Thoughtful) And it represents so much, doesn't it? It's a symbol of his submission, his readiness to serve. I've often wondered if he understands the deeper meaning. Blackwood: (Leaning in, conspiratorial) That, my dear Alden, is a question best left unanswered. It allows the mystery to linger, adding to the allure. Alden: (Smirking) Quite right, Mr. Blackwood. Let the mystique of Tarzan's loincloth continue to captivate. Blackwood: (Tapping his chin) Now, about the challenges... We need to carefully select tasks that will truly reveal Tarzan's nature. Strength and submission should be at the forefront. Alden: (Eager) Agreed. Perhaps a demonstration of his strength, engaging him in lifting heavy objects, performing acts of service, and, of course, displays of obedience. Blackwood: (Smirking) And let's not forget attire. Tarzan's loincloth should remain a focal point. It's the embodiment of his purpose, after all. Alden: (Nodding) Yes, yes. The loincloth should remain a symbol throughout. It's what this event is all about, after all. Blackwood: (Pausing) And what of the participants? Those who responded to your column, Alden. They'll be paying a handsome fee for the privilege. Alden: (Grinning) Ah, yes. They should be given their chance to prove themselves, to demonstrate their supposed superiority over Tarzan. It's what they've been clamoring for, after all. Blackwood: (Chuckles) Quite the spectacle it will be. And the audience? They'll be more than happy to pay for a front-row seat to this extraordinary event. Alden: (Thoughtful) Perhaps we could even add a touch of theatrics, some dramatic flair to heighten the excitement. It is a performance, after all. Blackwood: (Nodding) A splendid idea, Alden. The more theatricality, the better. It will only serve to enhance the overall experience. Alden: (Excitedly) This event has all the makings of a sensation, Mr. Blackwood. It will be a night to remember. Blackwood: (Smirking) Indeed, Alden. And one that will undoubtedly benefit us both, in more ways than one. The two men continue to brainstorm, their excitement and anticipation for the upcoming event palpable in the air. Blackwood: (Cautiously feeling Alden out on his next point of focus) To maximize our potential for success, I wonder if tarzan couldn't use some...training, I suppose....some direction to express himself theatrically...to dramatically present his submissive nature...and to best showcase the untamed power behind his loincloth. I can think of no one better suited to coach him then The Outpost's celebrated theater critic. Alden: (Eagerly) Mr. Blackwood, the idea of training Tarzan for this event is exhilarating. To help him express himself theatrically, to truly embody his submissive character... it's a challenge I relish. Blackwood: (Smirking) I thought you might, Alden. Tarzan is, after all, quite the canvas to work with. His presence alone is magnetic. Alden: (Intrigued) Tell me, Mr. Blackwood, have you had the privilege of witnessing examples of Tarzan's true nature? Any glimpses into his personal life, perhaps? Blackwood: (Thoughtfully) Tarzan is an enigma, Alden. His true nature is both fascinating and elusive. As for his personal life, he keeps it well guarded. And of course, we keep him well guarded in his labors. His focus is primarily on serving his superiors. Alden: (Nodding) I suspected as much. Now, Mr. Blackwood, am I free to take whatever steps are necessary to properly train Tarzan? I want to ensure he gives his best performance. Blackwood: (Leaning in) Alden, you have my full support. Tarzan is an asset, and we must ensure he shines in this event. Use whatever means you see fit to prepare him. Alden: (Eager) Excellent. And do you have any advice, any tools that might aid me in this endeavor? Blackwood: (Smirking) Ah, Alden, you have an eagerness about you that is quite infectious. I suggest focusing on his strengths, both physically and theatrically. Encourage him to embrace his submissive nature. And, of course, his loincloth should remain a central element. Alden: (Goosebumps) The loincloth... of course. It's not just an article of clothing, is it, Mr. Blackwood? It's a symbol, a representation of his true purpose. Blackwood: (Nodding) Precisely, Alden. The loincloth is a statement, a declaration of intent. It embodies everything that Tarzan is meant to be. Alden: (Determined) I will see to it that Tarzan is prepared for this event, Mr. Blackwood. He will give a performance that leaves an indelible mark on all who witness it. Blackwood: (Smirking) I have no doubt, Alden. This event will be one for the history books, thanks to your dedication and Tarzan's... unique talents. Blackwood opens a cabinet, revealing an array of carefully arranged devices. Blackwood: (Smirking) Speaking of indelible marks... A riding crop, a cat o' nine tails, a bullwhip, a flogger, a cattle prod, wrist and ankle restraints, and more fill the cabinet. Each item gleaming with polished leather and steel. Blackwood: These, Alden, are the tools of the trade. Effective instruments in directing and guiding new performers to summon their very best. Alden's eyes widen, and he practically drools over the possibilities that these implements present. Blackwood raises an eyebrow, noticing Alden's eager reaction. Blackwood: (Teasing) You asked about Tarzan's love life, Alden. What about yours? Alden: (Chuckling nervously) Well, Mr. Blackwood, let's just say that I foresee my love life... improving considerably. As they continue to discuss the training and preparation of Tarzan, Alden can't help but feel a new surge of excitement coursing through him. The event promises to be a monumental success, and it seems that Alden's personal life is in for a thrilling ride as well. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Fri, 19 Jan 2024 02:45:15 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 28
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 28: Tarzan in The Gossip Gazette --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
The night at The Dom's Den was unforgettable for everyone in attendance,
but soon enough word of the night reached well beyond those at
Mr. Blackwood's club. Tarzan's fate was about to take a major turn, thanks
to Jonathan Alden, the theater critic at The Outpost, the local gay
newsweekly, who doubled as the gossip columnist. Few events generated more
buzz than tarzan's dramatic performance at The Dom's Den, perfectively
captured in the pages of The Outpost. Here is his first story on the
savage stud's debut performance:
Tarzan: A Captivating Display of Strength and Submission By Jonathan Alden,
Outpost Critic
In the heart of our vibrant city lies a gem that never ceases to amaze its
patrons. Mr. Blackwood's club, The Dom's Den, has once again raised the bar
with their latest performance, featuring none other than the jungle-adorned
sensation, Tarzan. The event was nothing short of spectacular, a
mesmerizing display of strength, submission, and an exploration of primal
desires.
From the moment Tarzan graced the stage, there was an undeniable magnetic
pull. His sinewy physique, accentuated by a barely-there loincloth, left
many in the audience breathless. It's hard not to confess to having a
slight infatuation with the way the fabric clung to his every contour,
highlighting the sheer power emanating from this extraordinary individual.
Blackwood's portrayal of Tarzan's adventure with the Umballa tribe was a
masterstroke. The immersive experience transported us to a world where the
untamed met the ritualistic, where the alpha male faced his match in Rok
Hard, and where dominance and submission played a central role. The
choreography and execution were nothing short of brilliant, a testament to
the incredible talent involved.
Tarzan's portrayal of himself was nothing short of a revelation. His primal
presence, the raw intensity in his eyes, had the audience in rapt
attention. As he battled Rok Hard, the sheer physicality on display was
awe-inspiring. It was a gripping contest that had the audience on the edge
of their seats, cheering for the noble savage who had come to symbolize the
ultimate expression of strength.
The climax, with Tarzan bound and displayed before the Umballa tribe, was a
powerful statement on the duality of dominance and submission. The
ritualistic dances and ceremonies performed around him were captivating,
immersing the audience in a world where hierarchy and servitude played
pivotal roles.
Quotes from the evening:
Mr. Blackwood himself shared, "Tarzan's performance tonight exemplifies the
essence of power, both physical and psychological. It's a celebration of
the noble path of submission, a journey we can all learn from."
Tarzan, in a moment of reflection, shared, "Tarzan much big! Much strong!"
Audience member Preston Dow exclaimed, "I've never witnessed anything quite
like it. Tarzan's performance is a revelation, a thrilling exploration of
the complexities of dominance and submission."
In conclusion, The Dom's Den has once again proven why it stands at the
forefront of captivating entertainment. Tarzan's performance was an
immersive experience, a tantalizing journey through the realms of power
dynamics. It's an evening that will linger in the memory of every attendee,
a testament to the indomitable spirit of Tarzan and the mastery of
Mr. Blackwood.
* * * * *
But Alden wore more than one hat, and he had further interest beyond merely
singing tarzan's praises as a theater critic. The initial review was just
the tip of the iceberg. Mr. Blackwood saw to it that Alden had a backstage
meeting with the muscle stud at the center of his new production.
After the opening performance, Tarzan was introduced to Alden as the drama
critic for the local weekly news publication. Alden, a man of medium build
with sharp features and an air of sophistication, extended his hand to
Tarzan, who firmly shook it.
"Tarzan, it's an absolute pleasure to meet you. Your performance was
absolutely captivating," Alden began, his voice carrying a warm, genuine
tone.
Tarzan's eyes, still shining with the remnants of the performance, met
Alden's.
"Is much kind, Mr. All In," tarzan said.
Alden couldn't help but be taken aback by the sincerity in Tarzan's gaze.
"Please, call me Jonathan," Alden said. "And truly, your portrayal was
nothing short of remarkable. It's not often one witnesses such a powerful
embodiment of submission on stage."
Tarzan's brow furrowed in curiosity.
"Is true?" tarzan said, unsure what to make of Alden's comments when tarzan
was only playing himself on stage. "Tarzan make try show tarzan."
Alden nodded, enthusiasm shining in his eyes.
"You succeeded, Tarzan. It's not just about the physicality, it's about the
spirit behind it. The way you moved, the way you held yourself... it was
all so... compelling."
Tarzan couldn't help but feel flattered by Alden's words, and his chest
puffed with pride as he was praised.
"Johnny Thing much kind!"
Alden leaned in slightly, his tone a touch more confidential.
"If I may offer a bit of advice, Tarzan? I'd suggest exploring even deeper
into the emotional core of your character. It's where you'll find the true
heart of your portrayal."
Tarzan took in Alden's words, grateful for the critique.
"Tarzan make try," he said, nodding at the wise advice.
As the conversation flowed, Alden found himself drawn into Tarzan's
world. They discussed the nuances of the performance, Tarzan's approach to
character development, and even delved into their shared appreciation for
the arts. It was a decidedly one-sided conversation, as Alden learned that
tarzan was a man of few words, to say the least.
In a moment of boldness, Alden asked the question igniting his curiosity.
"Tarzan, if you don't mind my asking, do you have a love interest at the
moment?" Alden asked. "I imagine someone as...captivating as you must have
quite the romantic life."
Tarzan lowered his eyes, a hint of bashfulness coloring his cheeks.
"Is much personal," he blushed.
Alden couldn't help but smile at Tarzan's response.
"I must say, if there is someone, they're a very lucky individual."
As the conversation continued, Alden couldn't help but feel a connection
forming. He was impressed not just by Tarzan's performance on stage, but by
the man he was offstage - humble, genuine, and utterly captivating.
As he talked to the near-naked ape man, Alden's eyes occasionally flickered
towards Tarzan's loincloth. He couldn't help but wonder about the
practicalities of such an iconic garment.
"Tarzan," Alden began tentatively, "if you don't mind me asking... how do
you maintain your loincloth? It always looks so... pristine."
Tarzan scratched his head, unsure of how to answer.
"tarzan make swim," he replied. "Make fresh."
Alden leaned in, intrigued.
"And the way you tie it, it's almost like an art form itself. Do you have a
specific technique?"
Tarzan glanced down at his loincloth.
"Is tie."
Alden nodded appreciatively, taking mental notes.
"Fascinating. I'm sure our readers would love to know the secrets behind
your iconic attire. It's a symbol of strength and nobility."
Tarzan's furrowed his brow, finding himself at a loss for words.
"Is tarzan," he said simply.
Alden couldn't help but be captivated by Tarzan's reverence for his
loincloth. Tarzan's minimalistic description of his minimalistic attire
captured the relationship perfectly. It was more than just clothing; it
was a piece of his identity, an embodiment of his connection with nature.
As the conversation continued, Alden gleaned more insights into Tarzan's
world. They discussed everything from Tarzan's upbringing in the jungle to
his experiences adapting to a more civilized environment.
Before long, it was time for them to part ways. Alden couldn't help but
feel a sense of kinship with Tarzan, a connection forged through shared
conversation and mutual appreciation.
As he bid farewell, Alden couldn't wait to share this intimate glimpse into
Tarzan's life with his readers. It wasn't just about the performance on
stage; it was about the man behind the character, a man whose strength and
humility were as captivating as any portrayal.
By the time they parted ways, Alden knew he had material for a month's
worth of gossip columns. Yet, he also left with a newfound respect for
Tarzan, as a person.
* * * * *
Alden never turned a story around quicker than the column he fired off
after his encounter with the scantily clad muscle stud. Here is what ran
the next day on The Outpost's gossip page, known as The Gossip Gazette:
Tarzan Unveiled: The Loincloth, The Legend, The Legacy By Jonathan Alden
Greetings, dear readers! Oh, the stories I have to share today will surely
set hearts aflutter and tongues wagging. Yours truly had the immense
pleasure of meeting none other than the jungle's very own legend -- Tarzan!
As you can imagine, dear readers, my heart raced at the prospect of an
encounter with this enigmatic figure. And let me assure you, he did not
disappoint. From the moment I laid eyes on him, I was entranced by the aura
of strength and humility that surrounds him.
Now, let's talk about the pièce de résistance -- Tarzan's
iconic loincloth. As we all know, this garment has become as much a part of
his legend as his incredible feats of strength. But what lies beneath the
fabric? What secrets does it hold?
In our candid conversation, Tarzan shared with me that the loincloth is, to
him, more than just clothing. It's a representation of his very essence. A
connection to the wild beauty of the jungle he calls home. A symbol of his
purpose in life.
As he so eloquently put it, "It's tarzan," indicating the scant scrap of
leather covering his most intimate parts is an essential piece of who he
is.
But, dear readers, allow me to offer a theory of my own. Could it be that
the loincloth, with its modesty and simplicity, is actually a reflection of
something deeper? Something that speaks to the heart of Tarzan's true
nature?
Consider this: a loincloth is designed for one who is unburdened by the
trappings of luxury, one who is ready and willing to serve. It leaves
little room for excess, emphasizing instead the essentials. It's a garment
for a servant, a humble figure ready to fulfill their purpose.
So, I ask you, dear readers -- are there any superiors out there brave
enough to put my theory to the test? To see if this legend of the jungle,
this embodiment of strength and servitude, is indeed as noble in his heart
as he appears?
In other revelations, Tarzan regaled me with tales of his upbringing in the
heart of the jungle and his experiences adapting to a more civilized
environment. The contrast between his wild roots and his current life is
nothing short of fascinating.
As our conversation came to a close, I couldn't help but feel a sense of
camaraderie with this remarkable man. There is a depth to Tarzan that goes
beyond the surface, a humility that belies his incredible physical prowess.
Dear readers, stay tuned for more tantalizing tales from the heart of the
jungle. Who knows what secrets and surprises await us in this captivating
world?
Until next time, keep your eyes peeled for the next thrilling installment!
* * * * *
Alden's Gossip Gazette story captivated his readers far beyond the
columnist's wildest imagination. His phone never stopped ringing the day
it ran, with each caller confident they were superior enough to put tarzan
in his proper place. Alden could scarcely wrap his head around the
phenomenon he'd accidentally ignited, and he quickly returned to The Dom's
Den for advice from its authoritative proprietor.
Alden: (Entering the club, holding a copy of the Gossip Gazette)
Mr. Blackwood! Ah, there you are. Have you had the pleasure of reading my
latest column?
Blackwood: (Looking up from his paperwork, intrigued) Ah, Jonathan Alden!
Always a pleasure. I must confess, I haven't had a chance to peruse the
latest edition just yet. What have you got for us?
Alden: (Eagerly) Well, my dear fellow, it seems our friend Tarzan has
inadvertently sparked quite the stir. The column on his loincloth and its
deeper symbolism has garnered us quite the reaction.
Blackwood: (Leaning in, interested) Oh, do tell!
Alden: (Animated) Hundreds of phone calls have been pouring in, each
claiming to be a "superior" eager to put my theories to the test. It seems
our readers are intrigued by the challenge, Mr. Blackwood.
Blackwood: (Chuckles) Well, well. It seems Tarzan's loincloth has quite the
magnetic effect, doesn't it? What an unexpected turn of events.
Alden: (Grinning) Unexpected indeed. But you know what they say, any press
is good press, and this certainly has the town talking.
Blackwood: (Rubbing his chin, thoughtful) Indeed. But let's not stop at
just talk, shall we? I see an opportunity here, Alden. An opportunity for
both The Outpost and my club.
Alden: (Intrigued) Oh? Do elaborate, Mr. Blackwood.
Blackwood: (Leaning in closer) We could arrange a little event, a gathering
if you will. A chance for these self-proclaimed "superiors" to prove their
mettle. It would undoubtedly draw a crowd and, well, you know how they love
to spend.
Alden: (Eyes lighting up) A gathering, you say? Oh, the possibilities! A
challenge, an exhibition... why, the town would be buzzing for weeks.
Blackwood: (Smirking) Precisely. And of course, the Outpost would have
exclusive coverage. It would be a win-win, don't you think?
Alden: (Nodding) Oh, indeed. The circulation would skyrocket. And the
patrons at your club... well, let's just say they'll be flocking in droves.
Blackwood: (Satisfied) It's settled then. We'll make the necessary
arrangements. And Tarzan? He need not concern himself with these details.
Alden: (With a smirk) Quite right, Mr. Blackwood. His opinion is of no
matter -- he serves your will, yes? It's about the allure of that
loincloth and the fantasies it's sparked. And his loincloth is in your
hands, so to speak.
Blackwood: (Raising his glass) To profitable ventures, Alden. May this be
the first of many.
The two men clink their glasses together, sealing their partnership in this
unexpected venture.
Alden: (Eagerly) I must say, Mr. Blackwood, this event has the potential to
be the talk of the town for months, if not longer. The anticipation alone
will draw in crowds.
Blackwood: (Nodding) Indeed, Alden. The fascination with Tarzan's loincloth
is undeniable. It's amazing how such a simple garment can provoke such
intrigue.
Alden: (Thoughtful) And it represents so much, doesn't it? It's a symbol of
his submission, his readiness to serve. I've often wondered if he
understands the deeper meaning.
Blackwood: (Leaning in, conspiratorial) That, my dear Alden, is a question
best left unanswered. It allows the mystery to linger, adding to the
allure.
Alden: (Smirking) Quite right, Mr. Blackwood. Let the mystique of Tarzan's
loincloth continue to captivate.
Blackwood: (Tapping his chin) Now, about the challenges... We need to
carefully select tasks that will truly reveal Tarzan's nature. Strength and
submission should be at the forefront.
Alden: (Eager) Agreed. Perhaps a demonstration of his strength, engaging
him in lifting heavy objects, performing acts of service, and, of course,
displays of obedience.
Blackwood: (Smirking) And let's not forget attire. Tarzan's loincloth
should remain a focal point. It's the embodiment of his purpose, after all.
Alden: (Nodding) Yes, yes. The loincloth should remain a symbol
throughout. It's what this event is all about, after all.
Blackwood: (Pausing) And what of the participants? Those who responded to
your column, Alden. They'll be paying a handsome fee for the privilege.
Alden: (Grinning) Ah, yes. They should be given their chance to prove
themselves, to demonstrate their supposed superiority over Tarzan. It's
what they've been clamoring for, after all.
Blackwood: (Chuckles) Quite the spectacle it will be. And the audience?
They'll be more than happy to pay for a front-row seat to this
extraordinary event.
Alden: (Thoughtful) Perhaps we could even add a touch of theatrics, some
dramatic flair to heighten the excitement. It is a performance, after all.
Blackwood: (Nodding) A splendid idea, Alden. The more theatricality, the
better. It will only serve to enhance the overall experience.
Alden: (Excitedly) This event has all the makings of a sensation,
Mr. Blackwood. It will be a night to remember.
Blackwood: (Smirking) Indeed, Alden. And one that will undoubtedly benefit
us both, in more ways than one.
The two men continue to brainstorm, their excitement and anticipation for
the upcoming event palpable in the air.
Blackwood: (Cautiously feeling Alden out on his next point of focus) To
maximize our potential for success, I wonder if tarzan couldn't use
some...training, I suppose....some direction to express himself
theatrically...to dramatically present his submissive nature...and to best
showcase the untamed power behind his loincloth. I can think of no one
better suited to coach him then The Outpost's celebrated theater critic.
Alden: (Eagerly) Mr. Blackwood, the idea of training Tarzan for this event
is exhilarating. To help him express himself theatrically, to truly embody
his submissive character... it's a challenge I relish.
Blackwood: (Smirking) I thought you might, Alden. Tarzan is, after all,
quite the canvas to work with. His presence alone is magnetic.
Alden: (Intrigued) Tell me, Mr. Blackwood, have you had the privilege of
witnessing examples of Tarzan's true nature? Any glimpses into his personal
life, perhaps?
Blackwood: (Thoughtfully) Tarzan is an enigma, Alden. His true nature is
both fascinating and elusive. As for his personal life, he keeps it well
guarded. And of course, we keep him well guarded in his labors. His focus
is primarily on serving his superiors.
Alden: (Nodding) I suspected as much. Now, Mr. Blackwood, am I free to take
whatever steps are necessary to properly train Tarzan? I want to ensure he
gives his best performance.
Blackwood: (Leaning in) Alden, you have my full support. Tarzan is an
asset, and we must ensure he shines in this event. Use whatever means you
see fit to prepare him.
Alden: (Eager) Excellent. And do you have any advice, any tools that might
aid me in this endeavor?
Blackwood: (Smirking) Ah, Alden, you have an eagerness about you that is
quite infectious. I suggest focusing on his strengths, both physically and
theatrically. Encourage him to embrace his submissive nature. And, of
course, his loincloth should remain a central element.
Alden: (Goosebumps) The loincloth... of course. It's not just an article of
clothing, is it, Mr. Blackwood? It's a symbol, a representation of his true
purpose.
Blackwood: (Nodding) Precisely, Alden. The loincloth is a statement, a
declaration of intent. It embodies everything that Tarzan is meant to be.
Alden: (Determined) I will see to it that Tarzan is prepared for this
event, Mr. Blackwood. He will give a performance that leaves an indelible
mark on all who witness it.
Blackwood: (Smirking) I have no doubt, Alden. This event will be one for
the history books, thanks to your dedication and Tarzan's... unique
talents.
Blackwood opens a cabinet, revealing an array of carefully arranged
devices.
Blackwood: (Smirking) Speaking of indelible marks...
A riding crop, a cat o' nine tails, a bullwhip, a flogger, a cattle prod,
wrist and ankle restraints, and more fill the cabinet. Each item gleaming
with polished leather and steel.
Blackwood: These, Alden, are the tools of the trade. Effective instruments
in directing and guiding new performers to summon their very best.
Alden's eyes widen, and he practically drools over the possibilities that
these implements present. Blackwood raises an eyebrow, noticing Alden's
eager reaction.
Blackwood: (Teasing) You asked about Tarzan's love life, Alden. What about
yours?
Alden: (Chuckling nervously) Well, Mr. Blackwood, let's just say that I
foresee my love life... improving considerably.
As they continue to discuss the training and preparation of Tarzan, Alden
can't help but feel a new surge of excitement coursing through him. The
event promises to be a monumental success, and it seems that Alden's
personal life is in for a thrilling ride as well.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-20 | Date: Thu, 14 Dec 2023 03:30:35 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 20 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 20: The Spectacle of the Captive -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com * * * * * As Tarzan's cage was brought into The Dom's Den, the patrons erupted into a chorus of excitement and anticipation. It was a grand spectacle, and Mr. Blackwood reveled in the role of a circus barker, commanding Tarzan to exit the cage with a firm tug on his leash. "Behold, ladies and gentlemen, the mighty Tarzan!" Mr. Blackwood's voice boomed, his words serving as an incantation to whip the crowd into a frenzy. "A specimen of unparalleled strength and power!" Tarzan, now standing before his Master, felt the weight of his captivity pressing down upon him. Mr. Blackwood made him trot in a circle at the end of the leash, his movements a forced display of submission. The crowd, fueled by a mix of fascination and sadistic pleasure, taunted Tarzan. Their voices became a cacophony of ridicule and humiliation, their words a constant reminder of his fallen status. "Look at him, a king reduced to a pet!" one patron jeered, his laughter echoing through the club. "He's nothing more than a beast in chains!" another chimed in, their voices dripping with scorn. Amidst the taunts and insults, the patrons began to offer their suggestions for Tarzan's performance, each accompanied by a sum of money. Mr. Blackwood listened intently, his eyes scanning the crowd for the highest bidder. "I want to see him wrestle a wild boar!" one patron declared, waving a handful of bills in the air. "Make him dance like a monkey!" another shouted, offering a generous sum for the spectacle. The bids continued, each suggestion more outlandish than the last, the patrons reveling in their newfound power over the once-mighty king. Mr. Blackwood assessed the offers, a calculating glint in his eyes, ready to select the highest bidder and bring their twisted desires to life. * * * * * As the patrons clamored with their offers, Mr. Blackwood's eyes scanned the crowd, his gaze sharp and calculating. Finally, he settled on the highest bidder, a man with a malevolent gleam in his eyes and a thick wad of bills in his hand. "You, sir," Mr. Blackwood declared, pointing to the man, "You have the honor of choosing Tarzan's performance." The man's face contorted into a cruel smile as he stepped forward, the bills rustling in his hand. "I want to see Tarzan wrestle a wild boar," the man said, licking his lips at the thought. "Make it a true test of his strength." The crowd erupted in agreement, their voices a chorus of anticipation. Tarzan, though bound by captivity, understood that this was the price he paid for the crowd's amusement. Under Mr. Blackwood's command, Tarzan was led to a specially prepared area. The wild boar, a creature of fierce determination, awaited its reluctant opponent. Tarzan's muscles rippled beneath his tunic as he squared off against the formidable beast. The arena was a stage of primal confrontation, a battleground where two forces of nature clashed with a furious intensity. Tarzan, stripped of his regal stature but not his indomitable spirit, stood tall and resolute. His muscles, taut and honed by years in the unforgiving jungle, rippled beneath the coarse fabric of his tunic. Before him, the wild boar was a vision of raw power, its muscles corded and eyes glinting with a fierce determination. Its tusks, sharp and deadly, gleamed in the harsh light of the arena. With a fierce battle cry, the struggle commenced. Tarzan's movements were a dance of raw power and primal instinct, his every muscle working in harmony. The boar fought valiantly, its tusks slashing through the air. As the first clash came, it was a blur of motion and sound. Tarzan's movements were a symphony of precision and force, his every action a testament to the primal instincts that pulsed through his veins. He dodged the boar's charging advances with an uncanny grace, each step calculated and deliberate. The boar, a creature of brute strength and unwavering resolve, fought with a ferocity that matched Tarzan's own. Its tusks slashed through the air, aiming for any vulnerable point they could find. The clash of titans echoed through the arena, the ground trembling beneath their furious dance. Under Mr. Blackwood's watchful eye, Tarzan's every move was directed with precision. He urged Tarzan to use his strength to its fullest, whipping tarzan as he battled, encouraging him to overpower the boar and prove his worth to the watching crowd. As the battle raged on, the patrons watched in rapt fascination, their eyes fixed on the spectacle before them. The air was charged with tension, each movement a display of the enduring strength that Tarzan possessed. Tarzan's senses were honed to a razor's edge, every muscle in his body responding with a fluidity that spoke of a lifetime spent in the heart of the wild. He seized upon every opening, every moment of vulnerability in the boar's onslaught, countering with a precision that spoke of a profound connection to the untamed forces of nature. As the fierce battle between Tarzan and the wild boar unfolded, Lord Harrington arrived at the club, his presence commanding attention. He joined Mr. Blackwood at the edge of the arena, their eyes fixed on the spectacle before them. "Quite the magnificent display, wouldn't you agree, Lord Harrington?" Mr. Blackwood remarked, his tone filled with a calculated enthusiasm. Lord Harrington nodded, his gaze never leaving the tumultuous clash of man and beast. "Indeed, Blackwood," Lord Harrington marveled. "Tarzan's fighting ability is truly remarkable. His every move speaks to the power that courses through him." They observed Tarzan's every motion, their eyes scrutinizing his form, from the sinewy muscles that rippled beneath his tunic to the calculated precision with which he countered the boar's advances. Lord Harrington's voice dropped to a low murmur, the excitement barely contained. "Look at him, Blackwood. A king transformed into a captive, yet his strength endures. His transition has been seamless." Mr. Blackwood nodded in agreement, his eyes gleaming with a mix of admiration and avarice. "Indeed, my lord. He is a most valuable acquisition, one that promises great profit for us both." The crowd, a sea of eager faces, watched in breathless anticipation. Their cheers and gasps punctuated the fierce struggle, their eyes fixed on the spectacle unfolding before them. The enduring strength that Tarzan possessed was a force that could not be extinguished, even in the face of captivity. Finally, with a surge of primal might, Tarzan seized the opportunity he'd been waiting for. With a mighty heave, he overpowered the wild boar, subduing it with a display of raw dominance. The crowd erupted into a crescendo of cheers, their approval of the awe-inspiring performance they had witnessed ringing through the club. Tarzan, victorious but not unscathed, stood tall and resolute, a symbol of the indomitable spirit that still burned within him. Tarzan's triumph sent a surge of electricity through the crowd. Lord Harrington and Mr. Blackwood watched with a shared satisfaction, their plans inching ever closer to fruition. "Remarkable," Lord Harrington murmured, his voice filled with a sense of triumph. "Our latest acquisition proves to be even more formidable than anticipated." Mr. Blackwood's smile was a wolfish grin, his eyes alight with the promise of untold riches. "Indeed, my lord. Tarzan is a prize that will continue to yield dividends for us." The two men turned their attention back to Tarzan, their minds already buzzing with visions of future profit and power, their anticipation barely contained. Mr. Blackwood, his face a mask of satisfaction, led Tarzan back to his cage. Though bound by captivity, Tarzan's strength and resilience remained a force to be reckoned with. * * * * * When they got to the cage, Mr. Blackwood turned Tarzan to face the crowd, taking his arm and holding it up in triumph to the crowd. "Gentlemen! Witness the unmatched might of Tarzan! A true king of the jungle!" Blackwood proclaimed triumphantly. As Mr. Blackwood spoke to the crowd, he discreetly jabbed Tarzan with a tranquilizer. Tarzan's movements became sluggish. "Wha... you... do..?" tarzan managed to slur out as his strength was subdued by his superiors. As the savage stud slipped into unconsciousness, Blackwood's men quickly secured Tarzan to the outside of his cage. "We got him, Boss," said the lead henchman. "Excellent," Blackwood said, smirking. "Make sure he's secure. We can't afford any... surprises." Lord Harrington joined Mr. Blackwood and they speak in hushed tones as they watched Tarzan being bound. "Impressive, Blackwood," said Harrington. "Tarzan's strength is even greater than I anticipated." "Indeed, my lord," Blackwood said, his eyes devouring the sight of the jungle stud in his control. "He's a valuable asset." "We need to ensure we extract every ounce of profit from him," Lord Harrington mused. "How can we further capitalize on this acquisition?" "We can expand the spectacle, my lord," Blackwood suggested. "Perhaps larger, more dangerous creatures for him to face." "Yes, and we can charge a premium for such displays," Lord Harrington said, nodding in agreement. "The wealth this could bring is staggering." "And if we establish Tarzan as the ultimate spectacle, we could even attract investors from the highest echelons of society," Blackwood said, a glint in his eye. "Yes, yes," Lord Harrington said, practically drooling at the prospect. "We must exploit this opportunity to its fullest potential." * * * * * END OF CHAPTER TWENTY------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Thu, 14 Dec 2023 03:30:35 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 20
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 20: The Spectacle of the Captive --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
As Tarzan's cage was brought into The Dom's Den, the patrons erupted into a
chorus of excitement and anticipation. It was a grand spectacle, and
Mr. Blackwood reveled in the role of a circus barker, commanding Tarzan to
exit the cage with a firm tug on his leash.
"Behold, ladies and gentlemen, the mighty Tarzan!" Mr. Blackwood's voice
boomed, his words serving as an incantation to whip the crowd into a
frenzy. "A specimen of unparalleled strength and power!"
Tarzan, now standing before his Master, felt the weight of his captivity
pressing down upon him. Mr. Blackwood made him trot in a circle at the end
of the leash, his movements a forced display of submission.
The crowd, fueled by a mix of fascination and sadistic pleasure, taunted
Tarzan. Their voices became a cacophony of ridicule and humiliation, their
words a constant reminder of his fallen status.
"Look at him, a king reduced to a pet!" one patron jeered, his laughter
echoing through the club.
"He's nothing more than a beast in chains!" another chimed in, their voices
dripping with scorn.
Amidst the taunts and insults, the patrons began to offer their suggestions
for Tarzan's performance, each accompanied by a sum of money. Mr. Blackwood
listened intently, his eyes scanning the crowd for the highest bidder.
"I want to see him wrestle a wild boar!" one patron declared, waving a
handful of bills in the air.
"Make him dance like a monkey!" another shouted, offering a generous sum
for the spectacle.
The bids continued, each suggestion more outlandish than the last, the
patrons reveling in their newfound power over the once-mighty king.
Mr. Blackwood assessed the offers, a calculating glint in his eyes, ready
to select the highest bidder and bring their twisted desires to life.
* * * * *
As the patrons clamored with their offers, Mr. Blackwood's eyes scanned the
crowd, his gaze sharp and calculating. Finally, he settled on the highest
bidder, a man with a malevolent gleam in his eyes and a thick wad of bills
in his hand.
"You, sir," Mr. Blackwood declared, pointing to the man, "You have the
honor of choosing Tarzan's performance."
The man's face contorted into a cruel smile as he stepped forward, the
bills rustling in his hand.
"I want to see Tarzan wrestle a wild boar," the man said, licking his lips
at the thought. "Make it a true test of his strength."
The crowd erupted in agreement, their voices a chorus of
anticipation. Tarzan, though bound by captivity, understood that this was
the price he paid for the crowd's amusement.
Under Mr. Blackwood's command, Tarzan was led to a specially prepared
area. The wild boar, a creature of fierce determination, awaited its
reluctant opponent. Tarzan's muscles rippled beneath his tunic as he
squared off against the formidable beast.
The arena was a stage of primal confrontation, a battleground where two
forces of nature clashed with a furious intensity. Tarzan, stripped of his
regal stature but not his indomitable spirit, stood tall and resolute. His
muscles, taut and honed by years in the unforgiving jungle, rippled beneath
the coarse fabric of his tunic.
Before him, the wild boar was a vision of raw power, its muscles corded and
eyes glinting with a fierce determination. Its tusks, sharp and deadly,
gleamed in the harsh light of the arena.
With a fierce battle cry, the struggle commenced. Tarzan's movements were a
dance of raw power and primal instinct, his every muscle working in
harmony. The boar fought valiantly, its tusks slashing through the air.
As the first clash came, it was a blur of motion and sound. Tarzan's
movements were a symphony of precision and force, his every action a
testament to the primal instincts that pulsed through his veins. He dodged
the boar's charging advances with an uncanny grace, each step calculated
and deliberate.
The boar, a creature of brute strength and unwavering resolve, fought with
a ferocity that matched Tarzan's own. Its tusks slashed through the air,
aiming for any vulnerable point they could find. The clash of titans echoed
through the arena, the ground trembling beneath their furious dance.
Under Mr. Blackwood's watchful eye, Tarzan's every move was directed with
precision. He urged Tarzan to use his strength to its fullest, whipping
tarzan as he battled, encouraging him to overpower the boar and prove his
worth to the watching crowd. As the battle raged on, the patrons watched
in rapt fascination, their eyes fixed on the spectacle before them. The air
was charged with tension, each movement a display of the enduring strength
that Tarzan possessed.
Tarzan's senses were honed to a razor's edge, every muscle in his body
responding with a fluidity that spoke of a lifetime spent in the heart of
the wild. He seized upon every opening, every moment of vulnerability in
the boar's onslaught, countering with a precision that spoke of a profound
connection to the untamed forces of nature.
As the fierce battle between Tarzan and the wild boar unfolded, Lord
Harrington arrived at the club, his presence commanding attention. He
joined Mr. Blackwood at the edge of the arena, their eyes fixed on the
spectacle before them.
"Quite the magnificent display, wouldn't you agree, Lord Harrington?"
Mr. Blackwood remarked, his tone filled with a calculated enthusiasm. Lord
Harrington nodded, his gaze never leaving the tumultuous clash of man and
beast.
"Indeed, Blackwood," Lord Harrington marveled. "Tarzan's fighting ability
is truly remarkable. His every move speaks to the power that courses
through him."
They observed Tarzan's every motion, their eyes scrutinizing his form, from
the sinewy muscles that rippled beneath his tunic to the calculated
precision with which he countered the boar's advances.
Lord Harrington's voice dropped to a low murmur, the excitement barely
contained.
"Look at him, Blackwood. A king transformed into a captive, yet his
strength endures. His transition has been seamless."
Mr. Blackwood nodded in agreement, his eyes gleaming with a mix of
admiration and avarice.
"Indeed, my lord. He is a most valuable acquisition, one that promises
great profit for us both."
The crowd, a sea of eager faces, watched in breathless anticipation. Their
cheers and gasps punctuated the fierce struggle, their eyes fixed on the
spectacle unfolding before them. The enduring strength that Tarzan
possessed was a force that could not be extinguished, even in the face of
captivity.
Finally, with a surge of primal might, Tarzan seized the opportunity he'd
been waiting for. With a mighty heave, he overpowered the wild boar,
subduing it with a display of raw dominance.
The crowd erupted into a crescendo of cheers, their approval of the
awe-inspiring performance they had witnessed ringing through the
club. Tarzan, victorious but not unscathed, stood tall and resolute, a
symbol of the indomitable spirit that still burned within him. Tarzan's
triumph sent a surge of electricity through the crowd. Lord Harrington and
Mr. Blackwood watched with a shared satisfaction, their plans inching ever
closer to fruition.
"Remarkable," Lord Harrington murmured, his voice filled with a sense of
triumph. "Our latest acquisition proves to be even more formidable than
anticipated."
Mr. Blackwood's smile was a wolfish grin, his eyes alight with the promise
of untold riches.
"Indeed, my lord. Tarzan is a prize that will continue to yield dividends
for us."
The two men turned their attention back to Tarzan, their minds already
buzzing with visions of future profit and power, their anticipation barely
contained.
Mr. Blackwood, his face a mask of satisfaction, led Tarzan back to his
cage. Though bound by captivity, Tarzan's strength and resilience remained
a force to be reckoned with.
* * * * *
When they got to the cage, Mr. Blackwood turned Tarzan to face the crowd,
taking his arm and holding it up in triumph to the crowd.
"Gentlemen! Witness the unmatched might of Tarzan! A true king of the
jungle!" Blackwood proclaimed triumphantly.
As Mr. Blackwood spoke to the crowd, he discreetly jabbed Tarzan with a
tranquilizer. Tarzan's movements became sluggish.
"Wha... you... do..?" tarzan managed to slur out as his strength was
subdued by his superiors.
As the savage stud slipped into unconsciousness, Blackwood's men quickly
secured Tarzan to the outside of his cage.
"We got him, Boss," said the lead henchman.
"Excellent," Blackwood said, smirking. "Make sure he's secure. We can't
afford any... surprises."
Lord Harrington joined Mr. Blackwood and they speak in hushed tones as they
watched Tarzan being bound.
"Impressive, Blackwood," said Harrington. "Tarzan's strength is even
greater than I anticipated."
"Indeed, my lord," Blackwood said, his eyes devouring the sight of the
jungle stud in his control. "He's a valuable asset."
"We need to ensure we extract every ounce of profit from him," Lord
Harrington mused. "How can we further capitalize on this acquisition?"
"We can expand the spectacle, my lord," Blackwood suggested. "Perhaps
larger, more dangerous creatures for him to face."
"Yes, and we can charge a premium for such displays," Lord Harrington said,
nodding in agreement. "The wealth this could bring is staggering."
"And if we establish Tarzan as the ultimate spectacle, we could even
attract investors from the highest echelons of society," Blackwood said, a
glint in his eye.
"Yes, yes," Lord Harrington said, practically drooling at the prospect. "We
must exploit this opportunity to its fullest potential."
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-2 | Date: Sat, 4 Nov 2023 01:45:23 +0000 (UTC) From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance, Chapter Two Chapter 2: Tarzan's Triumph In the heart of the dense jungle, the legendary elephant burial ground stood sacred and revered. It was a place of mystery and ancient wisdom, where the largest creatures of the land came to rest. Tarzan, the undisputed king of the jungle, guarded this hallowed ground with fierce devotion. One fateful morning, as the sun's rays pierced through the thick canopy, a distant rumble echoed through the trees. Tarzan's keen senses caught the foreign sound, setting off alarm bells in his mind. He swung from vine to vine with unparalleled agility, closing in on the source of the disturbance. Through the tangled foliage, he beheld a grim sight: a group of twelve poachers, their eyes gleaming with avarice and cruelty, encroaching upon the sacred ground. Anger surged within Tarzan's chest, and his powerful muscles tensed in readiness for the impending battle. With a mighty leap, Tarzan descended upon the unsuspecting intruders, his presence like a force of nature. The first poacher, a burly man with a scarred face, barely had time to react before Tarzan's fists connected with a swift and precise blow. The poacher crumpled to the ground, defeated before he could even draw his weapon. One by one, Tarzan confronted the interlopers, each confrontation a testament to his unmatched strength and cunning. The second poacher, a wiry man with a twisted grin, attempted to strike Tarzan with a crude club, but the jungle king dodged the blow with ease. In a blur of motion, Tarzan disarmed him, sending the weapon clattering to the forest floor. As the battle raged on, Tarzan's confidence swelled, his cocky attitude unmistakable. His reputation as the jungle's protector was well-earned, and he reveled in the opportunity to prove his might. The poachers, though formidable in number, were no match for the sheer force of nature that was Tarzan. With each confrontation, Tarzan displayed a mastery of combat that left the poachers dumbfounded. He moved with the fluid grace of a panther, anticipating their every move and countering with devastating precision. His strength was unmatched, his strikes landing with bone-jarring impact. One poacher, emboldened by desperation, attempted to rally his comrades, but Tarzan's keen instincts detected the shift in momentum. With a lightning-quick maneuver, he disarmed the would-be leader, leaving him helpless and defeated. As the battle reached its climax, Tarzan stood tall, a figure of unrivaled power and dominance. The twelve poachers lay defeated at his feet, bound and helpless, their dreams of plundering the sacred burial ground shattered. Tarzan pounded his chest and gave a fierce and triumphant howl that filled the jungle. With the threat neutralized, Tarzan wasted no time in securing the captured poachers, ensuring they would face the full weight of justice for their crimes. He knew that their attempt to desecrate the elephant burial ground could not go unpunished. As the authorities arrived to apprehend the defeated poachers, Tarzan surveyed the scene with a mixture of pride and self-assuredness. His legend as the jungle's protector had only been further solidified by this triumphant display of his might. With a final, knowing glance at the bound intruders, Tarzan swung back into the canopy, disappearing into the embrace of the jungle. His reputation as the unquestioned king of the jungle remained intact, his legend destined to endure for generations to come. END OF CHAPTER TWO ----------------------------------------------- Thanks for your emails! This is the second in a very long tarzan story. I can forewarn you, graphic sex is not the focus so much as good storytelling with the mighty hero of the jungle experiencing things he never has imagined before. It's definitely racy, and always hot to me, but if you need endless graphic sex, this may not be your ideal. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sat, 4 Nov 2023 01:45:23 +0000 (UTC)
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance, Chapter Two
Chapter 2: Tarzan's Triumph
In the heart of the dense jungle, the legendary elephant burial ground
stood sacred and revered. It was a place of mystery and ancient wisdom,
where the largest creatures of the land came to rest. Tarzan, the
undisputed king of the jungle, guarded this hallowed ground with fierce
devotion.
One fateful morning, as the sun's rays pierced through the thick canopy, a
distant rumble echoed through the trees. Tarzan's keen senses caught the
foreign sound, setting off alarm bells in his mind.
He swung from vine to vine with unparalleled agility, closing in on the
source of the disturbance.
Through the tangled foliage, he beheld a grim sight: a group of twelve
poachers, their eyes gleaming with avarice and cruelty, encroaching upon
the sacred ground. Anger surged within Tarzan's chest, and his powerful
muscles tensed in readiness for the impending battle.
With a mighty leap, Tarzan descended upon the unsuspecting intruders, his
presence like a force of nature. The first poacher, a burly man with a
scarred face, barely had time to react before Tarzan's fists connected with
a swift and precise blow. The poacher crumpled to the ground, defeated
before he could even draw his weapon.
One by one, Tarzan confronted the interlopers, each confrontation a
testament to his unmatched strength and cunning.
The second poacher, a wiry man with a twisted grin, attempted to strike
Tarzan with a crude club, but the jungle king dodged the blow with ease. In
a blur of motion, Tarzan disarmed him, sending the weapon clattering to the
forest floor.
As the battle raged on, Tarzan's confidence swelled, his cocky attitude
unmistakable. His reputation as the jungle's protector was well-earned, and
he reveled in the opportunity to prove his might. The poachers, though
formidable in number, were no match for the sheer force of nature that was
Tarzan.
With each confrontation, Tarzan displayed a mastery of combat that left the
poachers dumbfounded. He moved with the fluid grace of a panther,
anticipating their every move and countering with devastating
precision. His strength was unmatched, his strikes landing with
bone-jarring impact.
One poacher, emboldened by desperation, attempted to rally his comrades,
but Tarzan's keen instincts detected the shift in momentum. With a
lightning-quick maneuver, he disarmed the would-be leader, leaving him
helpless and defeated.
As the battle reached its climax, Tarzan stood tall, a figure of unrivaled
power and dominance. The twelve poachers lay defeated at his feet, bound
and helpless, their dreams of plundering the sacred burial ground
shattered. Tarzan pounded his chest and gave a fierce and triumphant howl
that filled the jungle.
With the threat neutralized, Tarzan wasted no time in securing the captured
poachers, ensuring they would face the full weight of justice for their
crimes. He knew that their attempt to desecrate the elephant burial ground
could not go unpunished.
As the authorities arrived to apprehend the defeated poachers, Tarzan
surveyed the scene with a mixture of pride and self-assuredness. His legend
as the jungle's protector had only been further solidified by this
triumphant display of his might.
With a final, knowing glance at the bound intruders, Tarzan swung back into
the canopy, disappearing into the embrace of the jungle. His reputation as
the unquestioned king of the jungle remained intact, his legend destined to
endure for generations to come.
END OF CHAPTER TWO -----------------------------------------------
Thanks for your emails! This is the second in a very long tarzan story. I
can forewarn you, graphic sex is not the focus so much as good storytelling
with the mighty hero of the jungle experiencing things he never has
imagined before. It's definitely racy, and always hot to me, but if you
need endless graphic sex, this may not be your ideal. If you have any
feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com.
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-24 | Date: Sun, 31 Dec 2023 18:58:37 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance: Chapter 24 - Tarzan Dreams a Dream Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 24: Tarzan Dreams a Dream -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com * * * * * Chapter 24 -- Tarzan's Dreams Tarzan's slumber becomes increasingly filled with vivid dreams that seem to address his immediate change of circumstances. Is it a coincidence that the powerful dreams reinforcing his newly dawning sense of self began when Lord Harrington and Mr. Blackwood had the overseer, Hargrove, implement the sound system with the subliminal messages to tarzan each night? In Tarzan's latest dream, he found himself in a lush jungle, surrounded by towering trees and vibrant foliage. Yet, this jungle was unlike any he had ever known. Instead of being the king of this domain, he was no longer a wild man, but rather a devoted servant. Before him stood a grand mansion, far removed from his accustomed treehouse. Tarzan wore his customary loincloth, his hair neatly groomed for a change, and he looked somehow refined, unlike the rugged ape man of the jungle. Approaching him was Mr. Blackwood, his Master. Blackwood was clad in an exquisite suit, exuding an air of authority and sophistication. He held out his hand, and Tarzan obediently knelt before him, kissing Blackwood's ring as a sign of submission. "Tarzan," Mr. Blackwood said with a commanding tone, "you are my loyal servant. Your only purpose is to serve me, to fulfill my every desire." Tarzan nodded in compliance, his devotion evident in his eyes. Blackwood continued, "You will be the epitome of obedience and dedication. You will attend to my every need, anticipating my wishes before I even voice them." As the dream continued, Tarzan was seen catering to Mr. Blackwood's every whim, whether it was preparing meals, tending to his attire, or even offering a soothing massage after a long day. Tarzan found solace in this servitude, a deep sense of belonging and purpose. Throughout the dream, Tarzan felt a growing sense of contentment and fulfillment. He had found his true place, and it was serving Mr. Blackwood with unwavering loyalty and devotion. As the dream slowly faded, Tarzan awoke, feeling a strange mix of emotions. It was a vivid dream, one that left him pondering his newfound role and the connection he felt to Mr. Blackwood. * * * * * Tarzan's dream wove a tale of strange and surreal scenes. He found himself amidst an opulent gathering at Mr. Blackwood's extravagant estate, a place of decadence and power. The guests were familiar faces from Tarzan's past, those he had crossed paths with as a jungle hero, some of whom had once sought to challenge or exploit him. Yet, the circumstances were starkly different now. In Tarzan's dream, the guests at Mr. Blackwood's party were embodiments of his past adversaries, now turned masters. Each interaction was a surreal dance of power and submission. He saw Captain Reynolds, whose plans to illegally harvest ivory from the jungle tarzan had thwarted. In the dream, Tarzan was now serving drinks to Captain Reynolds, bowing and scraping as he did so, acknowledging the Captain's superiority. Tarzan recalled their prior encounter when Reynolds sought to plunder the jungle's riches for his own gain. In the dream, Captain Reynolds now sneered down at Tarzan, mocking his subservience. Tarzan, in his loincloth and collar, knelt at Reynolds' feet, his eyes averted. Captain Reynolds looked down at Tarzan with undisguised contempt, a triumphant gleam in his eye. "So, the mighty jungle king reduced to a mere plaything," he sneered, his tone dripping with superiority. "Fetch me a drink, Tarzan," Reynolds commanded, extending an imperious hand. Tarzan obeyed without hesitation, moving with a grace that belied his newfound servitude. As Tarzan knelt at his feet, Captain Reynolds chuckled darkly. "You were never fit to challenge a man of my stature, were you?" he mused, relishing the reversal of their roles. In Captain Reynolds' eyes, Tarzan was nothing more than a pet, a living testament to his own dominance. Colonel Harris was there, a rival explorer who had tried to outshine Tarzan's knowledge of the jungle. In the dream, Tarzan was handing Colonel Harris a plate of exotic fruits, looking on with envy as Colonel Harris enjoyed the finest delicacies. Tarzan remembered the Colonel's arrogant attempts to outshine him as an explorer. In the dream, Colonel Harris strolled by, barely sparing Tarzan a glance. He addressed him with a condescending smirk, asserting his dominance with every step. "You always did have a penchant for theatrics," he remarked, his tone dismissive. "But now, you're where you truly belong." Turning back, he surveyed Tarzan with a self-satisfied smirk. "Fetch me a cigar, Tarzan. And don't dawdle," he ordered, watching as Tarzan hurried to comply. "You thought you were invincible, didn't you?" Colonel Harris mused. "But here you are, on your knees. A fitting end, I'd say." To Colonel Harris, Tarzan was a symbol of his own superiority, a testament to his ability to bend even the mightiest to his will. Tarzan had previously protected Professor Lawrence from danger in the jungle, saving his life. In the dream, Lawrence was now seated with Tarzan at his feet, eager to hear his every word. Professor Lawrence looked down at Tarzan with a mix of fascination and satisfaction. "The student has become the master, it seems," he observed, his voice tinged with irony. "I wonder," Lawrence mused, "what secrets your body still holds? Let's find out, shall we?" He gestured for Tarzan to stand, examining him with clinical detachment. "You were a mere anomaly in my studies," Lawrence stated, "but now, you're my most valuable specimen." In Professor Lawrence's eyes, Tarzan had transformed from a subject of study to an object of his own perverse curiosity. Doctor Smithers, the scientist who had once sought to study Tarzan as a scientific curiosity, a specimen of evolutionary significance, now circled him like a predator. He scrutinized every inch of Tarzan's exposed form, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. Doctor Smithers circled Tarzan, his eyes alight with a predatory hunger. "Such strength, such vitality," he murmured. "And now, all at my disposal." He ran a gloved hand along Tarzan's bicep, relishing the power beneath his touch. "You're a marvel, Tarzan. A true marvel," Smithers said, his tone almost reverent. "I always knew there was untapped potential in you. Now, it's mine to harness." To Doctor Smithers, Tarzan was a living embodiment of his scientific ambitions, a worthy subject for his ability to control and manipulate even the most formidable specimens. And far from least was Baron von Richter. Tarzan had thwarted the Baron's plans to poach rare animals for their valuable hides. Tarzan recalled their past clash when tarzan stifled his illegal animal hunting. In the dream, the Baron held Tarzan's leash, yanking it sharply to remind him of his place. Tarzan obediently followed his every command, his movements slow and deliberate, embodying submission. "You were a thorn in my side for too long," the baron remarked remarked, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Kneel, Tarzan," the Baron ordered, and Tarzan complied without hesitation. "You're learning your place, I see." As Tarzan knelt before him, the Baron chuckled darkly. "You were never meant to challenge men like us. Now, you understand that, don't you?" To Baron von Richter, Tarzan represented a victory over a longstanding adversary, a living representation of the baron's own triumph and superiority. As Tarzan reveled in this strange reversal of roles, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. In his dream, his enemies had become his master, while he was now subservient to those who had once sought to exploit him. It was a fantasy, a fleeting escape from the harsh reality of his new life, but it brought him a sense of empowerment and retribution he so desperately craved. As the dream unfolded, Tarzan grappled with the stark contrast of his former victories and his present submission. His enemies reveled in their newfound power, relishing in the role reversal. It was a disorienting and unsettling fantasy, one that challenged Tarzan's sense of self and purpose. Yet, even in his dreams, he couldn't deny the strange allure of such a transformation, a tantalizing taste of a reality that now seemed far beyond his reach. In this dream, Tarzan's submission was absolute, a testament to his acceptance of his newfound role. His interactions with these men were a surreal dance of power and dominance, each one reveling in the reversal of their roles. * * * * * In the dimly lit hall of Lord Harrington's grand estate, the guests, each one a former adversary of Tarzan, were gathered. The air was heavy with the weight of power and conquest, and at the center of it all stood Tarzan, now clad in a simple loincloth, a symbol of his submission. Mr. Blackburn watched Tarzan with a look of smug satisfaction. He relished every moment of this display, each command a reminder of the dominance he now held over the once-mighty jungle king. "Tarzan," Mr. Blackburn purred, his voice dripping with authority. "Kneel before me." Without a moment's hesitation, Tarzan sank to his knees before his master. It was a position he'd come to know well, a symbol of his unwavering commitment to serve. "Fetch me a drink," Mr. Blackburn commanded, holding out an empty glass. Tarzan rose gracefully and moved to the table, filling the glass with a steady hand. He returned and presented it to his master, who took it with a satisfied smile. Next came the commands designed to showcase Tarzan's submission. Mr. Blackburn gestured for him to stand and turn, examining him from every angle. "Such a fine specimen," he mused, his eyes tracing the contours of Tarzan's form. "Flex," he ordered, and Tarzan complied, his muscles rippling in response. It was a display of power, but now it served a different purpose -- a testament to his master's control. Finally, Mr. Blackburn issued his most daring command. "Dance for our esteemed guests, Tarzan," he instructed, a wicked glint in his eye. Tarzan hesitated for only a moment before he began to move. His dance was a mesmerizing blend of strength and grace, a stark contrast to the wild, untamed creature he'd once been. Each step was deliberate, each movement proclaiming his mastery of his own body. As he danced, the guests watched in awe, their faces a mix of astonishment and delight. They could hardly believe their eyes -- the legendary Tarzan, now a mere plaything at the hands of Mr. Blackburn. His loincloth, once a symbol of his strength, now served as a stark reminder of his subservience. It clung to him, accentuating every movement, every line of his body. It was no longer a garment of power, but a badge of his servitude. The room was filled with a tension that hung in the air, a palpable reminder of the roles that had been reversed. Tarzan's dance demonstrated his complete submission, a display of his dedication to serving his master. In his dream, as Tarzan moves through his dance, he experiences a complex mix of emotions. He feels a strange blend of vulnerability and empowerment. The loincloth, once a symbol of his strength, now feels like a garment of submission. Each step and sway is guided by Mr. Blackburn's commands, emphasizing his newfound role as a servant. As he approaches Captain Reynolds, Tarzan is acutely aware of the man's disdainful gaze. The Captain's eyes seem to pierce through him, and Tarzan can almost taste the bitterness in the air. He obeys Mr. Blackburn's directive, lowering himself before Reynolds, a gesture of submission that feels foreign yet oddly fitting. Moving on to Colonel Harris, Tarzan is struck by the man's arrogance. Harris regards him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain, as if Tarzan is little more than a curious specimen. Tarzan executes each motion as directed, feeling the weight of his subservient role pressing upon him. Professor Lawrence's presence invokes a different kind of discomfort. Tarzan senses the man's intellectual scrutiny, as if he's dissecting Tarzan's every move. The Professor's analytical gaze makes Tarzan acutely aware of his own vulnerability, and he follows Mr. Blackburn's commands with a sense of resignation. Doctor Smithers exudes an air of clinical detachment. Tarzan can't help but feel like an object under the Doctor's gaze, a specimen to be examined and cataloged. As he performs his dance, Tarzan grapples with a mix of humiliation and resignation, acutely aware of his role in this bizarre display. Approaching Baron von Richter, Tarzan is met with a palpable air of superiority. The Baron regards him with a haughty expression, as if he's surveying a piece of property. Tarzan's movements are precise, each step calculated to meet the Baron's expectations, even as he wrestles with a sense of indignity. Throughout the dance, Tarzan's thoughts are a swirl of conflicting emotions. He grapples with his newfound role as a servant, struggling to reconcile his innate strength with the subservient motions he performs. Each guest's reaction is a reminder of his place in this peculiar hierarchy, a stark departure from the life he once knew. As the dream unfolds, Tarzan's mind becomes a battleground of acceptance and resistance, his subconscious navigating the complexities of his altered reality. As the dance came to an end, Tarzan sank to his knees once more, his chest heaving. He looked up at Mr. Blackburn, his eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and devotion. "Thank you, Master," he whispered, his voice a breathless acknowledgment of his noble calling. Mr. Blackburn's smile was triumphant. He had proven his dominance, not just to Tarzan, but to every guest in the room. The once-mighty jungle king was now nothing more than a loyal servant, bound by his unwavering commitment to his master's will. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sun, 31 Dec 2023 18:58:37 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance: Chapter 24 - Tarzan Dreams a Dream
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 24: Tarzan Dreams a Dream --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
Chapter 24 -- Tarzan's Dreams
Tarzan's slumber becomes increasingly filled with vivid dreams that seem to
address his immediate change of circumstances. Is it a coincidence that
the powerful dreams reinforcing his newly dawning sense of self began when
Lord Harrington and Mr. Blackwood had the overseer, Hargrove, implement the
sound system with the subliminal messages to tarzan each night?
In Tarzan's latest dream, he found himself in a lush jungle, surrounded by
towering trees and vibrant foliage. Yet, this jungle was unlike any he had
ever known. Instead of being the king of this domain, he was no longer a
wild man, but rather a devoted servant.
Before him stood a grand mansion, far removed from his accustomed
treehouse. Tarzan wore his customary loincloth, his hair neatly groomed for
a change, and he looked somehow refined, unlike the rugged ape man of the
jungle.
Approaching him was Mr. Blackwood, his Master. Blackwood was clad in an
exquisite suit, exuding an air of authority and sophistication. He held out
his hand, and Tarzan obediently knelt before him, kissing Blackwood's ring
as a sign of submission.
"Tarzan," Mr. Blackwood said with a commanding tone, "you are my loyal
servant. Your only purpose is to serve me, to fulfill my every desire."
Tarzan nodded in compliance, his devotion evident in his eyes.
Blackwood continued, "You will be the epitome of obedience and
dedication. You will attend to my every need, anticipating my wishes before
I even voice them."
As the dream continued, Tarzan was seen catering to Mr. Blackwood's every
whim, whether it was preparing meals, tending to his attire, or even
offering a soothing massage after a long day. Tarzan found solace in this
servitude, a deep sense of belonging and purpose.
Throughout the dream, Tarzan felt a growing sense of contentment and
fulfillment. He had found his true place, and it was serving Mr. Blackwood
with unwavering loyalty and devotion.
As the dream slowly faded, Tarzan awoke, feeling a strange mix of
emotions. It was a vivid dream, one that left him pondering his newfound
role and the connection he felt to Mr. Blackwood.
* * * * *
Tarzan's dream wove a tale of strange and surreal scenes. He found himself
amidst an opulent gathering at Mr. Blackwood's extravagant estate, a place
of decadence and power. The guests were familiar faces from Tarzan's past,
those he had crossed paths with as a jungle hero, some of whom had once
sought to challenge or exploit him. Yet, the circumstances were starkly
different now.
In Tarzan's dream, the guests at Mr. Blackwood's party were embodiments of
his past adversaries, now turned masters. Each interaction was a surreal
dance of power and submission.
He saw Captain Reynolds, whose plans to illegally harvest ivory from the
jungle tarzan had thwarted. In the dream, Tarzan was now serving drinks to
Captain Reynolds, bowing and scraping as he did so, acknowledging the
Captain's superiority.
Tarzan recalled their prior encounter when Reynolds sought to plunder the
jungle's riches for his own gain. In the dream, Captain Reynolds now
sneered down at Tarzan, mocking his subservience. Tarzan, in his loincloth
and collar, knelt at Reynolds' feet, his eyes averted.
Captain Reynolds looked down at Tarzan with undisguised contempt, a
triumphant gleam in his eye.
"So, the mighty jungle king reduced to a mere plaything," he sneered, his
tone dripping with superiority.
"Fetch me a drink, Tarzan," Reynolds commanded, extending an imperious
hand. Tarzan obeyed without hesitation, moving with a grace that belied his
newfound servitude.
As Tarzan knelt at his feet, Captain Reynolds chuckled darkly.
"You were never fit to challenge a man of my stature, were you?" he mused,
relishing the reversal of their roles.
In Captain Reynolds' eyes, Tarzan was nothing more than a pet, a living
testament to his own dominance.
Colonel Harris was there, a rival explorer who had tried to outshine
Tarzan's knowledge of the jungle. In the dream, Tarzan was handing Colonel
Harris a plate of exotic fruits, looking on with envy as Colonel Harris
enjoyed the finest delicacies.
Tarzan remembered the Colonel's arrogant attempts to outshine him as an
explorer. In the dream, Colonel Harris strolled by, barely sparing Tarzan a
glance. He addressed him with a condescending smirk, asserting his
dominance with every step.
"You always did have a penchant for theatrics," he remarked, his tone
dismissive. "But now, you're where you truly belong."
Turning back, he surveyed Tarzan with a self-satisfied smirk.
"Fetch me a cigar, Tarzan. And don't dawdle," he ordered, watching as
Tarzan hurried to comply.
"You thought you were invincible, didn't you?" Colonel Harris mused. "But
here you are, on your knees. A fitting end, I'd say."
To Colonel Harris, Tarzan was a symbol of his own superiority, a testament
to his ability to bend even the mightiest to his will. Tarzan had
previously protected Professor Lawrence from danger in the jungle, saving
his life. In the dream, Lawrence was now seated with Tarzan at his feet,
eager to hear his every word.
Professor Lawrence looked down at Tarzan with a mix of fascination and
satisfaction. "The student has become the master, it seems," he observed,
his voice tinged with irony.
"I wonder," Lawrence mused, "what secrets your body still holds? Let's find
out, shall we?" He gestured for Tarzan to stand, examining him with
clinical detachment.
"You were a mere anomaly in my studies," Lawrence stated, "but now, you're
my most valuable specimen."
In Professor Lawrence's eyes, Tarzan had transformed from a subject of
study to an object of his own perverse curiosity.
Doctor Smithers, the scientist who had once sought to study Tarzan as a
scientific curiosity, a specimen of evolutionary significance, now circled
him like a predator. He scrutinized every inch of Tarzan's exposed form,
his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction.
Doctor Smithers circled Tarzan, his eyes alight with a predatory hunger.
"Such strength, such vitality," he murmured. "And now, all at my disposal."
He ran a gloved hand along Tarzan's bicep, relishing the power beneath his
touch.
"You're a marvel, Tarzan. A true marvel," Smithers said, his tone almost
reverent. "I always knew there was untapped potential in you. Now, it's
mine to harness."
To Doctor Smithers, Tarzan was a living embodiment of his scientific
ambitions, a worthy subject for his ability to control and manipulate even
the most formidable specimens.
And far from least was Baron von Richter. Tarzan had thwarted the Baron's
plans to poach rare animals for their valuable hides. Tarzan recalled their
past clash when tarzan stifled his illegal animal hunting. In the dream,
the Baron held Tarzan's leash, yanking it sharply to remind him of his
place. Tarzan obediently followed his every command, his movements slow and
deliberate, embodying submission.
"You were a thorn in my side for too long," the baron remarked remarked, a
cruel smile playing on his lips.
"Kneel, Tarzan," the Baron ordered, and Tarzan complied without
hesitation. "You're learning your place, I see."
As Tarzan knelt before him, the Baron chuckled darkly.
"You were never meant to challenge men like us. Now, you understand that,
don't you?"
To Baron von Richter, Tarzan represented a victory over a longstanding
adversary, a living representation of the baron's own triumph and
superiority.
As Tarzan reveled in this strange reversal of roles, he couldn't help but
feel a sense of satisfaction. In his dream, his enemies had become his
master, while he was now subservient to those who had once sought to
exploit him. It was a fantasy, a fleeting escape from the harsh reality of
his new life, but it brought him a sense of empowerment and retribution he
so desperately craved.
As the dream unfolded, Tarzan grappled with the stark contrast of his
former victories and his present submission. His enemies reveled in their
newfound power, relishing in the role reversal. It was a disorienting and
unsettling fantasy, one that challenged Tarzan's sense of self and
purpose. Yet, even in his dreams, he couldn't deny the strange allure of
such a transformation, a tantalizing taste of a reality that now seemed far
beyond his reach.
In this dream, Tarzan's submission was absolute, a testament to his
acceptance of his newfound role. His interactions with these men were a
surreal dance of power and dominance, each one reveling in the reversal of
their roles.
* * * * *
In the dimly lit hall of Lord Harrington's grand estate, the guests, each
one a former adversary of Tarzan, were gathered. The air was heavy with the
weight of power and conquest, and at the center of it all stood Tarzan, now
clad in a simple loincloth, a symbol of his submission.
Mr. Blackburn watched Tarzan with a look of smug satisfaction. He relished
every moment of this display, each command a reminder of the dominance he
now held over the once-mighty jungle king.
"Tarzan," Mr. Blackburn purred, his voice dripping with authority. "Kneel
before me."
Without a moment's hesitation, Tarzan sank to his knees before his
master. It was a position he'd come to know well, a symbol of his
unwavering commitment to serve.
"Fetch me a drink," Mr. Blackburn commanded, holding out an empty
glass. Tarzan rose gracefully and moved to the table, filling the glass
with a steady hand. He returned and presented it to his master, who took it
with a satisfied smile.
Next came the commands designed to showcase Tarzan's
submission. Mr. Blackburn gestured for him to stand and turn, examining him
from every angle.
"Such a fine specimen," he mused, his eyes tracing the contours of Tarzan's
form.
"Flex," he ordered, and Tarzan complied, his muscles rippling in
response. It was a display of power, but now it served a different purpose
-- a testament to his master's control.
Finally, Mr. Blackburn issued his most daring command.
"Dance for our esteemed guests, Tarzan," he instructed, a wicked glint in
his eye.
Tarzan hesitated for only a moment before he began to move. His dance was a
mesmerizing blend of strength and grace, a stark contrast to the wild,
untamed creature he'd once been. Each step was deliberate, each movement
proclaiming his mastery of his own body.
As he danced, the guests watched in awe, their faces a mix of astonishment
and delight. They could hardly believe their eyes -- the legendary Tarzan,
now a mere plaything at the hands of Mr. Blackburn.
His loincloth, once a symbol of his strength, now served as a stark
reminder of his subservience. It clung to him, accentuating every movement,
every line of his body. It was no longer a garment of power, but a badge of
his servitude.
The room was filled with a tension that hung in the air, a palpable
reminder of the roles that had been reversed. Tarzan's dance demonstrated
his complete submission, a display of his dedication to serving his master.
In his dream, as Tarzan moves through his dance, he experiences a complex
mix of emotions. He feels a strange blend of vulnerability and
empowerment. The loincloth, once a symbol of his strength, now feels like a
garment of submission. Each step and sway is guided by Mr. Blackburn's
commands, emphasizing his newfound role as a servant.
As he approaches Captain Reynolds, Tarzan is acutely aware of the man's
disdainful gaze. The Captain's eyes seem to pierce through him, and Tarzan
can almost taste the bitterness in the air. He obeys Mr. Blackburn's
directive, lowering himself before Reynolds, a gesture of submission that
feels foreign yet oddly fitting.
Moving on to Colonel Harris, Tarzan is struck by the man's
arrogance. Harris regards him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain, as
if Tarzan is little more than a curious specimen. Tarzan executes each
motion as directed, feeling the weight of his subservient role pressing
upon him.
Professor Lawrence's presence invokes a different kind of
discomfort. Tarzan senses the man's intellectual scrutiny, as if he's
dissecting Tarzan's every move. The Professor's analytical gaze makes
Tarzan acutely aware of his own vulnerability, and he follows
Mr. Blackburn's commands with a sense of resignation.
Doctor Smithers exudes an air of clinical detachment. Tarzan can't help but
feel like an object under the Doctor's gaze, a specimen to be examined and
cataloged. As he performs his dance, Tarzan grapples with a mix of
humiliation and resignation, acutely aware of his role in this bizarre
display.
Approaching Baron von Richter, Tarzan is met with a palpable air of
superiority. The Baron regards him with a haughty expression, as if he's
surveying a piece of property. Tarzan's movements are precise, each step
calculated to meet the Baron's expectations, even as he wrestles with a
sense of indignity.
Throughout the dance, Tarzan's thoughts are a swirl of conflicting
emotions. He grapples with his newfound role as a servant, struggling to
reconcile his innate strength with the subservient motions he
performs. Each guest's reaction is a reminder of his place in this peculiar
hierarchy, a stark departure from the life he once knew. As the dream
unfolds, Tarzan's mind becomes a battleground of acceptance and resistance,
his subconscious navigating the complexities of his altered reality.
As the dance came to an end, Tarzan sank to his knees once more, his chest
heaving. He looked up at Mr. Blackburn, his eyes filled with a mixture of
exhaustion and devotion.
"Thank you, Master," he whispered, his voice a breathless acknowledgment of
his noble calling.
Mr. Blackburn's smile was triumphant. He had proven his dominance, not just
to Tarzan, but to every guest in the room. The once-mighty jungle king was
now nothing more than a loyal servant, bound by his unwavering commitment
to his master's will.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-34 | Date: Thu, 29 Feb 2024 03:51:38 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 34 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 34: The Cruel Ballet-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com The midday sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the estate. Mr. Blackwood and Alden sat in the shade of the grand porch, overlooking the lush grounds that would soon host the event of the year--the Alpha Ascension. A light breeze rustled the leaves, carrying with it the sweet scent of blooming flowers. The air was charged with anticipation, and Mr. Blackwood's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Jonathan," he began, his voice carrying a touch of theatricality, "this event must be nothing short of spectacular. We need to leave our guests breathless with anticipation." Alden, ever the astute gossip columnist, nodded in agreement. "Indeed, Mr. Blackwood. We must create a buzz that resonates far and wide. The Outpost's reputation is on the line." They sat in contemplative silence for a moment, each lost in thought. Then, Alden's eyes brightened with an idea. "What if we released teasers in the form of cryptic messages? Anonymously, of course, to add an air of mystery." Mr. Blackwood's eyes gleamed. "Yes, yes! A touch of enigma, a hint of intrigue. It will set their imaginations on fire. But what form should these messages take?" Alden tapped his pen against his notepad, deep in thought. "Perhaps riddles, or lines of poetry that hint at what awaits them. We could scatter them in various public spaces--cafes, libraries, parks. It will create a treasure hunt of sorts." Mr. Blackwood leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "A treasure hunt indeed! And the prize? A ticket to the Alpha Ascension. Brilliant, Jonathan." Alden chuckled, pleased with the enthusiastic response. "And we mustn't forget the power of word of mouth. We'll encourage our readers to share their excitement, to spread the anticipation like wildfire." "Ah, the power of community," Mr. Blackwood mused. "It binds us, fuels our passions. And in this case, it will ignite the fervor for our event." They continued to brainstorm, their ideas flowing like a river. From themed invitations to tantalizing glimpses of the preparations, they left no stone unturned in their quest to build anticipation. As the afternoon sun began its descent, painting the sky in warm hues, Mr. Blackwood and Alden sat back, satisfied with their plans. The Alpha Ascension would be an event to remember, and its anticipation would be felt far and wide. With a final exchange of ideas, they rose from their seats, ready to set their plans into motion. The stage was set, the audience waiting, and the excitement for the Alpha Ascension was about to reach a fever pitch. * * * * * In the days that followed, the estate was abuzz with activity. Alden and Mr. Blackwood, fueled by their shared enthusiasm, set their plans into motion. They enlisted the help of the estate staff to discreetly distribute their teasers across the town. Alden, with his pen poised, began to craft riddles that would tantalize the curious minds of their readers. Each one carefully designed to hint at the wonders that awaited at the Alpha Ascension. He chuckled to himself, reveling in the cleverness of his own creations. Meanwhile, Mr. Blackwood wandered through the opulent halls of his club, contemplating the best way to add an air of mystique to the event. He decided to commission an artist to create an ornate, enigmatic invitation--an intricate design that whispered of secrets and hidden treasures. As the day of the teasers' release approached, a sense of anticipation settled over the estate. The staff worked diligently, ensuring that each message was placed in just the right spot. From cozy cafes to bustling markets, Alden and Mr. Blackwood's teasers began to appear, catching the eyes of the curious and the imaginative. The first teaser read: "Where shadows dance and whispers play, A secret awaits, not far away. In the heart of this town, a gem lies concealed, Seek it out, and your fate will be revealed." The riddles were accompanied by snippets of cryptic poetry, each line a breadcrumb leading the way. The townsfolk, their interest piqued, eagerly discussed the mysterious messages that had appeared overnight. Alden and Mr. Blackwood observed from a distance, their hearts swelling with pride at the success of their endeavor. The anticipation was building, like a crescendo before the grand performance. As the days passed, more teasers emerged, each one adding to the tapestry of intrigue that enshrouded the Alpha Ascension. The town's excitement grew, and soon, everyone was swept up in the thrill of the impending event. Alden and Mr. Blackwood knew that they had created something truly special, a testament to the magic that could be woven with a touch of mystery and a sprinkle of anticipation. * * * * * In the wake of their initial success, Blackwood and Alden went back to the drawing board. They needed to refocus their teasers to center on the enigmatic figure at the heart of the Alpha Ascension: Tarzan, the captured jungle king turned slave. After all, it was his story, his transformation, that had captivated the imaginations of their readers. Alden took up his pen once more, the ink flowing smoothly as he crafted new riddles and verses, each one designed to lead the curious directly to the heart of the event. He knew that in order to truly enthrall their audience, they needed to give them a taste of the extraordinary tale that awaited. The revised teasers began to appear around town, each one bearing the unmistakable mark of Tarzan. They whispered of a story that was both captivating and heart-wrenching, a tale of power and submission, of a mighty king brought low. One teaser read: "In the heart of the jungle, a king once stood tall, But fate had a different plan for them all. Now bound and enslaved, his spirit yet strong, At the Alpha Ascension, where he'll prove he belongs." Another teaser featured a haunting verse: "A crown once of leaves, now a loincloth so bare, A king's transformation, a soul laid bare. In the depths of submission, he'll find his true place, At the Alpha Ascension, his destiny to face." The teasers bore the image of Tarzan, captured in all his majestic glory. His eyes held a mixture of defiance and resignation, a silent challenge to those who would seek to test his newfound place in the world. As the revised teasers began to circulate, a new wave of anticipation swept through the town. The focus was now firmly on Tarzan, on the story of his transformation, and on the challenges that awaited at the Alpha Ascension. Blackwood and Alden watched the anticipation build with satisfaction, knowing that they had captured the essence of the Alpha Ascension and brought it to life in a way that would be remembered for generations to come. * * * * * The Publicity Push The sun hung high in the cloudless sky as Lord Harrington, Mr. Blackwood, and Jonathan Alden gathered in the shade of Harrington's luxurious villa. They sipped cool beverages and savored a selection of exotic fruits while discussing the final publicity push for the upcoming Alpha Ascension. "Tarzan," Lord Harrington mused, his aristocratic accent carrying the weight of centuries of privilege, "is the linchpin of this event. We need to maximize his exposure before the big day." Mr. Blackwood, a shrewd businessman with a knack for orchestrating the grandest spectacles, nodded in agreement. "Indeed, my lord. Tarzan's transformation from jungle king to a submissive slave is the heart of the show. We must ensure the entire town is buzzing with anticipation." Alden, the sharp-tongued gossip columnist who had unwittingly become a key player in this elaborate spectacle, leaned forward, his expressive eyes gleaming with excitement. "I couldn't agree more. Tarzan's journey, from the heights of his former glory to the depths of servitude, is the stuff of legends. We need to make it impossible for anyone to ignore." The trio contemplated their options, their minds racing with ideas to make Tarzan the talk of the town. Here's how their conversation unfolded: Harrington: "I've been mulling over the idea of a grand parade through the nearby villages. We'll construct a massive cage on wheels, a symbol of Tarzan's captivity, and he'll be inside it." Blackwood: "Excellent, my lord. A caged beast paraded through the streets. People will flock to witness the fallen king in all his humiliation." Alden: "But we need to add an element of spectacle to it, something that will keep everyone talking. What if, at intervals along the route, we have Tarzan pulled out of his cage and made to trot alongside it? His bound wrists and ankles, a leash held by mounted 'masters'--it would be a powerful image." Harrington: "That's a brilliant idea, Alden. It'll emphasize his submission and his helplessness. But what other displays can we incorporate?" Blackwood: "We could have staged demonstrations showcasing his obedience. Have him kneel before each 'superior' who approaches him." Alden: "And perhaps a public trial. We can have 'superiors' present 'evidence' of Tarzan's inferiority, make it as theatrical as possible. We could even include some riddles and puzzles for the crowd to solve." As they brainstormed, Lord Harrington, Mr. Blackwood, and Jonathan Alden outlined a grand plan that would captivate the imagination of the entire town. They discussed employing local artists to create larger-than-life banners depicting Tarzan's fall from grace, organizing mock auctions to reinforce his status as property, and even hiring musicians to compose a melancholic dirge to accompany the parade. The sun dipped lower in the sky as the three men continued to refine their strategy, determined to ensure that Tarzan's transformation from jungle king to submissive slave would be the spectacle of a lifetime. With each detail they added to their plan, it became evident that the Alpha Ascension would not merely be a single event but a multi-faceted extravaganza that would dominate the town's conversation and solidify Tarzan's new role as a symbol of submission and servitude. As they toasted to their ingenious publicity push, they couldn't help but smile, knowing that their audience was in for a show they would never forget. * * * * * Meanwhile, under the sweltering sun, Tarzan toiled in Lord Harrington's fields, his powerful muscles glistening with sweat as he pulled a plow behind him. The yoke around his shoulders strained as he harnessed his immense strength to plow the earth. His tattered loincloth clung to his sinewy body, revealing the contours of his well-defined muscles. Tarzan's chest heaved with each exertion, his bronzed skin glistening in the sunlight. Beads of sweat trickled down his chiseled abdomen and disappeared into the fabric of his loincloth, which clung provocatively to his form. Every movement he made accentuated the primal grace and strength that defined him. The overseer cracked his whip with precision, guiding Tarzan in his labor. Tarzan's back rippled with power as he pulled the plow through the stubborn soil, his bare feet digging into the earth for traction. Despite the grueling work, his determination never wavered. The distant voices of Lord Harrington, Mr. Blackwood, and Alden discussing his fate reached his ears, but he paid them no mind. His focus remained on the task at hand, each muscle working in harmony to complete the labor demanded of him. As Tarzan continued to toil in the fields, he served as a captivating and powerful spectacle, the strength of his spirit enduring even in the face of adversity. Under the hot sun, Tarzan toiled tirelessly, sweat glistening on his chiseled body. The muscles in his arms and back rippled with each powerful movement. His loincloth clung to him, revealing the contours of his physique. The overseer, a stern figure with a whip in hand, watched closely. With each yank of the plow, Tarzan's powerful legs flexed, and the muscles in his thighs and calves tightened. His loincloth, though simple in design, couldn't hide the impressive strength of his legs. The fabric swayed and danced with each step, emphasizing his natural grace and agility. The overseer occasionally cracked his whip, not to inflict pain, but to guide Tarzan's movements. Tarzan responded with a well-practiced precision, shifting the plow effortlessly through the earth. His keen instincts and physical prowess allowed him to anticipate the overseer's commands, making their collaboration efficient. As he worked, Tarzan's chest heaved with each breath, and his loincloth clung to his torso. His shirtless, near naked form revealed the gentle rise and fall of his pectoral muscles, showcasing their impressive definition. The overseer watched, impressed by Tarzan's strength and dedication to his tasks. Throughout the day, Tarzan continued his labor, sweat pouring down his brow. His loincloth remained firmly in place, a symbol of his submission, even in the face of physical exertion. The overseer couldn't help but admire the way Tarzan's body moved, reflecting the strength and resilience of the jungle king turned laborer. As the overseer guided Tarzan through the fields, they worked together in silent harmony, the jungle's once-mighty king now a humble servant under the relentless sun. * * * * * As Tarzan worked, the overseer's whip cracked occasionally, a sharp sound punctuating the steady rhythm of their labor. With each strike, the leather of the whip cut through the air, coming into contact with Tarzan's loincloth. The fabric held firm, designed to withstand such guidance. It absorbed the impact, offering a subtle resistance. When the whip struck from the left, Tarzan turned in that direction, his muscles responding to the cue. The loincloth, though tugged and tested, held fast against the force. Similarly, when the overseer directed him to the right, Tarzan's body shifted accordingly. The loincloth, a testament to its craftsmanship, stood up to the demands. In moments of full steam ahead, the overseer's whip cracked down the center, prompting Tarzan to push forward with unwavering determination as the crack of his ass tasted the whip. The loincloth, firmly secured, shifted and swayed with his movements, but never yielded. It remained a symbol of Tarzan's submission, even as he demonstrated his incredible strength. Throughout the day, this silent communication between overseer and worker continued. The whip's guidance, combined with Tarzan's innate understanding of the commands, made their partnership efficient and effective. The loincloth, a simple garment with a significant purpose, endured the trials, demonstrating its quality and craftsmanship. As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the fields, Tarzan's labor persisted. The loincloth, though tested and tugged, held its place. It bore the marks of their toil, a symbol of Tarzan's submission in the face of demanding work. The overseer watched, impressed by the resilience of both worker and garment, as they labored on in the fading light. The overseer, a master of his craft, knew the intricacies of directing Tarzan's movements. When the time came to halt, he wielded the whip with precision. With a deft flick of his wrist, the leather instrument snaked between Tarzan's powerful legs, finding purchase at the front of his loincloth. A swift jerk conveyed the command, the pressure on the fabric signaling Tarzan to cease his movements. In response, Tarzan stilled, his muscles tensing in obedience to the guidance. The loincloth, ever-resilient, bore the sudden tension. It held its place, securing its wearer in a moment of pause. The overseer's technique was both effective and demanding, showcasing his skill in managing Tarzan's labor. For a moment, the field was silent, save for the rustling leaves and the distant calls of birds. Tarzan, bound by the overseer's directive, waited with disciplined patience. The loincloth, a faithful companion in his submission, remained steadfast. It bore the weight of the moment, an unyielding reminder of Tarzan's role in this dynamic. With a nod from the overseer, Tarzan resumed his labor, guided once again by the whip's subtle cues. The loincloth, though tested, proved itself as a resilient conduit between master and worker. In the rhythm of their toil, it played its part, a silent witness to Tarzan's submission and the overseer's mastery. Tarzan, feeling each direction keenly, winced and grunted as he was directed left and right. He gasped at the forward command, focusing on the crack in the center of the loincloth. When he received the signal to stop, he couldn't suppress a howl at the grip of the whip on the front of his loincloth, a forceful reminder of his vulnerability in that moment. * * * * * As the overseer's commands crack through the air, Tarzan's mind whirls with a mixture of determination and resentment. He feels the sting of the whip's direction, a sharp reminder that he is no longer the untamed king of the jungle, but a captive laboring under the will of others. Each snap of the whip guides him, forcing him to turn, to halt, to change direction. It's a physical manifestation of his submission, a constant reminder that his strength and will are now harnessed for the benefit of his masters. In his heart, there's a spark of defiance, a flicker of the wild spirit that once roamed free. But it's quickly smothered by the harsh reality of his situation. Tarzan's eyes narrow in concentration, focusing on the rows of crops ahead. He knows that any deviation from the overseer's commands will result in more lashes, more pain. His muscles strain under the yoke, responding to the whip's direction with a begrudging obedience. It's a dance of dominance and submission, a cruel ballet that Tarzan is forced to perform. Yet, amidst the physical exertion and the stinging reminders of his new status, Tarzan's mind churns with thoughts of escape. He remembers the thrill of swinging through the trees, the taste of freedom on the wind. But those memories are tinged with a bitter edge, a painful reminder of what he's lost. The jungle is no longer his sanctuary; it's become a distant dream, a fading echo of a life that once was. As Tarzan labors, he can't help but steal glances at the distant figures in the shade, sipping drinks and dining on delicacies. Lord Harrington, Mr. Blackwood, and Alden, the architects of his captivity, watch with detached amusement. It's a stark contrast to the sweat and toil that defines Tarzan's existence now. He wonders if they ever consider the cost of their amusement, if they ever pause to think of the price he pays for their entertainment. With each crack of the whip, Tarzan's thoughts become a jumble of conflicting emotions. There's anger, directed at his captors and the injustice of his situation. There's a burning desire for freedom, a yearning to reclaim the life he once knew. But there's also a growing understanding that submission may be his only means of survival. It's a bitter pill to swallow, a concession to the reality that now defines him. Tarzan's breath comes in ragged gasps, sweat trickling down his back. He pushes himself forward, muscles straining against the weight of the plow. He knows that he must endure, that any sign of weakness will be met with further punishment. It's a brutal existence, one that grinds away at his spirit, leaving behind a hollowed-out shell of the man he once was. As the day stretches on, Tarzan's thoughts become a blur of pain and exhaustion. He moves on autopilot, driven by the relentless crack of the whip and the distant promise of rest. He knows that he must find a way to survive this new reality, to adapt to the chains that bind him. And so, Tarzan labors on, fueled by the indomitable spirit that still flickers within him. He endures the whip's direction, each crack a cruel reminder of his captivity. In the depths of his soul, he clings to the hope that one day, he will reclaim his freedom, that the wild heart of the jungle king will beat once more. Until then, he toils in silence, a captive in body but never in spirit. * * * * * Alden and Blackwood brainstorm enthusiastically, their minds filled with vivid images of the cruel ballet featuring Tarzan and the overseers. They discuss everything from choreography to costumes, creating a theatrical spectacle that would both captivate and shock the audience. They imagine the reactions of the alpha males in attendance, each one eager to witness the raw display of power and submission. As the ideas flow, they become increasingly excited about the potential success of this new endeavor. Their conversation continues for hours, fueled by the shared vision of this groundbreaking performance. The cruel ballet becomes a centerpiece of their plans for the Alpha Ascension, promising to be an unforgettable experience for all who witness it. Alden and Blackwood sat in Mr. Blackwood's opulent study, surrounded by shelves of leather-bound books and the scent of fine cigars. The room was dimly lit, giving an air of mystery and intrigue. Alden leaned forward in his chair, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Imagine it, Blackwood. Tarzan, bound and exposed, at the center of the stage. The overseers, each with their own unique style, cracking their whips in perfect harmony, directing him like a puppet on strings." Blackwood's eyes gleamed with a mixture of anticipation and mischief. "Yes, and the choreography, Alden! The overseers' movements, sharp and precise, synchronized with the rhythm of the drums. It will be a symphony of dominance and submission." They both shared a knowing look, their creative minds working in tandem. The cruel ballet was taking shape before them, a vision of power and control that would leave their audience breathless. "We'll need the finest costumes," Alden mused, "each overseer adorned in regal attire, a symbol of their authority. And for Tarzan... something that accentuates his vulnerability, yet emphasizes his strength. A loincloth, perhaps, woven with symbolism." Blackwood nodded in agreement. "The music, Alden. We mustn't overlook it. A composition that builds tension, that mirrors the ebb and flow of dominance and submission. It should resonate in the hearts of our audience, leaving them on the edge of their seats." As they spoke, their ideas grew more vivid, painting a picture of a performance that would transcend mere entertainment. It would be an experience, a revelation of power dynamics, a reflection of the deepest desires and fears that lurked within every man. "The lighting, Blackwood, the lighting!" Alden exclaimed, his eyes gleaming. "Imagine the interplay of shadows and illumination, casting Tarzan in stark relief. It will heighten every nuance, every emotion, making it an immersive experience for our audience." Blackwood leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "This will be a night to remember, Alden. The cruel ballet will leave an indelible mark on the minds of our guests, a testament to the potency of dominance and submission." They continued to brainstorm, each idea building upon the last, until they had created a detailed vision of the cruel ballet. It was a masterpiece of theatricality, a fusion of art and power that promised to be the highlight of the Alpha Ascension. As they concluded their discussion, Alden and Blackwood shared a sense of accomplishment. The cruel ballet was set to be a triumph, a testament to their creative genius and their understanding of the desires that drove their audience. They left the study, invigorated and eager to bring their vision to life. The cruel ballet would be a performance that would be talked about for years to come, a symbol of their dominance and the heights to which they could ascend. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Thu, 29 Feb 2024 03:51:38 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 34
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 34: The Cruel Ballet--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
The midday sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the
estate. Mr. Blackwood and Alden sat in the shade of the grand porch,
overlooking the lush grounds that would soon host the event of the
year--the Alpha Ascension.
A light breeze rustled the leaves, carrying with it the sweet scent of
blooming flowers. The air was charged with anticipation, and
Mr. Blackwood's eyes sparkled with excitement.
"Jonathan," he began, his voice carrying a touch of theatricality, "this
event must be nothing short of spectacular. We need to leave our guests
breathless with anticipation."
Alden, ever the astute gossip columnist, nodded in agreement.
"Indeed, Mr. Blackwood. We must create a buzz that resonates far and
wide. The Outpost's reputation is on the line."
They sat in contemplative silence for a moment, each lost in thought. Then,
Alden's eyes brightened with an idea.
"What if we released teasers in the form of cryptic messages? Anonymously,
of course, to add an air of mystery."
Mr. Blackwood's eyes gleamed.
"Yes, yes! A touch of enigma, a hint of intrigue. It will set their
imaginations on fire. But what form should these messages take?"
Alden tapped his pen against his notepad, deep in thought.
"Perhaps riddles, or lines of poetry that hint at what awaits them. We
could scatter them in various public spaces--cafes, libraries, parks. It
will create a treasure hunt of sorts."
Mr. Blackwood leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his
lips.
"A treasure hunt indeed! And the prize? A ticket to the Alpha
Ascension. Brilliant, Jonathan."
Alden chuckled, pleased with the enthusiastic response.
"And we mustn't forget the power of word of mouth. We'll encourage our
readers to share their excitement, to spread the anticipation like
wildfire."
"Ah, the power of community," Mr. Blackwood mused. "It binds us, fuels our
passions. And in this case, it will ignite the fervor for our event."
They continued to brainstorm, their ideas flowing like a river. From themed
invitations to tantalizing glimpses of the preparations, they left no stone
unturned in their quest to build anticipation.
As the afternoon sun began its descent, painting the sky in warm hues,
Mr. Blackwood and Alden sat back, satisfied with their plans. The Alpha
Ascension would be an event to remember, and its anticipation would be felt
far and wide.
With a final exchange of ideas, they rose from their seats, ready to set
their plans into motion. The stage was set, the audience waiting, and the
excitement for the Alpha Ascension was about to reach a fever pitch.
* * * * *
In the days that followed, the estate was abuzz with activity. Alden and
Mr. Blackwood, fueled by their shared enthusiasm, set their plans into
motion. They enlisted the help of the estate staff to discreetly distribute
their teasers across the town.
Alden, with his pen poised, began to craft riddles that would tantalize the
curious minds of their readers. Each one carefully designed to hint at the
wonders that awaited at the Alpha Ascension. He chuckled to himself,
reveling in the cleverness of his own creations.
Meanwhile, Mr. Blackwood wandered through the opulent halls of his club,
contemplating the best way to add an air of mystique to the event. He
decided to commission an artist to create an ornate, enigmatic
invitation--an intricate design that whispered of secrets and hidden
treasures.
As the day of the teasers' release approached, a sense of anticipation
settled over the estate. The staff worked diligently, ensuring that each
message was placed in just the right spot. From cozy cafes to bustling
markets, Alden and Mr. Blackwood's teasers began to appear, catching the
eyes of the curious and the imaginative.
The first teaser read:
"Where shadows dance and whispers play, A secret awaits, not far away. In
the heart of this town, a gem lies concealed, Seek it out, and your fate
will be revealed."
The riddles were accompanied by snippets of cryptic poetry, each line a
breadcrumb leading the way. The townsfolk, their interest piqued, eagerly
discussed the mysterious messages that had appeared overnight.
Alden and Mr. Blackwood observed from a distance, their hearts swelling
with pride at the success of their endeavor. The anticipation was building,
like a crescendo before the grand performance.
As the days passed, more teasers emerged, each one adding to the tapestry
of intrigue that enshrouded the Alpha Ascension. The town's excitement
grew, and soon, everyone was swept up in the thrill of the impending event.
Alden and Mr. Blackwood knew that they had created something truly special,
a testament to the magic that could be woven with a touch of mystery and a
sprinkle of anticipation.
* * * * *
In the wake of their initial success, Blackwood and Alden went back to the
drawing board. They needed to refocus their teasers to center on the
enigmatic figure at the heart of the Alpha Ascension: Tarzan, the captured
jungle king turned slave. After all, it was his story, his transformation,
that had captivated the imaginations of their readers.
Alden took up his pen once more, the ink flowing smoothly as he crafted new
riddles and verses, each one designed to lead the curious directly to the
heart of the event. He knew that in order to truly enthrall their audience,
they needed to give them a taste of the extraordinary tale that awaited.
The revised teasers began to appear around town, each one bearing the
unmistakable mark of Tarzan. They whispered of a story that was both
captivating and heart-wrenching, a tale of power and submission, of a
mighty king brought low.
One teaser read:
"In the heart of the jungle, a king once stood tall, But fate had a
different plan for them all. Now bound and enslaved, his spirit yet
strong, At the Alpha Ascension, where he'll prove he belongs."
Another teaser featured a haunting verse:
"A crown once of leaves, now a loincloth so bare, A king's transformation,
a soul laid bare. In the depths of submission, he'll find his true place,
At the Alpha Ascension, his destiny to face."
The teasers bore the image of Tarzan, captured in all his majestic
glory. His eyes held a mixture of defiance and resignation, a silent
challenge to those who would seek to test his newfound place in the world.
As the revised teasers began to circulate, a new wave of anticipation swept
through the town. The focus was now firmly on Tarzan, on the story of his
transformation, and on the challenges that awaited at the Alpha Ascension.
Blackwood and Alden watched the anticipation build with satisfaction,
knowing that they had captured the essence of the Alpha Ascension and
brought it to life in a way that would be remembered for generations to
come.
* * * * * The Publicity Push
The sun hung high in the cloudless sky as Lord Harrington, Mr. Blackwood,
and Jonathan Alden gathered in the shade of Harrington's luxurious
villa. They sipped cool beverages and savored a selection of exotic fruits
while discussing the final publicity push for the upcoming Alpha Ascension.
"Tarzan," Lord Harrington mused, his aristocratic accent carrying the
weight of centuries of privilege, "is the linchpin of this event. We need
to maximize his exposure before the big day."
Mr. Blackwood, a shrewd businessman with a knack for orchestrating the
grandest spectacles, nodded in agreement.
"Indeed, my lord. Tarzan's transformation from jungle king to a submissive
slave is the heart of the show. We must ensure the entire town is buzzing
with anticipation."
Alden, the sharp-tongued gossip columnist who had unwittingly become a key
player in this elaborate spectacle, leaned forward, his expressive eyes
gleaming with excitement.
"I couldn't agree more. Tarzan's journey, from the heights of his former
glory to the depths of servitude, is the stuff of legends. We need to make
it impossible for anyone to ignore."
The trio contemplated their options, their minds racing with ideas to make
Tarzan the talk of the town.
Here's how their conversation unfolded:
Harrington: "I've been mulling over the idea of a grand parade through the
nearby villages. We'll construct a massive cage on wheels, a symbol of
Tarzan's captivity, and he'll be inside it."
Blackwood: "Excellent, my lord. A caged beast paraded through the
streets. People will flock to witness the fallen king in all his
humiliation."
Alden: "But we need to add an element of spectacle to it, something that
will keep everyone talking. What if, at intervals along the route, we have
Tarzan pulled out of his cage and made to trot alongside it? His bound
wrists and ankles, a leash held by mounted 'masters'--it would be a
powerful image."
Harrington: "That's a brilliant idea, Alden. It'll emphasize his submission
and his helplessness. But what other displays can we incorporate?"
Blackwood: "We could have staged demonstrations showcasing his
obedience. Have him kneel before each 'superior' who approaches him."
Alden: "And perhaps a public trial. We can have 'superiors' present
'evidence' of Tarzan's inferiority, make it as theatrical as possible. We
could even include some riddles and puzzles for the crowd to solve."
As they brainstormed, Lord Harrington, Mr. Blackwood, and Jonathan Alden
outlined a grand plan that would captivate the imagination of the entire
town. They discussed employing local artists to create larger-than-life
banners depicting Tarzan's fall from grace, organizing mock auctions to
reinforce his status as property, and even hiring musicians to compose a
melancholic dirge to accompany the parade.
The sun dipped lower in the sky as the three men continued to refine their
strategy, determined to ensure that Tarzan's transformation from jungle
king to submissive slave would be the spectacle of a lifetime.
With each detail they added to their plan, it became evident that the Alpha
Ascension would not merely be a single event but a multi-faceted
extravaganza that would dominate the town's conversation and solidify
Tarzan's new role as a symbol of submission and servitude.
As they toasted to their ingenious publicity push, they couldn't help but
smile, knowing that their audience was in for a show they would never
forget.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, under the sweltering sun, Tarzan toiled in Lord Harrington's
fields, his powerful muscles glistening with sweat as he pulled a plow
behind him. The yoke around his shoulders strained as he harnessed his
immense strength to plow the earth. His tattered loincloth clung to his
sinewy body, revealing the contours of his well-defined muscles.
Tarzan's chest heaved with each exertion, his bronzed skin glistening in
the sunlight. Beads of sweat trickled down his chiseled abdomen and
disappeared into the fabric of his loincloth, which clung provocatively to
his form. Every movement he made accentuated the primal grace and strength
that defined him.
The overseer cracked his whip with precision, guiding Tarzan in his
labor. Tarzan's back rippled with power as he pulled the plow through the
stubborn soil, his bare feet digging into the earth for traction. Despite
the grueling work, his determination never wavered.
The distant voices of Lord Harrington, Mr. Blackwood, and Alden discussing
his fate reached his ears, but he paid them no mind. His focus remained on
the task at hand, each muscle working in harmony to complete the labor
demanded of him.
As Tarzan continued to toil in the fields, he served as a captivating and
powerful spectacle, the strength of his spirit enduring even in the face of
adversity.
Under the hot sun, Tarzan toiled tirelessly, sweat glistening on his
chiseled body. The muscles in his arms and back rippled with each powerful
movement. His loincloth clung to him, revealing the contours of his
physique. The overseer, a stern figure with a whip in hand, watched
closely.
With each yank of the plow, Tarzan's powerful legs flexed, and the muscles
in his thighs and calves tightened. His loincloth, though simple in design,
couldn't hide the impressive strength of his legs. The fabric swayed and
danced with each step, emphasizing his natural grace and agility.
The overseer occasionally cracked his whip, not to inflict pain, but to
guide Tarzan's movements. Tarzan responded with a well-practiced precision,
shifting the plow effortlessly through the earth. His keen instincts and
physical prowess allowed him to anticipate the overseer's commands, making
their collaboration efficient.
As he worked, Tarzan's chest heaved with each breath, and his loincloth
clung to his torso. His shirtless, near naked form revealed the gentle rise
and fall of his pectoral muscles, showcasing their impressive
definition. The overseer watched, impressed by Tarzan's strength and
dedication to his tasks.
Throughout the day, Tarzan continued his labor, sweat pouring down his
brow. His loincloth remained firmly in place, a symbol of his submission,
even in the face of physical exertion. The overseer couldn't help but
admire the way Tarzan's body moved, reflecting the strength and resilience
of the jungle king turned laborer.
As the overseer guided Tarzan through the fields, they worked together in
silent harmony, the jungle's once-mighty king now a humble servant under
the relentless sun.
* * * * * As Tarzan worked, the overseer's whip cracked occasionally, a
sharp sound punctuating the steady rhythm of their labor. With each strike,
the leather of the whip cut through the air, coming into contact with
Tarzan's loincloth. The fabric held firm, designed to withstand such
guidance. It absorbed the impact, offering a subtle resistance.
When the whip struck from the left, Tarzan turned in that direction, his
muscles responding to the cue. The loincloth, though tugged and tested,
held fast against the force. Similarly, when the overseer directed him to
the right, Tarzan's body shifted accordingly. The loincloth, a testament to
its craftsmanship, stood up to the demands.
In moments of full steam ahead, the overseer's whip cracked down the
center, prompting Tarzan to push forward with unwavering determination as
the crack of his ass tasted the whip. The loincloth, firmly secured,
shifted and swayed with his movements, but never yielded. It remained a
symbol of Tarzan's submission, even as he demonstrated his incredible
strength.
Throughout the day, this silent communication between overseer and worker
continued. The whip's guidance, combined with Tarzan's innate understanding
of the commands, made their partnership efficient and effective. The
loincloth, a simple garment with a significant purpose, endured the trials,
demonstrating its quality and craftsmanship.
As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the fields,
Tarzan's labor persisted. The loincloth, though tested and tugged, held its
place. It bore the marks of their toil, a symbol of Tarzan's submission in
the face of demanding work. The overseer watched, impressed by the
resilience of both worker and garment, as they labored on in the fading
light.
The overseer, a master of his craft, knew the intricacies of directing
Tarzan's movements. When the time came to halt, he wielded the whip with
precision. With a deft flick of his wrist, the leather instrument snaked
between Tarzan's powerful legs, finding purchase at the front of his
loincloth. A swift jerk conveyed the command, the pressure on the fabric
signaling Tarzan to cease his movements.
In response, Tarzan stilled, his muscles tensing in obedience to the
guidance. The loincloth, ever-resilient, bore the sudden tension. It held
its place, securing its wearer in a moment of pause. The overseer's
technique was both effective and demanding, showcasing his skill in
managing Tarzan's labor.
For a moment, the field was silent, save for the rustling leaves and the
distant calls of birds. Tarzan, bound by the overseer's directive, waited
with disciplined patience. The loincloth, a faithful companion in his
submission, remained steadfast. It bore the weight of the moment, an
unyielding reminder of Tarzan's role in this dynamic.
With a nod from the overseer, Tarzan resumed his labor, guided once again
by the whip's subtle cues. The loincloth, though tested, proved itself as a
resilient conduit between master and worker. In the rhythm of their toil,
it played its part, a silent witness to Tarzan's submission and the
overseer's mastery.
Tarzan, feeling each direction keenly, winced and grunted as he was
directed left and right. He gasped at the forward command, focusing on the
crack in the center of the loincloth. When he received the signal to stop,
he couldn't suppress a howl at the grip of the whip on the front of his
loincloth, a forceful reminder of his vulnerability in that moment.
* * * * *
As the overseer's commands crack through the air, Tarzan's mind whirls with
a mixture of determination and resentment. He feels the sting of the whip's
direction, a sharp reminder that he is no longer the untamed king of the
jungle, but a captive laboring under the will of others.
Each snap of the whip guides him, forcing him to turn, to halt, to change
direction. It's a physical manifestation of his submission, a constant
reminder that his strength and will are now harnessed for the benefit of
his masters. In his heart, there's a spark of defiance, a flicker of the
wild spirit that once roamed free. But it's quickly smothered by the harsh
reality of his situation.
Tarzan's eyes narrow in concentration, focusing on the rows of crops
ahead. He knows that any deviation from the overseer's commands will result
in more lashes, more pain. His muscles strain under the yoke, responding to
the whip's direction with a begrudging obedience. It's a dance of dominance
and submission, a cruel ballet that Tarzan is forced to perform.
Yet, amidst the physical exertion and the stinging reminders of his new
status, Tarzan's mind churns with thoughts of escape. He remembers the
thrill of swinging through the trees, the taste of freedom on the wind. But
those memories are tinged with a bitter edge, a painful reminder of what
he's lost. The jungle is no longer his sanctuary; it's become a distant
dream, a fading echo of a life that once was.
As Tarzan labors, he can't help but steal glances at the distant figures in
the shade, sipping drinks and dining on delicacies. Lord Harrington,
Mr. Blackwood, and Alden, the architects of his captivity, watch with
detached amusement. It's a stark contrast to the sweat and toil that
defines Tarzan's existence now. He wonders if they ever consider the cost
of their amusement, if they ever pause to think of the price he pays for
their entertainment.
With each crack of the whip, Tarzan's thoughts become a jumble of
conflicting emotions. There's anger, directed at his captors and the
injustice of his situation. There's a burning desire for freedom, a
yearning to reclaim the life he once knew. But there's also a growing
understanding that submission may be his only means of survival. It's a
bitter pill to swallow, a concession to the reality that now defines him.
Tarzan's breath comes in ragged gasps, sweat trickling down his back. He
pushes himself forward, muscles straining against the weight of the
plow. He knows that he must endure, that any sign of weakness will be met
with further punishment. It's a brutal existence, one that grinds away at
his spirit, leaving behind a hollowed-out shell of the man he once was.
As the day stretches on, Tarzan's thoughts become a blur of pain and
exhaustion. He moves on autopilot, driven by the relentless crack of the
whip and the distant promise of rest. He knows that he must find a way to
survive this new reality, to adapt to the chains that bind him.
And so, Tarzan labors on, fueled by the indomitable spirit that still
flickers within him. He endures the whip's direction, each crack a cruel
reminder of his captivity. In the depths of his soul, he clings to the hope
that one day, he will reclaim his freedom, that the wild heart of the
jungle king will beat once more. Until then, he toils in silence, a captive
in body but never in spirit.
* * * * *
Alden and Blackwood brainstorm enthusiastically, their minds filled with
vivid images of the cruel ballet featuring Tarzan and the overseers. They
discuss everything from choreography to costumes, creating a theatrical
spectacle that would both captivate and shock the audience. They imagine
the reactions of the alpha males in attendance, each one eager to witness
the raw display of power and submission. As the ideas flow, they become
increasingly excited about the potential success of this new
endeavor. Their conversation continues for hours, fueled by the shared
vision of this groundbreaking performance. The cruel ballet becomes a
centerpiece of their plans for the Alpha Ascension, promising to be an
unforgettable experience for all who witness it.
Alden and Blackwood sat in Mr. Blackwood's opulent study, surrounded by
shelves of leather-bound books and the scent of fine cigars. The room was
dimly lit, giving an air of mystery and intrigue.
Alden leaned forward in his chair, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Imagine it, Blackwood. Tarzan, bound and exposed, at the center of the
stage. The overseers, each with their own unique style, cracking their
whips in perfect harmony, directing him like a puppet on strings."
Blackwood's eyes gleamed with a mixture of anticipation and mischief.
"Yes, and the choreography, Alden! The overseers' movements, sharp and
precise, synchronized with the rhythm of the drums. It will be a symphony
of dominance and submission."
They both shared a knowing look, their creative minds working in
tandem. The cruel ballet was taking shape before them, a vision of power
and control that would leave their audience breathless.
"We'll need the finest costumes," Alden mused, "each overseer adorned in
regal attire, a symbol of their authority. And for Tarzan... something that
accentuates his vulnerability, yet emphasizes his strength. A loincloth,
perhaps, woven with symbolism."
Blackwood nodded in agreement.
"The music, Alden. We mustn't overlook it. A composition that builds
tension, that mirrors the ebb and flow of dominance and submission. It
should resonate in the hearts of our audience, leaving them on the edge of
their seats."
As they spoke, their ideas grew more vivid, painting a picture of a
performance that would transcend mere entertainment. It would be an
experience, a revelation of power dynamics, a reflection of the deepest
desires and fears that lurked within every man.
"The lighting, Blackwood, the lighting!" Alden exclaimed, his eyes
gleaming. "Imagine the interplay of shadows and illumination, casting
Tarzan in stark relief. It will heighten every nuance, every emotion,
making it an immersive experience for our audience."
Blackwood leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
"This will be a night to remember, Alden. The cruel ballet will leave an
indelible mark on the minds of our guests, a testament to the potency of
dominance and submission."
They continued to brainstorm, each idea building upon the last, until they
had created a detailed vision of the cruel ballet. It was a masterpiece of
theatricality, a fusion of art and power that promised to be the highlight
of the Alpha Ascension.
As they concluded their discussion, Alden and Blackwood shared a sense of
accomplishment. The cruel ballet was set to be a triumph, a testament to
their creative genius and their understanding of the desires that drove
their audience. They left the study, invigorated and eager to bring their
vision to life. The cruel ballet would be a performance that would be
talked about for years to come, a symbol of their dominance and the heights
to which they could ascend.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-37 | Date: Sat, 9 Mar 2024 19:14:30 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 37 (Revised) Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 37: The Language of the Lash-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 37 - The Language of the Lash Outpost Mailbag: Unraveling Mysteries and Fantasies Dear Readers, It's that time of the week again, where I delve into the intriguing letters you send my way. Your responses to last week's column have been nothing short of electrifying! Let's get right into it. Letter 1: From a Curious Reader Dear Alden, Your latest column has set my imagination ablaze. The mysterious alpha male you met in the old slave camp has me captivated. Could this be the enigmatic Baron von Richter? I've heard whispers of his return. Please, share more details! Yours in anticipation, Enthralled in Enigma Alden's Response: Dear Enthralled, Your curiosity is infectious! While I can't confirm or deny the identity of the gentleman I met, I can assure you he exuded an aura of dominance and power. The mention of Baron von Richter only adds to the mystique, doesn't it? Let's keep our eyes peeled for any further developments! Best regards, Alden Letter 2: A Provocative Suggestion Dear Alden, Your encounter in the old slave camp sounds thrilling! If indeed it was Baron von Richter, the Alpha Ascension just got a lot more interesting. Imagine a demonstration of dominance between the Baron and our jungle hero. The anticipation is electrifying! Yours in vivid fantasies, Envisioning Intrigue Alden's Response: Dear Envisioning Intrigue, You've captured the essence of the potential spectacle perfectly! The clash between Baron von Richter and our jungle hero would be nothing short of legendary. The Alpha Ascension might just live up to its name this year. We'll all be watching with bated breath. Anticipating greatness, Alden Letter 3: A Call for Caution Dear Alden, While your adventures certainly make for riveting reading, one must wonder about the risks you take. Meeting a mysterious figure in an abandoned slave camp? Please exercise caution. We'd all be devastated if anything happened to our favorite gossip columnist! Wishing you safety, Concerned Reader Alden's Response: Dear Concerned Reader, Your concern touches my heart. Rest assured, I'm always mindful of my safety. I promise to tread carefully in my pursuit of intriguing stories. After all, what's gossip without a bit of risk? Thank you for looking out for me. With gratitude, Alden Letter 4: Envisioning the Encounter Dear Alden, The imagery you've conjured with your meeting in the old slave camp is simply captivating. I can't help but imagine Baron von Richter's dominant presence and tarzan's inevitable submission. Will this be the spectacle of the century? I'm positively salivating! Eagerly awaiting, Dreaming of Dominance Alden's Response: Dear Dreaming of Dominance, Your vivid imagination is commendable! The potential clash between such formidable forces is the stuff of legends. We're all on the edge of our seats, eagerly awaiting the Alpha Ascension. Keep those fantasies alive! In eager anticipation, Alden There you have it, dear readers! Your letters continue to inspire and enthrall. Until next week, keep those imaginations soaring! Warmest regards, Alden * * * * * Alden's boots crunched on the gravel path leading to Lord Harrington's estate. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a harsh light on the sprawling fields that stretched out before him. He had a purpose today, a mission to ensure that his vision for the Alpha Ascension would be nothing short of spectacular. Reaching the slave quarters, Alden pushed the door open, revealing the dimly lit room. There, in the corner, lay the mighty jungle king, tarzan, his breath slow and even in the early morning haze. "Rise and shine, tarzan," Alden called out, his voice sharp and commanding. Tarzan stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He looked up at Alden, confusion briefly clouding his gaze before he remembered where he was. Pushing himself up, he sat on the edge of the rough cot, his muscles rippling in the morning light. "Morning, Alden," he grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Alden's gaze remained unyielding. "No time for leisure, tarzan. The fields await, and we have much to prepare for the Alpha Ascension." Tarzan nodded, rising to his feet. He knew better than to question Alden when he was in this mood. The gossip columnist had a fire in his eyes, a determination that brooked no opposition. Alden handed tarzan a bowl of meager gruel, watching as the jungle king ate with a resigned expression. This was the reality of his existence now, a far cry from the life he once knew swinging through the treetops. Once tarzan had finished his meager breakfast, Alden led him out of the quarters and towards the overseer, a burly man with a whip coiled at his side. "Good morning, Alden," the overseer grunted, eyeing tarzan with a mixture of disdain and anticipation. "Morning, Oliver," Alden replied, his tone clipped. "Make sure tarzan's hands are secured properly. We can't afford any mishaps." The overseer nodded, approaching tarzan with a length of rope. He expertly bound tarzan's wrists, ensuring that they were secure but not overly tight. "Now, into the fields," Alden ordered, gesturing towards the endless expanse of crops. Tarzan trudged forward, the weight of his new reality settling on his shoulders. He was no longer the jungle king, free to roam as he pleased. Now, he was a slave, subject to the whims and desires of his new masters. As the day wore on, Alden watched tarzan with a keen eye. He was relentless in his demands, pushing tarzan to work harder, faster. The overseer's whip cracked in the air, a constant reminder of the consequences of disobedience. By the time the sun began its descent, tarzan was drenched in sweat, his muscles aching from the exertion. He cast a weary glance towards Alden, silently pleading for reprieve. But Alden's gaze remained unyielding. He had a vision, a spectacle to create, and tarzan was the linchpin in his grand design. * * * * * Oliver Hargrove had spent most of his life under the relentless sun of the jungle. Raised in a small settlement on the outskirts of Harrington's estate, he grew up amidst the sweat-soaked laborers and the vast expanse of fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. From a young age, Oliver displayed an aptitude for understanding the rhythms of the land. He had an innate ability to coax the soil to yield its bounty, and soon enough, he was chosen to be the overseer of the fields, tasked with ensuring every inch was tilled to perfection. Oliver's imposing frame and weathered face held a stern demeanor, a testament to the demanding nature of his role. Yet, beneath the rugged exterior lay a man driven by an unwavering sense of duty. He felt a responsibility to not only the land but to the men who toiled upon it. His keen, hazel eyes missed nothing. He knew each laborer's strengths and weaknesses, recognizing who could handle the plow with finesse and who might need a firmer guiding hand. Oliver took it upon himself to train the new recruits, instilling in them the principles of discipline and precision that he held so dear. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden hue across the vast fields of Lord Harrington's estate. Hargrove stood tall and stern, his keen eyes fixed on Tarzan as he plowed through the earth, the muscles in his back rippling with each powerful thrust of the plow. Hargrove held his whip with practiced ease, a tool of direction as he guided Tarzan's movements across the field. With a precise crack of the whip to Tarzan's left ass cheek, Tarzan obediently shifted course, the plow cutting a neat furrow through the soil. Another crack to the right ass cheek, and Tarzan adjusted accordingly, his powerful frame responding to the overseer's commands. The rhythm of their work was a dance, a choreography of muscle and movement. Tarzan's breath synced with the rhythm of the plow, sweat glistening on his brow as he worked under Hargrove's watchful eye. Each stroke of the whip carried a meaning, a language understood only by the two men in the field. Hargrove's voice, gravelly and authoritative, cut through the quiet hum of nature. "Forward," he commanded, and Tarzan surged ahead, the plow biting into the earth with renewed vigor. The overseer's eyes never wavered, a testament to his skill in directing Tarzan's considerable strength. As the hours passed, the overseer's instructions became second nature to Tarzan. He could feel the ebb and flow of the land beneath him, anticipate Hargrove's every command. Left, right, forward, stop--each directive was met with precision, a testament to the connection forged between overseer and laborer. In the distance, Lord Harrington, Mr. Blackwood, and Alden observed from the shade of a large oak tree, their eyes keenly fixed on the scene below. They exchanged satisfied glances, content in the knowledge that their plans for the Alpha Ascension were well underway. Tarzan's display of obedience was a testament to the effectiveness of Hargrove's guidance. The overseer's experienced eye did not miss a beat. He noted the progress, the increasing strength in Tarzan's movements, and the subtle shifts in his posture. Under Hargrove's firm hand, Tarzan was becoming a more efficient and obedient worker with each passing day. As the day drew to a close, Hargrove called for a halt, the crack of his whip signaling Tarzan to stop. The laborer straightened his back, his breath coming steady and measured. The overseer nodded in approval, a silent acknowledgment of a day's work well done. But before tarzan could head back to the slave quarters, his owners beckoned to Hargrove to bring the slave to them. Mr. Blackwood's eyes gleamed with a palpable excitement as he produced a dark cloth, the telltale folds of a blindfold. He handed it to Hargrove with a fervent determination, his voice resonating with authority. "I want a demonstration, Hargrove. Show us how well Tarzan answers the language of the whip." The overseer accepted the blindfold, his expression betraying nothing but unwavering resolve. He turned to Tarzan, who stood beside him, the muscles in his body taut with anticipation. Hargrove's voice was firm, commanding. "Tarzan, prepare yourself." With practiced ease, Tarzan lowered his head, submitting to the order. The blindfold settled across his eyes, darkness replacing the world he knew. His senses heightened, his ears straining to catch any sound, any command. Hargrove stepped back, the whip held expertly in his hand, every movement a testament to his mastery. With a flick of his wrist, the whip cracked through the air, a sharp report echoing across the field. Tarzan tensed, every sinew of his body ready to respond. The overseer's commands were precise, the whip guiding Tarzan's movements with uncanny accuracy. Left, right, forward, stop--the language of the whip became a symphony of direction, each strike a note in the choreography of labor. Time seemed to blur as the demonstration continued, Tarzan moving in seamless accord with Hargrove's whip. It was a dance of submission and command, choreographed with the efficacy of the overseer's methods. As the demonstration drew to a close, Hargrove called for Tarzan to stop. The final crack of the whip sounded, the tip darting between tarzan's legs and grazing the front of his loincloth. Tarzan froze, muscles coiled with tension, awaiting further instruction. Mr. Blackwood observed with a discerning eye, his approval evident in the satisfied curve of his lips. "Impressive, Hargrove. Tarzan has indeed learned to answer the whip's language." Lord Harrington's voice held a note of triumph. "Excellent work, both of you. Tarzan, you are exceeding our expectations." Alden watched with a calculating gaze, his mind already envisioning the spectacle this newfound skill would bring to the Alpha Ascension. The cruel ballet was taking shape, each movement a testament to the mastery of the whip. Hargrove's nod was one of acknowledgment and satisfaction. "Thank you, my Lords. Tarzan has shown remarkable progress." Mr. Blackwood's eyes gleamed with a dark, eager anticipation as he watched the blindfolded Tarzan, standing frozen in response to Hargrove's whip. A wicked smile curved his lips, and he could feel the weight of the moment, the power and control that lay in his grasp. In a silent, imperceptible motion, Blackwood extended his hand, silently beckoning Hargrove to pass him the whip. The overseer, always attuned to his master's desires, handed it over without a word, his gaze fixed on Mr. Blackwood's every movement. Blackwood took the whip in his hand, its leather coils cool against his palm. He felt the weight of it, a potent instrument of control. With a focused determination, he adjusted his stance, preparing for the precise movement required to replicate Hargrove's skill. The blindfolded Tarzan stood before him, an imposing figure even in his temporary darkness. The anticipation in the air was palpable, a collective breath held in anticipation of the next move. With a controlled flick of his wrist, Blackwood executed the maneuver. The whip sliced through the air, its sound sharp and commanding. It struck Tarzan's loincloth, the impact echoing with a resounding thud. Tarzan reacted instinctively, his body freezing in response. He stood, muscles taut, awaiting further direction. A triumphant grin spread across Mr. Blackwood's face as he realized he had successfully executed the move. It spoke of his own prowess, a display of dominance over the formidable Tarzan. His eyes met Hargrove's, a silent challenge and acknowledgment passing between them. Lord Harrington watched with a raised brow, his curiosity piqued by Mr. Blackwood's display of skill. It was a demonstration of power, a subtle shift in the dynamics that defined their relationship with Tarzan. Alden, too, observed with keen interest, recognizing the potential for added spectacle in the upcoming Alpha Ascension. With the whip now firmly under his control, Mr. Blackwood felt a surge of power and dominance. It was a tantalizing taste of the authority that would come to fruition at the grand event they were orchestrating. Hargrove's nod of affirmation was a silent acknowledgment of Blackwood's success. The overseer recognized skill when he saw it, even in the hands of someone unaccustomed to the whip. Before handing the whip back to Hargrove, Blackwood took a moment to study Tarzan's form. His powerful muscles rippled beneath the sun-kissed skin, and the loincloth clung to him, emphasizing his raw strength. Blackwood couldn't help but marvel at the sheer physicality of the man before him. He moved around Tarzan, observing every angle, every sinew. It was as if he were a sculptor, appreciating the masterpiece he was about to work with. Gently, he reached out, fingers tracing the edges of the loincloth, almost in admiration of the garment that barely contained Tarzan's primal energy. Positioning himself behind Tarzan, Blackwood raised the whip, a sense of anticipation coursing through him. He knew this move would be challenging, but he was confident in his ability to execute it flawlessly. With a practiced motion, he let the whip fly, guiding it with precision between Tarzan's legs. The crack of the whip was sharp, and the tip found its mark, catching the loincloth exactly where Blackwood intended. Tarzan's response was immediate. The sudden tug forced him to drop to his knees, a guttural howl escaping his lips, echoing through the fields. The sound seemed to reverberate through the air, echoing the power that Tarzan held within him. Blackwood turned to his colleagues, his satisfaction evident in the curve of his lips. "Well done, boy," he praised tarzan, his voice laced with a mixture of approval and respect. "First try." Alden, Harrington, and Mr. Blackwood exchanged glances, each recognizing the significance of what they had just witnessed. It was a display of dominance and submission, a vivid illustration of the dynamics they aimed to showcase at the Alpha Ascension. * * * * * Baron von Richter stood in the shadow of the barn, his eyes locked on the scene before him. It had been years since he'd last laid eyes on Tarzan, the bane of his existence. The memories of their encounters flooded back, the countless times Tarzan had thwarted his poaching schemes and ultimately led to his imprisonment. The simmering anger and thirst for vengeance had never truly abated. Now, he watched as Tarzan knelt, blindfolded and vulnerable, at the mercy of the whip. It was a sight that sent a surge of satisfaction through von Richter's veins. Gone was the image of the all-powerful hero, the thorn in his side. Instead, he saw a lowly figure, stripped of his veneer of invincibility. Von Richter's lips curled into a predatory smile as he contemplated the years of pent-up vengeance he could now exact. He relished the thought of Tarzan, the once mighty jungle champion, reduced to this state. The blindfold was symbolic of his submission, a stark reminder of his newfound inferiority. As the whip cracked and Tarzan's howls pierced the air, von Richter reveled in the moment. It was a sweet vindication, a reckoning he'd longed for since the days of their bitter rivalry. He could almost taste the victory, the satisfaction of finally having Tarzan under his control. His mind raced with possibilities, each more devious than the last. He would ensure that Tarzan knew his place, that he understood the full extent of his powerlessness. The Alpha Ascension presented the perfect stage for this cruel revelation. Von Richter envisioned a spectacle that would not only humiliate Tarzan but also further establish his own dominance. As the demonstration continued, von Richter's gaze remained fixed on Tarzan. Every crack of the whip was a symphony of retribution, a symphony that played out in his mind with a chilling precision. He would make Tarzan suffer, make him beg for mercy that would never come. The barn provided ample cover for von Richter, allowing him to observe unnoticed. He knew that the time for his grand entrance would come, a moment when he would reveal himself to Tarzan in all his cruel glory. The thought of that encounter, of seeing the realization dawn in Tarzan's eyes, sent a thrill of anticipation down his spine. For now, von Richter bided his time, content to watch from the shadows. The years of waiting had only sharpened his resolve, and he was determined to make Tarzan pay for every moment of his captivity. The Alpha Ascension would be the culmination of his vengeance, a fitting stage for the final act in their twisted saga. And so, Baron von Richter stood in the shadow, his eyes never leaving Tarzan, his mind consumed with thoughts of retribution. The stage was set, the players in position. The Alpha Ascension would be a spectacle unlike any other, a brutal ballet of dominance and submission, with von Richter at the helm, ready to claim his long-awaited victory. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sat, 9 Mar 2024 19:14:30 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 37 (Revised)
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 37: The Language of the Lash--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 37 - The Language of the Lash
Outpost Mailbag: Unraveling Mysteries and Fantasies
Dear Readers,
It's that time of the week again, where I delve into the intriguing letters
you send my way. Your responses to last week's column have been nothing
short of electrifying! Let's get right into it.
Letter 1: From a Curious Reader
Dear Alden,
Your latest column has set my imagination ablaze. The mysterious alpha male
you met in the old slave camp has me captivated. Could this be the
enigmatic Baron von Richter? I've heard whispers of his return. Please,
share more details!
Yours in anticipation,
Enthralled in Enigma
Alden's Response:
Dear Enthralled,
Your curiosity is infectious! While I can't confirm or deny the identity of
the gentleman I met, I can assure you he exuded an aura of dominance and
power. The mention of Baron von Richter only adds to the mystique, doesn't
it? Let's keep our eyes peeled for any further developments!
Best regards,
Alden
Letter 2: A Provocative Suggestion
Dear Alden,
Your encounter in the old slave camp sounds thrilling! If indeed it was
Baron von Richter, the Alpha Ascension just got a lot more
interesting. Imagine a demonstration of dominance between the Baron and our
jungle hero. The anticipation is electrifying!
Yours in vivid fantasies,
Envisioning Intrigue
Alden's Response:
Dear Envisioning Intrigue,
You've captured the essence of the potential spectacle perfectly! The clash
between Baron von Richter and our jungle hero would be nothing short of
legendary. The Alpha Ascension might just live up to its name this
year. We'll all be watching with bated breath.
Anticipating greatness,
Alden
Letter 3: A Call for Caution
Dear Alden,
While your adventures certainly make for riveting reading, one must wonder
about the risks you take. Meeting a mysterious figure in an abandoned slave
camp? Please exercise caution. We'd all be devastated if anything happened
to our favorite gossip columnist!
Wishing you safety,
Concerned Reader
Alden's Response:
Dear Concerned Reader,
Your concern touches my heart. Rest assured, I'm always mindful of my
safety. I promise to tread carefully in my pursuit of intriguing
stories. After all, what's gossip without a bit of risk? Thank you for
looking out for me.
With gratitude,
Alden
Letter 4: Envisioning the Encounter
Dear Alden,
The imagery you've conjured with your meeting in the old slave camp is
simply captivating. I can't help but imagine Baron von Richter's dominant
presence and tarzan's inevitable submission. Will this be the spectacle of
the century? I'm positively salivating!
Eagerly awaiting,
Dreaming of Dominance
Alden's Response:
Dear Dreaming of Dominance,
Your vivid imagination is commendable! The potential clash between such
formidable forces is the stuff of legends. We're all on the edge of our
seats, eagerly awaiting the Alpha Ascension. Keep those fantasies alive!
In eager anticipation,
Alden
There you have it, dear readers! Your letters continue to inspire and
enthrall. Until next week, keep those imaginations soaring!
Warmest regards,
Alden
* * * * *
Alden's boots crunched on the gravel path leading to Lord Harrington's
estate. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a harsh light on the
sprawling fields that stretched out before him. He had a purpose today, a
mission to ensure that his vision for the Alpha Ascension would be nothing
short of spectacular.
Reaching the slave quarters, Alden pushed the door open, revealing the
dimly lit room. There, in the corner, lay the mighty jungle king, tarzan,
his breath slow and even in the early morning haze.
"Rise and shine, tarzan," Alden called out, his voice sharp and commanding.
Tarzan stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He looked up at Alden, confusion
briefly clouding his gaze before he remembered where he was. Pushing
himself up, he sat on the edge of the rough cot, his muscles rippling in
the morning light.
"Morning, Alden," he grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Alden's gaze remained unyielding. "No time for leisure, tarzan. The fields
await, and we have much to prepare for the Alpha Ascension."
Tarzan nodded, rising to his feet. He knew better than to question Alden
when he was in this mood. The gossip columnist had a fire in his eyes, a
determination that brooked no opposition.
Alden handed tarzan a bowl of meager gruel, watching as the jungle king ate
with a resigned expression. This was the reality of his existence now, a
far cry from the life he once knew swinging through the treetops.
Once tarzan had finished his meager breakfast, Alden led him out of the
quarters and towards the overseer, a burly man with a whip coiled at his
side.
"Good morning, Alden," the overseer grunted, eyeing tarzan with a mixture
of disdain and anticipation.
"Morning, Oliver," Alden replied, his tone clipped. "Make sure tarzan's
hands are secured properly. We can't afford any mishaps."
The overseer nodded, approaching tarzan with a length of rope. He expertly
bound tarzan's wrists, ensuring that they were secure but not overly tight.
"Now, into the fields," Alden ordered, gesturing towards the endless
expanse of crops.
Tarzan trudged forward, the weight of his new reality settling on his
shoulders. He was no longer the jungle king, free to roam as he
pleased. Now, he was a slave, subject to the whims and desires of his new
masters.
As the day wore on, Alden watched tarzan with a keen eye. He was relentless
in his demands, pushing tarzan to work harder, faster. The overseer's whip
cracked in the air, a constant reminder of the consequences of
disobedience.
By the time the sun began its descent, tarzan was drenched in sweat, his
muscles aching from the exertion. He cast a weary glance towards Alden,
silently pleading for reprieve.
But Alden's gaze remained unyielding. He had a vision, a spectacle to
create, and tarzan was the linchpin in his grand design.
* * * * * Oliver Hargrove had spent most of his life under the relentless
sun of the jungle. Raised in a small settlement on the outskirts of
Harrington's estate, he grew up amidst the sweat-soaked laborers and the
vast expanse of fields that stretched as far as the eye could see.
From a young age, Oliver displayed an aptitude for understanding the
rhythms of the land. He had an innate ability to coax the soil to yield its
bounty, and soon enough, he was chosen to be the overseer of the fields,
tasked with ensuring every inch was tilled to perfection.
Oliver's imposing frame and weathered face held a stern demeanor, a
testament to the demanding nature of his role. Yet, beneath the rugged
exterior lay a man driven by an unwavering sense of duty. He felt a
responsibility to not only the land but to the men who toiled upon it.
His keen, hazel eyes missed nothing. He knew each laborer's strengths and
weaknesses, recognizing who could handle the plow with finesse and who
might need a firmer guiding hand. Oliver took it upon himself to train the
new recruits, instilling in them the principles of discipline and precision
that he held so dear.
The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden hue across the vast fields
of Lord Harrington's estate. Hargrove stood tall and stern, his keen eyes
fixed on Tarzan as he plowed through the earth, the muscles in his back
rippling with each powerful thrust of the plow.
Hargrove held his whip with practiced ease, a tool of direction as he
guided Tarzan's movements across the field. With a precise crack of the
whip to Tarzan's left ass cheek, Tarzan obediently shifted course, the plow
cutting a neat furrow through the soil. Another crack to the right ass
cheek, and Tarzan adjusted accordingly, his powerful frame responding to
the overseer's commands.
The rhythm of their work was a dance, a choreography of muscle and
movement. Tarzan's breath synced with the rhythm of the plow, sweat
glistening on his brow as he worked under Hargrove's watchful eye. Each
stroke of the whip carried a meaning, a language understood only by the two
men in the field.
Hargrove's voice, gravelly and authoritative, cut through the quiet hum of
nature.
"Forward," he commanded, and Tarzan surged ahead, the plow biting into the
earth with renewed vigor. The overseer's eyes never wavered, a testament to
his skill in directing Tarzan's considerable strength.
As the hours passed, the overseer's instructions became second nature to
Tarzan. He could feel the ebb and flow of the land beneath him, anticipate
Hargrove's every command. Left, right, forward, stop--each directive was
met with precision, a testament to the connection forged between overseer
and laborer.
In the distance, Lord Harrington, Mr. Blackwood, and Alden observed from
the shade of a large oak tree, their eyes keenly fixed on the scene
below. They exchanged satisfied glances, content in the knowledge that
their plans for the Alpha Ascension were well underway. Tarzan's display of
obedience was a testament to the effectiveness of Hargrove's guidance.
The overseer's experienced eye did not miss a beat. He noted the progress,
the increasing strength in Tarzan's movements, and the subtle shifts in his
posture. Under Hargrove's firm hand, Tarzan was becoming a more efficient
and obedient worker with each passing day.
As the day drew to a close, Hargrove called for a halt, the crack of his
whip signaling Tarzan to stop. The laborer straightened his back, his
breath coming steady and measured. The overseer nodded in approval, a
silent acknowledgment of a day's work well done.
But before tarzan could head back to the slave quarters, his owners
beckoned to Hargrove to bring the slave to them. Mr. Blackwood's eyes
gleamed with a palpable excitement as he produced a dark cloth, the
telltale folds of a blindfold. He handed it to Hargrove with a fervent
determination, his voice resonating with authority.
"I want a demonstration, Hargrove. Show us how well Tarzan answers the
language of the whip."
The overseer accepted the blindfold, his expression betraying nothing but
unwavering resolve. He turned to Tarzan, who stood beside him, the muscles
in his body taut with anticipation. Hargrove's voice was firm, commanding.
"Tarzan, prepare yourself."
With practiced ease, Tarzan lowered his head, submitting to the order. The
blindfold settled across his eyes, darkness replacing the world he
knew. His senses heightened, his ears straining to catch any sound, any
command.
Hargrove stepped back, the whip held expertly in his hand, every movement a
testament to his mastery. With a flick of his wrist, the whip cracked
through the air, a sharp report echoing across the field. Tarzan tensed,
every sinew of his body ready to respond.
The overseer's commands were precise, the whip guiding Tarzan's movements
with uncanny accuracy. Left, right, forward, stop--the language of the whip
became a symphony of direction, each strike a note in the choreography of
labor.
Time seemed to blur as the demonstration continued, Tarzan moving in
seamless accord with Hargrove's whip. It was a dance of submission and
command, choreographed with the efficacy of the overseer's methods.
As the demonstration drew to a close, Hargrove called for Tarzan to
stop. The final crack of the whip sounded, the tip darting between tarzan's
legs and grazing the front of his loincloth. Tarzan froze, muscles coiled
with tension, awaiting further instruction.
Mr. Blackwood observed with a discerning eye, his approval evident in the
satisfied curve of his lips.
"Impressive, Hargrove. Tarzan has indeed learned to answer the whip's
language."
Lord Harrington's voice held a note of triumph.
"Excellent work, both of you. Tarzan, you are exceeding our expectations."
Alden watched with a calculating gaze, his mind already envisioning the
spectacle this newfound skill would bring to the Alpha Ascension. The cruel
ballet was taking shape, each movement a testament to the mastery of the
whip.
Hargrove's nod was one of acknowledgment and satisfaction.
"Thank you, my Lords. Tarzan has shown remarkable progress."
Mr. Blackwood's eyes gleamed with a dark, eager anticipation as he watched
the blindfolded Tarzan, standing frozen in response to Hargrove's whip. A
wicked smile curved his lips, and he could feel the weight of the moment,
the power and control that lay in his grasp.
In a silent, imperceptible motion, Blackwood extended his hand, silently
beckoning Hargrove to pass him the whip. The overseer, always attuned to
his master's desires, handed it over without a word, his gaze fixed on
Mr. Blackwood's every movement.
Blackwood took the whip in his hand, its leather coils cool against his
palm. He felt the weight of it, a potent instrument of control. With a
focused determination, he adjusted his stance, preparing for the precise
movement required to replicate Hargrove's skill.
The blindfolded Tarzan stood before him, an imposing figure even in his
temporary darkness. The anticipation in the air was palpable, a collective
breath held in anticipation of the next move.
With a controlled flick of his wrist, Blackwood executed the maneuver. The
whip sliced through the air, its sound sharp and commanding. It struck
Tarzan's loincloth, the impact echoing with a resounding thud.
Tarzan reacted instinctively, his body freezing in response. He stood,
muscles taut, awaiting further direction.
A triumphant grin spread across Mr. Blackwood's face as he realized he had
successfully executed the move. It spoke of his own prowess, a display of
dominance over the formidable Tarzan. His eyes met Hargrove's, a silent
challenge and acknowledgment passing between them.
Lord Harrington watched with a raised brow, his curiosity piqued by
Mr. Blackwood's display of skill. It was a demonstration of power, a subtle
shift in the dynamics that defined their relationship with Tarzan.
Alden, too, observed with keen interest, recognizing the potential for
added spectacle in the upcoming Alpha Ascension.
With the whip now firmly under his control, Mr. Blackwood felt a surge of
power and dominance. It was a tantalizing taste of the authority that would
come to fruition at the grand event they were orchestrating.
Hargrove's nod of affirmation was a silent acknowledgment of Blackwood's
success. The overseer recognized skill when he saw it, even in the hands of
someone unaccustomed to the whip.
Before handing the whip back to Hargrove, Blackwood took a moment to study
Tarzan's form. His powerful muscles rippled beneath the sun-kissed skin,
and the loincloth clung to him, emphasizing his raw strength. Blackwood
couldn't help but marvel at the sheer physicality of the man before him.
He moved around Tarzan, observing every angle, every sinew. It was as if he
were a sculptor, appreciating the masterpiece he was about to work
with. Gently, he reached out, fingers tracing the edges of the loincloth,
almost in admiration of the garment that barely contained Tarzan's primal
energy.
Positioning himself behind Tarzan, Blackwood raised the whip, a sense of
anticipation coursing through him. He knew this move would be challenging,
but he was confident in his ability to execute it flawlessly. With a
practiced motion, he let the whip fly, guiding it with precision between
Tarzan's legs.
The crack of the whip was sharp, and the tip found its mark, catching the
loincloth exactly where Blackwood intended. Tarzan's response was
immediate. The sudden tug forced him to drop to his knees, a guttural howl
escaping his lips, echoing through the fields.
The sound seemed to reverberate through the air, echoing the power that
Tarzan held within him. Blackwood turned to his colleagues, his
satisfaction evident in the curve of his lips.
"Well done, boy," he praised tarzan, his voice laced with a mixture of
approval and respect. "First try."
Alden, Harrington, and Mr. Blackwood exchanged glances, each recognizing
the significance of what they had just witnessed. It was a display of
dominance and submission, a vivid illustration of the dynamics they aimed
to showcase at the Alpha Ascension.
* * * * *
Baron von Richter stood in the shadow of the barn, his eyes locked on the
scene before him. It had been years since he'd last laid eyes on Tarzan,
the bane of his existence. The memories of their encounters flooded back,
the countless times Tarzan had thwarted his poaching schemes and ultimately
led to his imprisonment. The simmering anger and thirst for vengeance had
never truly abated.
Now, he watched as Tarzan knelt, blindfolded and vulnerable, at the mercy
of the whip. It was a sight that sent a surge of satisfaction through von
Richter's veins. Gone was the image of the all-powerful hero, the thorn in
his side. Instead, he saw a lowly figure, stripped of his veneer of
invincibility.
Von Richter's lips curled into a predatory smile as he contemplated the
years of pent-up vengeance he could now exact. He relished the thought of
Tarzan, the once mighty jungle champion, reduced to this state. The
blindfold was symbolic of his submission, a stark reminder of his newfound
inferiority.
As the whip cracked and Tarzan's howls pierced the air, von Richter reveled
in the moment. It was a sweet vindication, a reckoning he'd longed for
since the days of their bitter rivalry. He could almost taste the victory,
the satisfaction of finally having Tarzan under his control.
His mind raced with possibilities, each more devious than the last. He
would ensure that Tarzan knew his place, that he understood the full extent
of his powerlessness. The Alpha Ascension presented the perfect stage for
this cruel revelation. Von Richter envisioned a spectacle that would not
only humiliate Tarzan but also further establish his own dominance.
As the demonstration continued, von Richter's gaze remained fixed on
Tarzan. Every crack of the whip was a symphony of retribution, a symphony
that played out in his mind with a chilling precision. He would make Tarzan
suffer, make him beg for mercy that would never come.
The barn provided ample cover for von Richter, allowing him to observe
unnoticed. He knew that the time for his grand entrance would come, a
moment when he would reveal himself to Tarzan in all his cruel glory. The
thought of that encounter, of seeing the realization dawn in Tarzan's eyes,
sent a thrill of anticipation down his spine.
For now, von Richter bided his time, content to watch from the shadows. The
years of waiting had only sharpened his resolve, and he was determined to
make Tarzan pay for every moment of his captivity. The Alpha Ascension
would be the culmination of his vengeance, a fitting stage for the final
act in their twisted saga.
And so, Baron von Richter stood in the shadow, his eyes never leaving
Tarzan, his mind consumed with thoughts of retribution. The stage was set,
the players in position. The Alpha Ascension would be a spectacle unlike
any other, a brutal ballet of dominance and submission, with von Richter at
the helm, ready to claim his long-awaited victory.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-63 | Date: Sat, 14 Sep 2024 02:30:25 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 63 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 63 - Puppet to the Slaves-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 63 -- Puppet to the Slaves The stable was a refuge of shadows and whispers, where the toil of the day gave way to quiet camaraderie among the slaves. They huddled together, their voices low and conspiratorial, while Tarzan stood tall amidst them, an unwitting spectacle in their midst. "Did you see him out there?" One of the older slaves, his face etched with lines of wisdom and hardship, murmured with a sly grin. "He may have been a king once, but now he's nothing more than a pawn in Lord Harrington's game." A chorus of murmurs of agreement followed, punctuated by suppressed laughter. Tarzan's ears caught fragments of their hushed conversation, words of mockery and amusement at his expense. He understood their jests, their subtle jabs at his performance in the fields. Then, with a sudden and unexpected burst of mirth, one of the younger slaves stood and began to mimic the overseers, his gestures exaggerated, his voice a crude imitation of authority. The others joined in, laughing uproariously as they enacted a twisted parody of the day's events. Tarzan watched, his brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and resignation. He understood their need for levity, their desire to find moments of lightness in their arduous existence. As the mimicry continued, Tarzan's gaze fell to the ground, his spirit heavy with the weight of his new reality. He was no longer a king, no longer a ruler of the jungle. He was a slave, just like them, subject to the whims and cruelties of those who held power over him. In that moment, Tarzan's heart bore the burden of a painful truth: he was no different from the men who stood around him, bound by chains both physical and metaphorical. They were all prisoners of circumstance, all struggling to find meaning and purpose in a world that sought to break their spirits. As the laughter echoed around him, Tarzan closed his eyes, determined to find a glimmer of strength within himself. He may have been brought low, but he refused to let the embers of his spirit be extinguished. In the heart of darkness, he would find a way to rise once more. * * * * * In the dimly lit stable, shadows danced like specters, and the air was thick with the scent of hay and sweat. Among the huddled group of slaves, two of the bolder ones, Jem and Rafe, exchanged mischievous glances. They had been emboldened by the day's events and fueled by the shared camaraderie of their fellow slaves. "Watch this," Jem whispered to Rafe, a devilish twinkle in his eye. With a sly grin, he stood and squared his shoulders, his posture mirroring that of the overseers they had observed in the fields. "All right, you sorry lot!" Jem barked, his voice a comically exaggerated imitation of authority. "Back to work, or it's the lash for the lot of you!" Rafe, unable to suppress his laughter, joined in. "Aye, and no slacking off! Tarzan here's got a quota to meet, and we'll not have him dragging us all down!" The other slaves watched in a mixture of surprise and amusement, their eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and mirth. Tarzan, for his part, stood among them, a bewildered expression on his face. He couldn't quite fathom what was transpiring, why his fellow slaves were suddenly adopting the roles of overseers. As Jem and Rafe continued their charade, they gestured emphatically, mimicking the stern gestures of authority they had observed earlier. To their astonishment, Tarzan began to respond, his movements a blend of obedience and confusion. He carried out their imaginary commands, laboring as though the threat of a whip hung over him. Laughter erupted among the watching slaves, their mirth infectious. They marveled at the spectacle before them, reveling in the absurdity of the situation. Tarzan, once a king of the jungle, now a puppet in their impromptu performance. Jem and Rafe couldn't contain their amusement, their laughter mingling with the chorus of the other slaves. They reveled in the power they momentarily held over Tarzan, a taste of authority in a world that sought to strip them of it. As the laughter echoed through the stable, Tarzan's eyes flickered with a mixture of resignation and a trace of reluctant amusement. He shared their hardship, yet, he couldn't help but feel a pang of bitterness at being the unwitting star of their impromptu charade. In that moment, a complex tapestry of emotions wove itself within Tarzan's heart. He was no longer the ruler of the jungle, no longer a king. He was a slave, subject to the whims and cruelties of those who held power over him. And yet, even in his newfound humility, he could not entirely suppress the flicker of his indomitable spirit. As the laughter gradually subsided, Tarzan's gaze met Jem and Rafe's, a silent acknowledgment passing from him to them. They may have reveled in their momentary role reversal, but beneath it all, they understood the weight of their shared struggle, he thought. In the heart of darkness, they would all find a way to rise, or so tarzan tried to tell himself. * * * * * Jem and Rafe, emboldened by the success of their impromptu charade, exchanged a conspiratorial glance. They could feel the power of the moment, the shared laughter of their fellow slaves echoing in the dimly lit stable. It was a respite, a brief interlude of levity in the midst of their harsh reality. "Now, Tarzan," Jem declared, his voice dripping with mock authority, "show your gratitude to your fellow laborers. Kneel before us, and perhaps we'll go easy on you." The other slaves erupted into fresh peals of laughter, the absurdity of the situation not lost on them. Tarzan, once the untamed king of the jungle, now stood at the mercy of his fellow slaves, a puppet in their playful charade. With a bemused expression, Tarzan lowered himself to his knees, his movements a blend of resignation and reluctant compliance. He cast his gaze downward, his eyes fixed on the dirt-strewn ground beneath him. In this moment, he was no longer a legend, no longer a hero. He was a slave, humbled and brought low. Rafe extended his foot, a playful glint in his eye. "Now, Tarzan, a good slave knows how to show proper deference. Attend to my weary feet, and perhaps you'll earn a reprieve." Tarzan hesitated for the briefest of moments before leaning forward, his lips brushing against the calloused skin of Rafe's foot. It was a gesture that spoke of submission, a recognition of the shifting dynamics within their shared world of servitude. The other slaves watched in a mixture of amusement and awe. They had witnessed Tarzan's fall from grace, his transformation from king to captive. In this moment, they were united by a shared understanding of their place in this unforgiving world. As Tarzan continued to play his role in their charade, Jem and Rafe reveled in the power they momentarily held over him. It was a fleeting taste of authority, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, moments of levity could be found. And yet, beneath it all, Tarzan's spirit remained unbroken. He may have knelt before his fellow slaves, a puppet in their playful performance, but within him still burned the fire of a warrior. He understood the importance of unity, of finding strength in the bonds they shared. As the laughter gradually subsided, Tarzan rose to his feet, a subtle shift in his posture. He may have played his part in their charade, but he was determined to reclaim his sense of self. In the heart of darkness, he would rise once more. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sat, 14 Sep 2024 02:30:25 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 63
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 63 - Puppet to the Slaves--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 63 -- Puppet to the Slaves
The stable was a refuge of shadows and whispers, where the toil of the day
gave way to quiet camaraderie among the slaves. They huddled together,
their voices low and conspiratorial, while Tarzan stood tall amidst them,
an unwitting spectacle in their midst.
"Did you see him out there?" One of the older slaves, his face etched with
lines of wisdom and hardship, murmured with a sly grin. "He may have been a
king once, but now he's nothing more than a pawn in Lord Harrington's
game."
A chorus of murmurs of agreement followed, punctuated by suppressed
laughter. Tarzan's ears caught fragments of their hushed conversation,
words of mockery and amusement at his expense. He understood their jests,
their subtle jabs at his performance in the fields.
Then, with a sudden and unexpected burst of mirth, one of the younger
slaves stood and began to mimic the overseers, his gestures exaggerated,
his voice a crude imitation of authority. The others joined in, laughing
uproariously as they enacted a twisted parody of the day's events.
Tarzan watched, his brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and
resignation. He understood their need for levity, their desire to find
moments of lightness in their arduous existence.
As the mimicry continued, Tarzan's gaze fell to the ground, his spirit
heavy with the weight of his new reality. He was no longer a king, no
longer a ruler of the jungle. He was a slave, just like them, subject to
the whims and cruelties of those who held power over him.
In that moment, Tarzan's heart bore the burden of a painful truth: he was
no different from the men who stood around him, bound by chains both
physical and metaphorical. They were all prisoners of circumstance, all
struggling to find meaning and purpose in a world that sought to break
their spirits.
As the laughter echoed around him, Tarzan closed his eyes, determined to
find a glimmer of strength within himself. He may have been brought low,
but he refused to let the embers of his spirit be extinguished. In the
heart of darkness, he would find a way to rise once more.
* * * * *
In the dimly lit stable, shadows danced like specters, and the air was
thick with the scent of hay and sweat. Among the huddled group of slaves,
two of the bolder ones, Jem and Rafe, exchanged mischievous glances. They
had been emboldened by the day's events and fueled by the shared
camaraderie of their fellow slaves.
"Watch this," Jem whispered to Rafe, a devilish twinkle in his eye. With a
sly grin, he stood and squared his shoulders, his posture mirroring that of
the overseers they had observed in the fields.
"All right, you sorry lot!" Jem barked, his voice a comically exaggerated
imitation of authority. "Back to work, or it's the lash for the lot of
you!"
Rafe, unable to suppress his laughter, joined in.
"Aye, and no slacking off! Tarzan here's got a quota to meet, and we'll not
have him dragging us all down!"
The other slaves watched in a mixture of surprise and amusement, their eyes
wide with a mix of disbelief and mirth. Tarzan, for his part, stood among
them, a bewildered expression on his face. He couldn't quite fathom what
was transpiring, why his fellow slaves were suddenly adopting the roles of
overseers.
As Jem and Rafe continued their charade, they gestured emphatically,
mimicking the stern gestures of authority they had observed earlier. To
their astonishment, Tarzan began to respond, his movements a blend of
obedience and confusion. He carried out their imaginary commands, laboring
as though the threat of a whip hung over him.
Laughter erupted among the watching slaves, their mirth infectious. They
marveled at the spectacle before them, reveling in the absurdity of the
situation. Tarzan, once a king of the jungle, now a puppet in their
impromptu performance.
Jem and Rafe couldn't contain their amusement, their laughter mingling with
the chorus of the other slaves. They reveled in the power they momentarily
held over Tarzan, a taste of authority in a world that sought to strip them
of it.
As the laughter echoed through the stable, Tarzan's eyes flickered with a
mixture of resignation and a trace of reluctant amusement. He shared their
hardship, yet, he couldn't help but feel a pang of bitterness at being the
unwitting star of their impromptu charade.
In that moment, a complex tapestry of emotions wove itself within Tarzan's
heart. He was no longer the ruler of the jungle, no longer a king. He was a
slave, subject to the whims and cruelties of those who held power over
him. And yet, even in his newfound humility, he could not entirely suppress
the flicker of his indomitable spirit.
As the laughter gradually subsided, Tarzan's gaze met Jem and Rafe's, a
silent acknowledgment passing from him to them. They may have reveled in
their momentary role reversal, but beneath it all, they understood the
weight of their shared struggle, he thought. In the heart of darkness, they
would all find a way to rise, or so tarzan tried to tell himself.
* * * * *
Jem and Rafe, emboldened by the success of their impromptu charade,
exchanged a conspiratorial glance. They could feel the power of the moment,
the shared laughter of their fellow slaves echoing in the dimly lit
stable. It was a respite, a brief interlude of levity in the midst of their
harsh reality.
"Now, Tarzan," Jem declared, his voice dripping with mock authority, "show
your gratitude to your fellow laborers. Kneel before us, and perhaps we'll
go easy on you."
The other slaves erupted into fresh peals of laughter, the absurdity of the
situation not lost on them. Tarzan, once the untamed king of the jungle,
now stood at the mercy of his fellow slaves, a puppet in their playful
charade.
With a bemused expression, Tarzan lowered himself to his knees, his
movements a blend of resignation and reluctant compliance. He cast his gaze
downward, his eyes fixed on the dirt-strewn ground beneath him. In this
moment, he was no longer a legend, no longer a hero. He was a slave,
humbled and brought low.
Rafe extended his foot, a playful glint in his eye.
"Now, Tarzan, a good slave knows how to show proper deference. Attend to my
weary feet, and perhaps you'll earn a reprieve."
Tarzan hesitated for the briefest of moments before leaning forward, his
lips brushing against the calloused skin of Rafe's foot. It was a gesture
that spoke of submission, a recognition of the shifting dynamics within
their shared world of servitude.
The other slaves watched in a mixture of amusement and awe. They had
witnessed Tarzan's fall from grace, his transformation from king to
captive. In this moment, they were united by a shared understanding of
their place in this unforgiving world.
As Tarzan continued to play his role in their charade, Jem and Rafe reveled
in the power they momentarily held over him. It was a fleeting taste of
authority, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, moments of levity
could be found.
And yet, beneath it all, Tarzan's spirit remained unbroken. He may have
knelt before his fellow slaves, a puppet in their playful performance, but
within him still burned the fire of a warrior. He understood the importance
of unity, of finding strength in the bonds they shared.
As the laughter gradually subsided, Tarzan rose to his feet, a subtle shift
in his posture. He may have played his part in their charade, but he was
determined to reclaim his sense of self. In the heart of darkness, he would
rise once more.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-60 | Date: Mon, 9 Sep 2024 01:16:14 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 60 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 60 - The Power Play of the Puppet Master-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 60 -- The Power Play of the Puppet Master The Baron continues his subliminal grooming of tarzan to accept his true purpose at the mercy of superior alpha's like himself, visiting tarzan in ape-man's dreams and summoning those from tarzan's world who can help train the savage beast to embrace his new role. Tarzan's dream unfurls like a tapestry of vivid images and sensations. In this dreamscape, the jungle is both familiar and transformed, suffused with an otherworldly glow. The towering trees whisper secrets, and the moonlight bathes everything in an ethereal luminescence. As Tarzan moves through the dream, he senses a presence, an enigmatic force guiding him forward. He stumbles upon a secluded clearing, where a throne made of intertwined vines and exotic blossoms stands, bathed in a celestial radiance. Upon the throne sits the Baron, his form exuding an aura of authority and dominance. "Kneel," commands the Baron, his voice a resonant echo in the dreamworld. Tarzan obeys, lowering himself to the ground before his master. The Baron's eyes gleam with an otherworldly intensity, and he extends a hand, beckoning Tarzan closer. With each step, Tarzan feels a strange, pulsating energy coursing through him, infusing him with a newfound sense of purpose. He reaches the Baron, who places a hand upon Tarzan's head, channeling waves of power and submission. "You are mine, Tarzan," intones the Baron, his voice a potent incantation. "Your destiny is woven into the fabric of the jungle, bound to serve those who hold dominion." In this dreamscape, Tarzan's identity undergoes a profound transformation. He is no longer the wild, untamed force of nature, but a vessel of servitude, his purpose eternally intertwined with the will of his master. As the dream continues, the Baron imparts knowledge, molding Tarzan's subconscious to accept this new reality. "Listen closely, Tarzan," commands the Baron, his voice resonating like a primal force. "Within the heart of the jungle, there exists a hierarchy, an order forged by nature's hand. You, once the king, now find yourself at the precipice of a new existence. "First and foremost, understand that your purpose is to serve. Anticipate the needs of your master before they even manifest. Anticipate their whims, their cravings, and fulfill them with grace and efficiency. Let your instincts guide you, and in doing so, you shall demonstrate unwavering devotion. "Learn the language of subservience. Your every word and gesture should be a testament to your willingness to obey. Speak with humility, and let your actions reinforce your submission. "Embrace the rituals of servitude. Washing your master's feet, kneeling in obeisance, these acts are not mere formalities, but declarations of your place in this hierarchy. "Strive for perfection in every task. Your duties, whether menial or monumental, are a reflection of your commitment to your master. Leave no room for error, for mediocrity has no place in the service of an alpha. "Embody gratitude in all you do. Every command, every correction, is an opportunity to express your appreciation for the guidance and discipline bestowed upon you. "Embrace your vulnerability. Understand that in submission, true strength is found. Your willingness to surrender is a testament to your fortitude, your resilience, and your unwavering loyalty. "Find solace in your submission. Understand that in this newfound role, you are liberated from the burdens of leadership. Your purpose is clear, your path illuminated by the will of your master. "Embrace your own transformation. Shed the vestiges of your former self and emerge as the embodiment of servitude. In this evolution, you find purpose, fulfillment, and a sense of belonging. "Know this, Tarzan, your journey has just begun. As you yield to the will of your master, you will discover a profound sense of purpose, a depth of fulfillment that transcends all previous understanding." Tarzan bows his head, a symbol of the submission that now flows through his veins. His fingers deftly work at the laces of the Baron's boot, each tug and pull a reverent gesture. The boot rests against his loincloth, the pressure a tangible reminder of the hierarchy that now defines him. As the boot slips free, Tarzan's hands instinctively find their way to the Baron's feet, cradling them with a reverence bordering on adoration. He dips a cloth into a basin of warm water, the touch gentle as he begins to cleanse his Master's feet. Every stroke, every caress, is infused with a devotion that resonates through the silent chamber. The Baron observes with a sense of satisfaction, his gaze fixed upon the bowed figure before him. He revels in the sight of his once-proud adversary, now reduced to this humble act of service. It speaks to the power of transformation, to the malleability of the human spirit. Tarzan's movements are deliberate, thorough. He pays meticulous attention to each inch of skin, as if by tending to the Baron's feet, he tends to his own newfound purpose. The water takes on a hue of cleansing, carrying away the residue of the day's trials. As the task nears its completion, Tarzan's heart pounds in his chest. He knows that the final act is one of unparalleled reverence, a gesture that solidifies his place in this new order. He lowers his head, lips gently pressing against the Baron's feet, a cascade of kisses that punctuate his submission. The musk of the Master emanates from the studded leather cod piece, enveloping Tarzan in its heady embrace. It mingles with the scent of warm water and the earthy undertones of the jungle, creating an olfactory tapestry that cements this moment in his memory. Each kiss is a testament to his acceptance, a pledge of unwavering loyalty. He tastes the sweat of his Master, the tang of authority that now defines his existence. It is a communion of sorts, a merging of wills that leaves Tarzan breathless with a sense of purpose. As he lifts his head, the Baron's eyes meet his, a silent acknowledgment of the significance of this act. Tarzan remains on his knees, a living embodiment of servitude, his heart and soul bound to the will of his Master. * * * * * Tarzan rises from his kneeling position, a new purpose surging within him. He senses the Baron's gaze upon him, a silent command that drives him forward. With each step, he can feel the eyes of his Master, the weight of expectation, and it fuels a determination to please. As he reaches the center of the chamber, Tarzan hesitates for a moment, the energy of anticipation humming through his veins. Then, with a deep breath, he surrenders to the rhythm of his own submission. His body sways and undulates, every movement demonstrating his newfound role. The Baron, ever the puppeteer, steps forward, his tools of authority in hand. The whip and the collar become extensions of his will, guiding Tarzan's movements with a precision that borders on artistry. With a flick of his wrist, he commands Tarzan to twirl, to arch his back, to offer himself fully to the dance. Tarzan is a symphony of submission, his limbs an offering to the Master who now commands his every step. He loses himself in the dance, the world around him fading into a blur of shadows and echoes. There is only the Baron, only the dance, only the relentless pulse of his own submission. The whip cracks in the air, a stinging reminder of the authority that now governs him. It is a sensation that Tarzan welcomes, a visceral affirmation of his place in this new order. He moves with a fervor born of both obedience and a desperate need to please. As the dance reaches its crescendo, Tarzan's body is a testament to the transformation that has taken root within him. Every sinew, every muscle, is a vessel of submission, a canvas upon which the Baron's will is painted. Finally, as the last notes of the imagined music fade, Tarzan stands before the Baron, breathless and exhilarated. He is acutely aware of the eyes upon him, of the scrutiny that now defines his existence. He awaits his Master's judgment, a silent plea for affirmation. The Baron's gaze lingers upon Tarzan, a mix of satisfaction and possession. He nods, a subtle acknowledgment of the performance that has unfolded before him. It is a dance that transcends the physical, a dance of wills that leaves them both breathless with the power of their newfound dynamic. * * * * * In this dream, the Baron, ever the cunning manipulator of both reality and dreams, summons a figure from Tarzan's past. A person who once stood as an adversary, now brought forth to serve as a stark contrast to Tarzan's new existence. As the dream landscape shifts and morphs, a new figure emerges, a specter from Tarzan's past. It is none other than Kessler, the enigmatic leader of the jungle resistance who betrayed tarzan and set him up to be auctioned to Lord Hastings. Once a formidable foe, now a shadow in the presence of the Baron's dominating aura. Kessler, though still cloaked in the guise of defiance, seems diminished in the face of the Baron's palpable authority. His eyes, once fierce and unyielding, now betray a glimmer of uncertainty. He surveys Tarzan, taking in the subtle shifts in posture and demeanor, and there is a dawning realization in his gaze. The Baron observes this encounter with a wolfish grin, relishing the contrast between the former adversaries. It is a calculated move, a demonstration of Tarzan's transformation from formidable warrior to willing servant. The Baron revels in the power he wields, not only over Tarzan, but over the very fabric of his subconscious. "Kessler," the Baron's voice rumbles, the tone carrying an edge of triumph, "you once stood as a challenge to this one's reign. But now, look at him. He kneels willingly, he dances to my command, he is mine in every sense." Kessler's gaze flickers, torn between the memories of past battles and the undeniable reality before him. He senses the shift in power, the seismic change that has occurred. It is a bitter pill to swallow, but there is a begrudging acceptance in his expression. Tarzan, caught in the crossfire of this spectral reunion, feels a surge of conflicting emotions. The memories of past struggles swirl within him, but they are tempered by the intoxicating allure of submission. He looks to the Baron, awaiting his command, his newfound purpose burning brightly within him. The Baron, reveling in this display of dominance, raises his hand, a silent directive that speaks volumes. "Kneel," he commands, and Kessler, once the embodiment of defiance, now bows before the Baron's superior presence. It is a moment of profound transformation, a testament to the Baron's mastery over both reality and dreams. As the dream tableau solidifies, Tarzan stands at the center, flanked by the symbols of his past and present. He is the fulcrum upon which the balance of power rests, the living embodiment of the Baron's unyielding dominance. * * * * * In this powerful dream, the Baron, with his mastery over the dream realm, conjures another figure from the shadows of Tarzan's newly defined existence. As the dream unfurls, Alden, a formidable new presence in Tarzan's life, materializes from the darkness, his figure stark against the surreal dreamscape. Alden emerges from the shadows, a spectral presence in this vivid dreamworld. His eyes, sharp and calculating, take in the tableau before him--the Baron, the transformed Tarzan, and the subdued figure of Kessler. He senses the palpable shift in power, the undercurrents of dominance that course through the dream. The Baron, aware of Alden's presence, regards him with a knowing glint in his eye. He understands the significance of Alden's inclusion in this dream, the role he is to play in solidifying Tarzan's newfound submission. The chessboard of the mind is set, and each piece moves with purpose. Tarzan, caught in this convergence of past and present, feels a surge of conflicting emotions. Alden was once a mentor, a figure of authority, and now he stands as a witness to Tarzan's transformation. The weight of his gaze is both a reminder of his recent journey and a harbinger of the future. The Baron, ever the puppeteer, orchestrates the scene. He gestures for Alden to step forward, a silent command that Alden obeys. He approaches Tarzan with measured steps, his presence a blend of familiarity and apprehension. "Alden," the Baron's voice reverberates through the dream, "you once held sway over this one's training. Now, bear witness to his evolution. He is no longer the defiant warrior you once knew." Alden studies Tarzan, his gaze discerning and probing. He recognizes the subtle shifts in posture, the nuances of submission that now define Tarzan's demeanor. It is a revelation, a transformation that Alden cannot deny. Tarzan, conscious of Alden's scrutiny, kneels before him, a gesture of deference that speaks volumes. He acknowledges the role Alden has played in his life, embracing his newfound purpose as a devoted servant. As the dream tableau solidifies, Tarzan, flanked by the Baron, Kessler, and Alden, stands at the nexus of past and present. He embodies the Baron's vision of submission, a living testament to the power of the dream realm. As Alden steps further into the dream, the atmosphere crackles with tension and anticipation. He is keenly aware of the transformation that has befallen Tarzan, the once-proud jungle king now a submissive figure at the Baron's command. This spectacle is a revelation, a narrative that Alden, as a chronicler of both truth and fantasy, cannot ignore. His discerning gaze sweeps over Tarzan, taking in the nuances of his submission--the lowered eyes, the deferential posture. It is a sight that both intrigues and challenges Alden, for he is no stranger to the complexities of power dynamics. "Tarzan," Alden addresses him, his voice carrying a blend of familiarity and inquiry, "you have undergone quite the metamorphosis. The jungle's mighty protector now bows before another. A compelling story, indeed." Tarzan's response is measured, his words chosen with care. "The Baron is my Master, and I am here to serve." The Baron, observing this exchange, recognizes the potential in Alden's presence. Here is a figure who wields the power of words, a man whose narratives shape perceptions. The Baron steps forward, a silent command for Alden to witness the depths of Tarzan's submission. "Alden," the Baron's voice resonates, "you have the power to immortalize this transformation in ink. To tell a story that will echo through the ages. But first, you must understand the magnitude of what has transpired." With a gesture, the Baron invites Alden to stand beside him, offering him a view of Tarzan from a vantage point of authority. It is a calculated move, one that acknowledges Alden's influence and seeks to align it with the Baron's narrative. Alden, ever perceptive, seizes the opportunity. He envisions the headlines, the ink-stained pages that will bear witness to Tarzan's evolution. The story writes itself--a legendary hero brought to his knees in deference to the power of the dominant will. Yet, as the dream unfurls, Alden finds himself drawn into a more personal fantasy. He envisions a narrative of submission and desire, a tale where he, too, succumbs to the allure of power play. It is a revelation, a revelation that stirs something within him, a recognition of the complexities that define human nature. In this dream, the Baron benefits from Alden's presence in myriad ways. He gains an ally in shaping the narrative, a wordsmith whose pen can immortalize Tarzan's transformation. He also recognizes the potential for a new dynamic, one that transcends the boundaries of dominance and submission. As the dream continues its dance of power and submission, Alden, Tarzan, and the Baron stand at the crossroads of fantasy and reality. Each figure embodies a facet of human nature, a reflection of the intricate interplay between authority and surrender. * * * * * The Baron's presence looms large over the dream, his aura of dominance palpable. As he steps forward, a wicked glint in his eyes, the atmosphere crackles with anticipation. He raises his hand, and suddenly, Tarzan is swept into a whirlwind of motion. Tarzan's limbs move with a frenetic energy, each step and sway orchestrated by the Baron's will. It is a dance of submission, a testament to the power that the Baron wields over him. Every movement is executed with precision, a reflection of Tarzan's complete surrender. The dance, a fervent display of Tarzan's obedience, unfolds before the Baron's delighted gaze. It is a sight to behold, a testament to the malleability of even the mightiest spirits. Tarzan, once the untamed jungle king, is now a figure entranced by the Baron's command. Then, with a calculated shift, the Baron redirects Tarzan's focus. His gaze now fixates on Alden, who watches with a mixture of awe and desire. The dance takes on a new intensity, a seductive fervor that leaves no room for doubt--Tarzan is wholly consumed by his submission. Alden, swept up in the spectacle, can hardly contain the fire that courses through him. He is no stranger to the dance of power, but this... this is something altogether different. Tarzan's movements are a symphony of desire, a siren's call that beckons Alden into uncharted territory. Tarzan, guided by the Baron's will, approaches Alden with a sensuality that borders on the sublime. His movements are a declaration of his inferiority, a recognition of Alden's authority. It is a dance of surrender, the intricate dance of dominance and submission. As the dream unfurls, Tarzan's transformation is laid bare for all to see. Here, in the realm of dreams, the boundaries blur, and the dynamics shift. The Baron, Alden, and Tarzan stand at the nexus of desire and control, each figure a reflection of the complexities that define human interaction. In this dream, the Baron revels in the power he wields, the knowledge that even the mightiest can be brought to their knees. Alden, swept up in the tempest of sensation, grapples with his own desires, a recognition of the allure that submission holds. And Tarzan, the epicenter of this dance, embodies the transformation that is reshaping his very essence. * * * * * In the depths of his own fantasies, Alden envisions a dreamworld where he is the master, a figure of undeniable authority and desire. The setting is opulent, draped in silks and bathed in a soft, golden light. His presence commands attention, his every gesture laden with power. Enter Tarzan, a vision of submission, clad in a loincloth that barely conceals his allure. He moves with a graceful sensuality, his eyes fixed on Alden with a mixture of reverence and longing. The dance that unfolds is a symphony of desire, each movement calculated to elicit a response from his master. Alden, in this dreamworld of his own making, embraces the role of dominance with an intoxicating fervor. He commands Tarzan's movements, dictating the tempo of the dance with a flick of his wrist. The air crackles with tension, a palpable current that courses between them. As the dance reaches its crescendo, Alden steps forward, his fingers grazing Tarzan's skin. The touch is electric, sending shivers down both their spines. Tarzan yields, surrendering to Alden's every whim, his body a canvas upon which Alden paints his desires. In this fantasy, Alden revels in the heady cocktail of power and seduction. He guides Tarzan with a sure hand, reveling in the knowledge that he alone holds the reins. The boundaries blur, and they exist in a liminal space, a dance of dominance and submission that defies definition. As the dream unfurls, Alden loses himself in the intoxicating fantasy. Tarzan becomes a vessel for his desires, a willing participant in the intricate play of power. Their connection is primal, a fusion of need and satisfaction that transcends the boundaries of reality. And as the dream reaches its climax, Alden is left breathless, aching with a desire that can only be sated in this ethereal realm. The echoes of their dance linger with the potency of their connection. In this dreamworld, Alden experiences a transformation of his own. He embraces his desires, explores the intricacies of dominance, and revels in the allure of submission. It is a fantasy that leaves an indelible mark, a reminder that in the realm of dreams, anything is possible. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER SIXTY------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Mon, 9 Sep 2024 01:16:14 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 60
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 60 - The Power Play of the Puppet Master--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 60 -- The Power Play of the Puppet Master
The Baron continues his subliminal grooming of tarzan to accept his true
purpose at the mercy of superior alpha's like himself, visiting tarzan in
ape-man's dreams and summoning those from tarzan's world who can help train
the savage beast to embrace his new role.
Tarzan's dream unfurls like a tapestry of vivid images and sensations. In
this dreamscape, the jungle is both familiar and transformed, suffused with
an otherworldly glow. The towering trees whisper secrets, and the moonlight
bathes everything in an ethereal luminescence.
As Tarzan moves through the dream, he senses a presence, an enigmatic force
guiding him forward. He stumbles upon a secluded clearing, where a throne
made of intertwined vines and exotic blossoms stands, bathed in a celestial
radiance. Upon the throne sits the Baron, his form exuding an aura of
authority and dominance.
"Kneel," commands the Baron, his voice a resonant echo in the
dreamworld. Tarzan obeys, lowering himself to the ground before his
master. The Baron's eyes gleam with an otherworldly intensity, and he
extends a hand, beckoning Tarzan closer.
With each step, Tarzan feels a strange, pulsating energy coursing through
him, infusing him with a newfound sense of purpose. He reaches the Baron,
who places a hand upon Tarzan's head, channeling waves of power and
submission.
"You are mine, Tarzan," intones the Baron, his voice a potent
incantation. "Your destiny is woven into the fabric of the jungle, bound to
serve those who hold dominion."
In this dreamscape, Tarzan's identity undergoes a profound
transformation. He is no longer the wild, untamed force of nature, but a
vessel of servitude, his purpose eternally intertwined with the will of his
master. As the dream continues, the Baron imparts knowledge, molding
Tarzan's subconscious to accept this new reality.
"Listen closely, Tarzan," commands the Baron, his voice resonating like a
primal force. "Within the heart of the jungle, there exists a hierarchy, an
order forged by nature's hand. You, once the king, now find yourself at the
precipice of a new existence.
"First and foremost, understand that your purpose is to serve. Anticipate
the needs of your master before they even manifest. Anticipate their whims,
their cravings, and fulfill them with grace and efficiency. Let your
instincts guide you, and in doing so, you shall demonstrate unwavering
devotion.
"Learn the language of subservience. Your every word and gesture should be
a testament to your willingness to obey. Speak with humility, and let your
actions reinforce your submission.
"Embrace the rituals of servitude. Washing your master's feet, kneeling in
obeisance, these acts are not mere formalities, but declarations of your
place in this hierarchy.
"Strive for perfection in every task. Your duties, whether menial or
monumental, are a reflection of your commitment to your master. Leave no
room for error, for mediocrity has no place in the service of an alpha.
"Embody gratitude in all you do. Every command, every correction, is an
opportunity to express your appreciation for the guidance and discipline
bestowed upon you.
"Embrace your vulnerability. Understand that in submission, true strength
is found. Your willingness to surrender is a testament to your fortitude,
your resilience, and your unwavering loyalty.
"Find solace in your submission. Understand that in this newfound role, you
are liberated from the burdens of leadership. Your purpose is clear, your
path illuminated by the will of your master.
"Embrace your own transformation. Shed the vestiges of your former self and
emerge as the embodiment of servitude. In this evolution, you find purpose,
fulfillment, and a sense of belonging.
"Know this, Tarzan, your journey has just begun. As you yield to the will
of your master, you will discover a profound sense of purpose, a depth of
fulfillment that transcends all previous understanding."
Tarzan bows his head, a symbol of the submission that now flows through his
veins. His fingers deftly work at the laces of the Baron's boot, each tug
and pull a reverent gesture. The boot rests against his loincloth, the
pressure a tangible reminder of the hierarchy that now defines him.
As the boot slips free, Tarzan's hands instinctively find their way to the
Baron's feet, cradling them with a reverence bordering on adoration. He
dips a cloth into a basin of warm water, the touch gentle as he begins to
cleanse his Master's feet. Every stroke, every caress, is infused with a
devotion that resonates through the silent chamber.
The Baron observes with a sense of satisfaction, his gaze fixed upon the
bowed figure before him. He revels in the sight of his once-proud
adversary, now reduced to this humble act of service. It speaks to the
power of transformation, to the malleability of the human spirit.
Tarzan's movements are deliberate, thorough. He pays meticulous attention
to each inch of skin, as if by tending to the Baron's feet, he tends to his
own newfound purpose. The water takes on a hue of cleansing, carrying away
the residue of the day's trials.
As the task nears its completion, Tarzan's heart pounds in his chest. He
knows that the final act is one of unparalleled reverence, a gesture that
solidifies his place in this new order. He lowers his head, lips gently
pressing against the Baron's feet, a cascade of kisses that punctuate his
submission.
The musk of the Master emanates from the studded leather cod piece,
enveloping Tarzan in its heady embrace. It mingles with the scent of warm
water and the earthy undertones of the jungle, creating an olfactory
tapestry that cements this moment in his memory.
Each kiss is a testament to his acceptance, a pledge of unwavering
loyalty. He tastes the sweat of his Master, the tang of authority that now
defines his existence. It is a communion of sorts, a merging of wills that
leaves Tarzan breathless with a sense of purpose.
As he lifts his head, the Baron's eyes meet his, a silent acknowledgment of
the significance of this act. Tarzan remains on his knees, a living
embodiment of servitude, his heart and soul bound to the will of his
Master.
* * * * *
Tarzan rises from his kneeling position, a new purpose surging within
him. He senses the Baron's gaze upon him, a silent command that drives him
forward. With each step, he can feel the eyes of his Master, the weight of
expectation, and it fuels a determination to please.
As he reaches the center of the chamber, Tarzan hesitates for a moment, the
energy of anticipation humming through his veins. Then, with a deep breath,
he surrenders to the rhythm of his own submission. His body sways and
undulates, every movement demonstrating his newfound role.
The Baron, ever the puppeteer, steps forward, his tools of authority in
hand. The whip and the collar become extensions of his will, guiding
Tarzan's movements with a precision that borders on artistry. With a flick
of his wrist, he commands Tarzan to twirl, to arch his back, to offer
himself fully to the dance.
Tarzan is a symphony of submission, his limbs an offering to the Master who
now commands his every step. He loses himself in the dance, the world
around him fading into a blur of shadows and echoes. There is only the
Baron, only the dance, only the relentless pulse of his own submission.
The whip cracks in the air, a stinging reminder of the authority that now
governs him. It is a sensation that Tarzan welcomes, a visceral affirmation
of his place in this new order. He moves with a fervor born of both
obedience and a desperate need to please.
As the dance reaches its crescendo, Tarzan's body is a testament to the
transformation that has taken root within him. Every sinew, every muscle,
is a vessel of submission, a canvas upon which the Baron's will is painted.
Finally, as the last notes of the imagined music fade, Tarzan stands before
the Baron, breathless and exhilarated. He is acutely aware of the eyes upon
him, of the scrutiny that now defines his existence. He awaits his Master's
judgment, a silent plea for affirmation.
The Baron's gaze lingers upon Tarzan, a mix of satisfaction and
possession. He nods, a subtle acknowledgment of the performance that has
unfolded before him. It is a dance that transcends the physical, a dance of
wills that leaves them both breathless with the power of their newfound
dynamic.
* * * * *
In this dream, the Baron, ever the cunning manipulator of both reality and
dreams, summons a figure from Tarzan's past. A person who once stood as an
adversary, now brought forth to serve as a stark contrast to Tarzan's new
existence.
As the dream landscape shifts and morphs, a new figure emerges, a specter
from Tarzan's past. It is none other than Kessler, the enigmatic leader of
the jungle resistance who betrayed tarzan and set him up to be auctioned to
Lord Hastings. Once a formidable foe, now a shadow in the presence of the
Baron's dominating aura.
Kessler, though still cloaked in the guise of defiance, seems diminished in
the face of the Baron's palpable authority. His eyes, once fierce and
unyielding, now betray a glimmer of uncertainty. He surveys Tarzan, taking
in the subtle shifts in posture and demeanor, and there is a dawning
realization in his gaze.
The Baron observes this encounter with a wolfish grin, relishing the
contrast between the former adversaries. It is a calculated move, a
demonstration of Tarzan's transformation from formidable warrior to willing
servant. The Baron revels in the power he wields, not only over Tarzan, but
over the very fabric of his subconscious.
"Kessler," the Baron's voice rumbles, the tone carrying an edge of triumph,
"you once stood as a challenge to this one's reign. But now, look at
him. He kneels willingly, he dances to my command, he is mine in every
sense."
Kessler's gaze flickers, torn between the memories of past battles and the
undeniable reality before him. He senses the shift in power, the seismic
change that has occurred. It is a bitter pill to swallow, but there is a
begrudging acceptance in his expression.
Tarzan, caught in the crossfire of this spectral reunion, feels a surge of
conflicting emotions. The memories of past struggles swirl within him, but
they are tempered by the intoxicating allure of submission. He looks to the
Baron, awaiting his command, his newfound purpose burning brightly within
him.
The Baron, reveling in this display of dominance, raises his hand, a silent
directive that speaks volumes.
"Kneel," he commands, and Kessler, once the embodiment of defiance, now
bows before the Baron's superior presence.
It is a moment of profound transformation, a testament to the Baron's
mastery over both reality and dreams. As the dream tableau solidifies,
Tarzan stands at the center, flanked by the symbols of his past and
present. He is the fulcrum upon which the balance of power rests, the
living embodiment of the Baron's unyielding dominance.
* * * * *
In this powerful dream, the Baron, with his mastery over the dream realm,
conjures another figure from the shadows of Tarzan's newly defined
existence. As the dream unfurls, Alden, a formidable new presence in
Tarzan's life, materializes from the darkness, his figure stark against the
surreal dreamscape.
Alden emerges from the shadows, a spectral presence in this vivid
dreamworld. His eyes, sharp and calculating, take in the tableau before
him--the Baron, the transformed Tarzan, and the subdued figure of
Kessler. He senses the palpable shift in power, the undercurrents of
dominance that course through the dream.
The Baron, aware of Alden's presence, regards him with a knowing glint in
his eye. He understands the significance of Alden's inclusion in this
dream, the role he is to play in solidifying Tarzan's newfound
submission. The chessboard of the mind is set, and each piece moves with
purpose.
Tarzan, caught in this convergence of past and present, feels a surge of
conflicting emotions. Alden was once a mentor, a figure of authority, and
now he stands as a witness to Tarzan's transformation. The weight of his
gaze is both a reminder of his recent journey and a harbinger of the
future.
The Baron, ever the puppeteer, orchestrates the scene. He gestures for
Alden to step forward, a silent command that Alden obeys. He approaches
Tarzan with measured steps, his presence a blend of familiarity and
apprehension.
"Alden," the Baron's voice reverberates through the dream, "you once held
sway over this one's training. Now, bear witness to his evolution. He is no
longer the defiant warrior you once knew."
Alden studies Tarzan, his gaze discerning and probing. He recognizes the
subtle shifts in posture, the nuances of submission that now define
Tarzan's demeanor. It is a revelation, a transformation that Alden cannot
deny.
Tarzan, conscious of Alden's scrutiny, kneels before him, a gesture of
deference that speaks volumes. He acknowledges the role Alden has played in
his life, embracing his newfound purpose as a devoted servant.
As the dream tableau solidifies, Tarzan, flanked by the Baron, Kessler, and
Alden, stands at the nexus of past and present. He embodies the Baron's
vision of submission, a living testament to the power of the dream realm.
As Alden steps further into the dream, the atmosphere crackles with tension
and anticipation. He is keenly aware of the transformation that has
befallen Tarzan, the once-proud jungle king now a submissive figure at the
Baron's command. This spectacle is a revelation, a narrative that Alden, as
a chronicler of both truth and fantasy, cannot ignore.
His discerning gaze sweeps over Tarzan, taking in the nuances of his
submission--the lowered eyes, the deferential posture. It is a sight that
both intrigues and challenges Alden, for he is no stranger to the
complexities of power dynamics.
"Tarzan," Alden addresses him, his voice carrying a blend of familiarity
and inquiry, "you have undergone quite the metamorphosis. The jungle's
mighty protector now bows before another. A compelling story, indeed."
Tarzan's response is measured, his words chosen with care.
"The Baron is my Master, and I am here to serve."
The Baron, observing this exchange, recognizes the potential in Alden's
presence. Here is a figure who wields the power of words, a man whose
narratives shape perceptions. The Baron steps forward, a silent command for
Alden to witness the depths of Tarzan's submission.
"Alden," the Baron's voice resonates, "you have the power to immortalize
this transformation in ink. To tell a story that will echo through the
ages. But first, you must understand the magnitude of what has transpired."
With a gesture, the Baron invites Alden to stand beside him, offering him a
view of Tarzan from a vantage point of authority. It is a calculated move,
one that acknowledges Alden's influence and seeks to align it with the
Baron's narrative.
Alden, ever perceptive, seizes the opportunity. He envisions the headlines,
the ink-stained pages that will bear witness to Tarzan's evolution. The
story writes itself--a legendary hero brought to his knees in deference to
the power of the dominant will.
Yet, as the dream unfurls, Alden finds himself drawn into a more personal
fantasy. He envisions a narrative of submission and desire, a tale where
he, too, succumbs to the allure of power play. It is a revelation, a
revelation that stirs something within him, a recognition of the
complexities that define human nature.
In this dream, the Baron benefits from Alden's presence in myriad ways. He
gains an ally in shaping the narrative, a wordsmith whose pen can
immortalize Tarzan's transformation. He also recognizes the potential for a
new dynamic, one that transcends the boundaries of dominance and
submission.
As the dream continues its dance of power and submission, Alden, Tarzan,
and the Baron stand at the crossroads of fantasy and reality. Each figure
embodies a facet of human nature, a reflection of the intricate interplay
between authority and surrender.
* * * * *
The Baron's presence looms large over the dream, his aura of dominance
palpable. As he steps forward, a wicked glint in his eyes, the atmosphere
crackles with anticipation. He raises his hand, and suddenly, Tarzan is
swept into a whirlwind of motion.
Tarzan's limbs move with a frenetic energy, each step and sway orchestrated
by the Baron's will. It is a dance of submission, a testament to the power
that the Baron wields over him. Every movement is executed with precision,
a reflection of Tarzan's complete surrender.
The dance, a fervent display of Tarzan's obedience, unfolds before the
Baron's delighted gaze. It is a sight to behold, a testament to the
malleability of even the mightiest spirits. Tarzan, once the untamed jungle
king, is now a figure entranced by the Baron's command.
Then, with a calculated shift, the Baron redirects Tarzan's focus. His gaze
now fixates on Alden, who watches with a mixture of awe and desire. The
dance takes on a new intensity, a seductive fervor that leaves no room for
doubt--Tarzan is wholly consumed by his submission.
Alden, swept up in the spectacle, can hardly contain the fire that courses
through him. He is no stranger to the dance of power, but this... this is
something altogether different. Tarzan's movements are a symphony of
desire, a siren's call that beckons Alden into uncharted territory.
Tarzan, guided by the Baron's will, approaches Alden with a sensuality that
borders on the sublime. His movements are a declaration of his inferiority,
a recognition of Alden's authority. It is a dance of surrender, the
intricate dance of dominance and submission.
As the dream unfurls, Tarzan's transformation is laid bare for all to
see. Here, in the realm of dreams, the boundaries blur, and the dynamics
shift. The Baron, Alden, and Tarzan stand at the nexus of desire and
control, each figure a reflection of the complexities that define human
interaction.
In this dream, the Baron revels in the power he wields, the knowledge that
even the mightiest can be brought to their knees. Alden, swept up in the
tempest of sensation, grapples with his own desires, a recognition of the
allure that submission holds. And Tarzan, the epicenter of this dance,
embodies the transformation that is reshaping his very essence.
* * * * *
In the depths of his own fantasies, Alden envisions a dreamworld where he
is the master, a figure of undeniable authority and desire. The setting is
opulent, draped in silks and bathed in a soft, golden light. His presence
commands attention, his every gesture laden with power.
Enter Tarzan, a vision of submission, clad in a loincloth that barely
conceals his allure. He moves with a graceful sensuality, his eyes fixed on
Alden with a mixture of reverence and longing. The dance that unfolds is a
symphony of desire, each movement calculated to elicit a response from his
master.
Alden, in this dreamworld of his own making, embraces the role of dominance
with an intoxicating fervor. He commands Tarzan's movements, dictating the
tempo of the dance with a flick of his wrist. The air crackles with
tension, a palpable current that courses between them.
As the dance reaches its crescendo, Alden steps forward, his fingers
grazing Tarzan's skin. The touch is electric, sending shivers down both
their spines. Tarzan yields, surrendering to Alden's every whim, his body a
canvas upon which Alden paints his desires.
In this fantasy, Alden revels in the heady cocktail of power and
seduction. He guides Tarzan with a sure hand, reveling in the knowledge
that he alone holds the reins. The boundaries blur, and they exist in a
liminal space, a dance of dominance and submission that defies definition.
As the dream unfurls, Alden loses himself in the intoxicating
fantasy. Tarzan becomes a vessel for his desires, a willing participant in
the intricate play of power. Their connection is primal, a fusion of need
and satisfaction that transcends the boundaries of reality.
And as the dream reaches its climax, Alden is left breathless, aching with
a desire that can only be sated in this ethereal realm. The echoes of their
dance linger with the potency of their connection.
In this dreamworld, Alden experiences a transformation of his own. He
embraces his desires, explores the intricacies of dominance, and revels in
the allure of submission. It is a fantasy that leaves an indelible mark, a
reminder that in the realm of dreams, anything is possible.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER SIXTY-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-32 | Date: Fri, 16 Feb 2024 03:11:08 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 32 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 32: Shadows of the Jungle -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Baron von Richter crouched in the thick underbrush, eyes fixed on the clearing where Tarzan and Mr. Blackwood stood. The air was thick with tension and secrets, and Richter relished every moment. He watched intently as Tarzan confessed, his voice barely more than a desperate plea. "Is Baron tarzan most much fear," Tarzan admitted, his eyes downcast, his powerful form knelt before Mr. Blackwood. "Baron much cruel, much merciless." Von Richter's heart swelled with malicious delight. To have one's enemy admit such weakness--what sweet victory it was! He suppressed a chuckle, lest the sound betray him to the two figures in the clearing. As Mr. Blackwood's freshly polished boot pressed down on Tarzan's chest, the Baron couldn't help but grin. The once-mighty Tarzan, king of the jungle, reduced to a mere plaything at the whims of his captors. It was a sight to behold. Von Richter marveled at the transformation that had taken place in the jungle's former ruler. The man who had once stood tall and defiant now knelt in submission. It was a testament to the power that their unique partnership held over Tarzan. As Mr. Blackwood dismissed his slave with a casual flick of his foot, von Richter held back a snort of laughter. How far the mighty had fallen. The Alpha Ascension, now mere days away, promised to be a grand spectacle indeed. In the days that followed, Richter's anticipation grew. He knew that the event would be the culmination of their carefully laid plans. Tarzan's true nature would be revealed for all to see, and Richter would revel in the humiliation of his old foe. The jungle seemed to hum with a newfound energy, as if it sensed the impending climax of this long-standing rivalry. Von Richter, hidden in the shadows, watched as preparations for the Alpha Ascension went into full swing. Every passing moment brought them closer to the night that would change everything. The Baron could hardly contain his excitement. He knew that, when the time came, he would have a front-row seat to Tarzan's ultimate downfall. As the event drew closer, von Richter's heart raced with anticipation. He could almost taste the victory that was so tantalizingly close. The Baron was poised to savor every moment of The Alpha Ascension, a malevolent grin playing on his lips. He knew that, before long, Tarzan would be forced to confront the truth of his own nature. And Baron von Richter would be there to witness it all, relishing in the sweet taste of victory as he brought his old enemy to his knees. The jungle held its breath, waiting for the revelation that would change everything. von Richter, hidden in the shadows, watched with bated breath, eager to witness the fall of Tarzan. * * * * * The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the estate as Mr. Blackwood and Alden met in the dimming light. Each carried with them the weight of their encounters with tarzan and Baron von Richter, eager to share their discoveries. "Good evening, Alden," Mr. Blackwood greeted, his voice tinged with a hint of excitement. "Good evening, Mr. Blackwood," Alden replied, equally eager. "I trust you have some intriguing developments to share." Mr. Blackwood gestured for Alden to take a seat on one of the ornate chairs that adorned the terrace. As they settled in, he began to recount his encounter with tarzan. "Tarzan is a complex creature," Mr. Blackwood began, his gaze distant as he recalled the moment. "He bears the weight of his past with a mixture of regret and submission. I pressed him, pushed him to reveal his true fears and adversaries. It seems Baron von Richter is the figure that haunts his dreams the most." Alden leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Baron von Richter, you say? A fascinating revelation. I had my own encounter with him, though he presented himself in cognito as a Master keen on dominating tarzan during the Alpha Ascension. He is a formidable figure, indeed." Mr. Blackwood's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "It seems von Richter has his own agenda, one that aligns with our upcoming event. We must proceed with caution, Alden. There is more to this than meets the eye." Alden nodded, absorbing the gravity of the situation. "Agreed. We must be vigilant. The Alpha Ascension draws nearer, and with it, the potential for unforeseen challenges." They sat in contemplative silence for a moment before Alden spoke again. "In light of these revelations, Mr. Blackwood, do you believe there are further stories we should put forth? Additional details that may heighten interest or reveal more about tarzan's true nature?" Mr. Blackwood considered the question carefully. "Yes, Alden. We should continue to stoke the flames of curiosity. Share tales of tarzan's past encounters, perhaps. Paint a vivid picture of his trials and tribulations. It will only serve to draw more eyes to our event." Alden nodded, already formulating the stories in his mind. "And what of Baron von Richter? Do we include him in our narrative, or keep him shrouded in mystery?" Mr. Blackwood leaned back, his gaze fixed on the darkening sky. "For now, let him remain enigmatic. It adds an element of intrigue, a touch of danger. Our readers will be captivated by the unknown." As the night settled around them, the two men continued to plot and plan, their minds alight with the potential of the Alpha Ascension. Each revelation, each encounter, only fueled their determination to create an event that would leave an indelible mark on the jungle, and solidify their dominance over tarzan. * * * * * Alden's next story created such a stir that The Outpost sold out for the first time in its history. Readers couldn't get enough of the tantalizing talk of an upcoming extravaganza featuring the fall of mighty tarzan. Here is his story: Jungle Secrets Unveiled: Tarzan's Past Encounters and Hidden Fears By Jonathan Alden, Outpost Gossip Columnist Ladies and gentlemen, the excitement surrounding the upcoming Alpha Ascension event has reached a fever pitch, and the jungle's most enigmatic figure, Tarzan, continues to captivate our imagination. In the lead-up to this momentous occasion, I've embarked on a journey to uncover the secrets of Tarzan's past, revealing the adversaries and fears that have shaped him into the man we know today. Tarzan's Past Encounters Tarzan's life in the jungle has been nothing short of remarkable. The jungle is teeming with life, but it also harbors its fair share of challenges. Throughout his wild adventures, Tarzan has faced adversaries from both the animal and human worlds. One of the most notable encounters was with the cunning Captain Reynolds, who sought to exploit Tarzan's strength for his own gain. Then there was the relentless Colonel Harris, determined to capture Tarzan and bring him to civilization. Professor Lawrence, Doctor Smithers--these names may be familiar to some, but their encounters with Tarzan are shrouded in mystery. Baron von Richter: A Figure of Intrigue Intriguingly, our investigations have also uncovered a shadowy figure: Baron von Richter. This enigmatic presence has a history with Tarzan that is as complex as it is mysterious. Our sources reveal that Baron von Richter has surfaced recently, seemingly with a keen interest in our jungle hero. The Baron's motives remain cloaked in secrecy, but his presence adds a layer of intrigue to the upcoming Alpha Ascension event. Could he be the key to unlocking Tarzan's deepest secrets? Only time will tell. Tarzan's Hidden Fears As we delve deeper into Tarzan's psyche, we find that even the mighty have their vulnerabilities. Tarzan's encounters in the jungle have left an indelible mark on him, shaping his character in profound ways. More than the ferocious creatures of the jungle, what he truly fears is the relentless pursuit of those superior men who would seek to control him. But, dear readers, there is more to Tarzan's fears than meets the eye. Stay tuned as we explore the darkest corners of Tarzan's psyche in the lead-up to the Alpha Ascension. The Alpha Ascension Approaches With each passing day, the excitement surrounding the Alpha Ascension event grows. The revelation of Tarzan's past adversaries and hidden fears has piqued the curiosity of jungle dwellers far and wide. The mysteries that shroud our hero and the enigmatic Baron von Richter only add to the anticipation. As we prepare for this groundbreaking event, let us remember that the jungle is a place of surprises, and Tarzan is a man of many facets. Join us as we embark on this thrilling journey into the heart of the jungle, where the Alpha Ascension promises to be an event like no other. In the coming weeks, we will continue to uncover the untold stories and hidden truths that lie beneath the surface of this extraordinary jungle hero. Stay tuned, dear readers, for there is much more to discover before the final curtain falls on the Alpha Ascension. Disclaimer: The details presented in this column are based on investigations and sources available at the time of writing. The full truth may be even more captivating than the glimpses we have provided. As the jungle's most anticipated event draws nearer, the intrigue surrounding Tarzan and Baron von Richter deepens. With every revelation, the legend of Tarzan becomes more complex, and the allure of the Alpha Ascension grows stronger. The jungle is abuzz with anticipation, and there's no telling what secrets will be unveiled on that fateful night. Stay tuned, dear readers, for the drama continues to unfold. * * * * * Dreams of Submission Tarzan lay on the coarse bed of straw, his body aching from the day's labor in the fields. Exhaustion threatened to pull him under, but he resisted, fearing the dreams that awaited him. His mind was a battleground, torn between the demands of reality and the allure of the dream world. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the jungle, Tarzan's eyelids grew heavy. He fought to stay awake, but the relentless pull of slumber was too strong. Slowly, he succumbed, slipping into a fitful doze. The dream came swiftly, engulfing him in a world of shadows and memories. He stood in a darkened chamber, surrounded by figures shrouded in mystery. The air was heavy with tension, and Tarzan's heart pounded in his chest. Before him, a cruel master loomed, face obscured in the darkness. The figure exuded an aura of power and dominance, sending shivers down Tarzan's spine. This was no ordinary dream; it was a confrontation with his deepest fears and desires. "Kneel," the master commanded, voice like thunder in the confined space. Tarzan's limbs moved of their own accord, sinking to the cold stone floor. The weight of submission pressed down on him, both terrifying and exhilarating. The master's gaze bore into Tarzan, piercing through the layers of his psyche. It was a look of possession, of claiming what was rightfully his. Tarzan trembled, torn between resistance and surrender. In the dream, the master's touch was a brand, searing Tarzan's skin with its intensity. Every caress, every command, sent shockwaves through his body. He was a puppet in the hands of a merciless puppeteer, dancing to the master's cruel whims. As the dream unfolded, Tarzan's senses were inundated with a heady mixture of pleasure and pain. The line between reality and illusion blurred, leaving him gasping for breath in the oppressive atmosphere. In the waking world, Tarzan's body twitched and contorted, mirroring the actions of his dream self. Sweat coated his skin, mingling with the dirt and grime of the day's labor. He was a slave to his own subconscious, unable to break free. The dream world held him captive, weaving a tapestry of submission and dominance. Tarzan's mind was a battlefield, torn between the instincts of the jungle and the demands of his new reality. He struggled to reconcile the two, to find a semblance of balance. As the dream neared its climax, Tarzan's heart raced in his chest. He was teetering on the precipice, on the cusp of a revelation that could change everything. The master's voice echoed in his ears, a haunting refrain that threatened to consume him. With a jolt, Tarzan awoke, gasping for breath. His heart pounded in his chest, and his body was drenched in sweat. The dream had released its hold, leaving him shaken and disoriented. He lay in the dim light of the small chamber, trying to make sense of what had transpired. The remnants of the dream clung to him, a lingering specter of submission and power. Tarzan knew that he could no longer deny the truths that his dreams revealed. As the first light of dawn crept through the cracks in the walls, Tarzan rose, a newfound determination burning in his eyes. He would face the Alpha Ascension with the knowledge that he was not defined solely by his past, but by the choices he made in the present. The dream world may hold its secrets, but Tarzan was determined to uncover the truth of his own nature. With each passing day, he would forge his own path, a path that led him closer to the man he was meant to be. And as the Alpha Ascension drew nearer, Tarzan would stand ready to face whatever challenges awaited him, both in the waking world and in the depths of his dreams. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Fri, 16 Feb 2024 03:11:08 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 32
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 32: Shadows of the Jungle --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Baron von Richter crouched in the thick underbrush, eyes fixed on the
clearing where Tarzan and Mr. Blackwood stood. The air was thick with
tension and secrets, and Richter relished every moment.
He watched intently as Tarzan confessed, his voice barely more than a
desperate plea.
"Is Baron tarzan most much fear," Tarzan admitted, his eyes downcast, his
powerful form knelt before Mr. Blackwood. "Baron much cruel, much
merciless."
Von Richter's heart swelled with malicious delight. To have one's enemy
admit such weakness--what sweet victory it was! He suppressed a chuckle,
lest the sound betray him to the two figures in the clearing.
As Mr. Blackwood's freshly polished boot pressed down on Tarzan's chest,
the Baron couldn't help but grin. The once-mighty Tarzan, king of the
jungle, reduced to a mere plaything at the whims of his captors. It was a
sight to behold.
Von Richter marveled at the transformation that had taken place in the
jungle's former ruler. The man who had once stood tall and defiant now
knelt in submission. It was a testament to the power that their unique
partnership held over Tarzan.
As Mr. Blackwood dismissed his slave with a casual flick of his foot, von
Richter held back a snort of laughter. How far the mighty had fallen. The
Alpha Ascension, now mere days away, promised to be a grand spectacle
indeed.
In the days that followed, Richter's anticipation grew. He knew that the
event would be the culmination of their carefully laid plans. Tarzan's true
nature would be revealed for all to see, and Richter would revel in the
humiliation of his old foe.
The jungle seemed to hum with a newfound energy, as if it sensed the
impending climax of this long-standing rivalry. Von Richter, hidden in the
shadows, watched as preparations for the Alpha Ascension went into full
swing.
Every passing moment brought them closer to the night that would change
everything. The Baron could hardly contain his excitement. He knew that,
when the time came, he would have a front-row seat to Tarzan's ultimate
downfall.
As the event drew closer, von Richter's heart raced with anticipation. He
could almost taste the victory that was so tantalizingly close. The Baron
was poised to savor every moment of The Alpha Ascension, a malevolent grin
playing on his lips. He knew that, before long, Tarzan would be forced to
confront the truth of his own nature. And Baron von Richter would be there
to witness it all, relishing in the sweet taste of victory as he brought
his old enemy to his knees.
The jungle held its breath, waiting for the revelation that would change
everything. von Richter, hidden in the shadows, watched with bated breath,
eager to witness the fall of Tarzan.
* * * * * The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across
the estate as Mr. Blackwood and Alden met in the dimming light. Each
carried with them the weight of their encounters with tarzan and Baron von
Richter, eager to share their discoveries.
"Good evening, Alden," Mr. Blackwood greeted, his voice tinged with a hint
of excitement.
"Good evening, Mr. Blackwood," Alden replied, equally eager. "I trust you
have some intriguing developments to share."
Mr. Blackwood gestured for Alden to take a seat on one of the ornate chairs
that adorned the terrace. As they settled in, he began to recount his
encounter with tarzan.
"Tarzan is a complex creature," Mr. Blackwood began, his gaze distant as he
recalled the moment. "He bears the weight of his past with a mixture of
regret and submission. I pressed him, pushed him to reveal his true fears
and adversaries. It seems Baron von Richter is the figure that haunts his
dreams the most."
Alden leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"Baron von Richter, you say? A fascinating revelation. I had my own
encounter with him, though he presented himself in cognito as a Master keen
on dominating tarzan during the Alpha Ascension. He is a formidable figure,
indeed."
Mr. Blackwood's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"It seems von Richter has his own agenda, one that aligns with our upcoming
event. We must proceed with caution, Alden. There is more to this than
meets the eye."
Alden nodded, absorbing the gravity of the situation.
"Agreed. We must be vigilant. The Alpha Ascension draws nearer, and with
it, the potential for unforeseen challenges."
They sat in contemplative silence for a moment before Alden spoke again.
"In light of these revelations, Mr. Blackwood, do you believe there are
further stories we should put forth? Additional details that may heighten
interest or reveal more about tarzan's true nature?"
Mr. Blackwood considered the question carefully.
"Yes, Alden. We should continue to stoke the flames of curiosity. Share
tales of tarzan's past encounters, perhaps. Paint a vivid picture of his
trials and tribulations. It will only serve to draw more eyes to our
event."
Alden nodded, already formulating the stories in his mind.
"And what of Baron von Richter? Do we include him in our narrative, or keep
him shrouded in mystery?" Mr. Blackwood leaned back, his gaze fixed on the
darkening sky.
"For now, let him remain enigmatic. It adds an element of intrigue, a touch
of danger. Our readers will be captivated by the unknown."
As the night settled around them, the two men continued to plot and plan,
their minds alight with the potential of the Alpha Ascension. Each
revelation, each encounter, only fueled their determination to create an
event that would leave an indelible mark on the jungle, and solidify their
dominance over tarzan.
* * * * *
Alden's next story created such a stir that The Outpost sold out for the
first time in its history. Readers couldn't get enough of the tantalizing
talk of an upcoming extravaganza featuring the fall of mighty tarzan.
Here is his story:
Jungle Secrets Unveiled: Tarzan's Past Encounters and Hidden Fears By
Jonathan Alden, Outpost Gossip Columnist
Ladies and gentlemen, the excitement surrounding the upcoming Alpha
Ascension event has reached a fever pitch, and the jungle's most enigmatic
figure, Tarzan, continues to captivate our imagination. In the lead-up to
this momentous occasion, I've embarked on a journey to uncover the secrets
of Tarzan's past, revealing the adversaries and fears that have shaped him
into the man we know today.
Tarzan's Past Encounters
Tarzan's life in the jungle has been nothing short of remarkable. The
jungle is teeming with life, but it also harbors its fair share of
challenges. Throughout his wild adventures, Tarzan has faced adversaries
from both the animal and human worlds.
One of the most notable encounters was with the cunning Captain Reynolds,
who sought to exploit Tarzan's strength for his own gain. Then there was
the relentless Colonel Harris, determined to capture Tarzan and bring him
to civilization. Professor Lawrence, Doctor Smithers--these names may be
familiar to some, but their encounters with Tarzan are shrouded in mystery.
Baron von Richter: A Figure of Intrigue
Intriguingly, our investigations have also uncovered a shadowy figure:
Baron von Richter. This enigmatic presence has a history with Tarzan that
is as complex as it is mysterious. Our sources reveal that Baron von
Richter has surfaced recently, seemingly with a keen interest in our jungle
hero.
The Baron's motives remain cloaked in secrecy, but his presence adds a
layer of intrigue to the upcoming Alpha Ascension event. Could he be the
key to unlocking Tarzan's deepest secrets? Only time will tell.
Tarzan's Hidden Fears
As we delve deeper into Tarzan's psyche, we find that even the mighty have
their vulnerabilities. Tarzan's encounters in the jungle have left an
indelible mark on him, shaping his character in profound ways. More than
the ferocious creatures of the jungle, what he truly fears is the
relentless pursuit of those superior men who would seek to control him.
But, dear readers, there is more to Tarzan's fears than meets the eye. Stay
tuned as we explore the darkest corners of Tarzan's psyche in the lead-up
to the Alpha Ascension.
The Alpha Ascension Approaches With each passing day, the excitement
surrounding the Alpha Ascension event grows. The revelation of Tarzan's
past adversaries and hidden fears has piqued the curiosity of jungle
dwellers far and wide. The mysteries that shroud our hero and the enigmatic
Baron von Richter only add to the anticipation.
As we prepare for this groundbreaking event, let us remember that the
jungle is a place of surprises, and Tarzan is a man of many facets. Join us
as we embark on this thrilling journey into the heart of the jungle, where
the Alpha Ascension promises to be an event like no other.
In the coming weeks, we will continue to uncover the untold stories and
hidden truths that lie beneath the surface of this extraordinary jungle
hero. Stay tuned, dear readers, for there is much more to discover before
the final curtain falls on the Alpha Ascension.
Disclaimer: The details presented in this column are based on
investigations and sources available at the time of writing. The full truth
may be even more captivating than the glimpses we have provided.
As the jungle's most anticipated event draws nearer, the intrigue
surrounding Tarzan and Baron von Richter deepens. With every revelation,
the legend of Tarzan becomes more complex, and the allure of the Alpha
Ascension grows stronger. The jungle is abuzz with anticipation, and
there's no telling what secrets will be unveiled on that fateful
night. Stay tuned, dear readers, for the drama continues to unfold.
* * * * *
Dreams of Submission
Tarzan lay on the coarse bed of straw, his body aching from the day's labor
in the fields. Exhaustion threatened to pull him under, but he resisted,
fearing the dreams that awaited him. His mind was a battleground, torn
between the demands of reality and the allure of the dream world.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the
jungle, Tarzan's eyelids grew heavy. He fought to stay awake, but the
relentless pull of slumber was too strong. Slowly, he succumbed, slipping
into a fitful doze.
The dream came swiftly, engulfing him in a world of shadows and
memories. He stood in a darkened chamber, surrounded by figures shrouded in
mystery. The air was heavy with tension, and Tarzan's heart pounded in his
chest.
Before him, a cruel master loomed, face obscured in the darkness. The
figure exuded an aura of power and dominance, sending shivers down Tarzan's
spine. This was no ordinary dream; it was a confrontation with his deepest
fears and desires.
"Kneel," the master commanded, voice like thunder in the confined
space. Tarzan's limbs moved of their own accord, sinking to the cold stone
floor. The weight of submission pressed down on him, both terrifying and
exhilarating.
The master's gaze bore into Tarzan, piercing through the layers of his
psyche. It was a look of possession, of claiming what was rightfully
his. Tarzan trembled, torn between resistance and surrender.
In the dream, the master's touch was a brand, searing Tarzan's skin with
its intensity. Every caress, every command, sent shockwaves through his
body. He was a puppet in the hands of a merciless puppeteer, dancing to the
master's cruel whims.
As the dream unfolded, Tarzan's senses were inundated with a heady mixture
of pleasure and pain. The line between reality and illusion blurred,
leaving him gasping for breath in the oppressive atmosphere.
In the waking world, Tarzan's body twitched and contorted, mirroring the
actions of his dream self. Sweat coated his skin, mingling with the dirt
and grime of the day's labor. He was a slave to his own subconscious,
unable to break free.
The dream world held him captive, weaving a tapestry of submission and
dominance. Tarzan's mind was a battlefield, torn between the instincts of
the jungle and the demands of his new reality. He struggled to reconcile
the two, to find a semblance of balance.
As the dream neared its climax, Tarzan's heart raced in his chest. He was
teetering on the precipice, on the cusp of a revelation that could change
everything. The master's voice echoed in his ears, a haunting refrain that
threatened to consume him.
With a jolt, Tarzan awoke, gasping for breath. His heart pounded in his
chest, and his body was drenched in sweat. The dream had released its hold,
leaving him shaken and disoriented.
He lay in the dim light of the small chamber, trying to make sense of what
had transpired. The remnants of the dream clung to him, a lingering specter
of submission and power. Tarzan knew that he could no longer deny the
truths that his dreams revealed.
As the first light of dawn crept through the cracks in the walls, Tarzan
rose, a newfound determination burning in his eyes. He would face the Alpha
Ascension with the knowledge that he was not defined solely by his past,
but by the choices he made in the present.
The dream world may hold its secrets, but Tarzan was determined to uncover
the truth of his own nature. With each passing day, he would forge his own
path, a path that led him closer to the man he was meant to be. And as the
Alpha Ascension drew nearer, Tarzan would stand ready to face whatever
challenges awaited him, both in the waking world and in the depths of his
dreams.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-16 | Date: Wed, 6 Dec 2023 17:05:48 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 16
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
(Note: I've previously mistakenly used the name "Hastings" for the
character "Harrington." These are one and the same person. Sorry for any
confusion.)
Chapter 16: Tarzan of the Fields --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
Chapter 16 -- Tarzan of the Fields
The carriage trundled along the uneven path with tarzan briskly trotting
along behind it, harnessed securely to his new Master's fine carriage.
Each step taken by the tethered tarzan running behind Lord Harrington like
a captured beast marked the transition from his jungle home to a new
domain.
Tarzan's keen gaze swept across the horizon as the estate unfurled before
him. Fields stretched out like a patchwork quilt, each segment a tapestry
of green and brown under the sun's gentle caress. The rhythmic dance of the
crops swaying in the breeze drew his attention, a mesmerizing sight he'd
never witnessed in his jungle home.
The mines, looming in the distance, stood as stoic sentinels against the
backdrop of the estate. Men, mere specks in the vastness of the pits,
toiled diligently, their movements purposeful and measured. Tarzan could
sense the weight of their labor, the earth yielding its treasures through
the sweat of their brows.
As the carriage neared the heart of the estate, Tarzan caught glimpses of
the workers in the fields. Their forms, bent in toil, were a stark contrast
to the powerful figures he was accustomed to encountering in the
jungle. Yet, there was a rawness to their labor that resonated with him, a
primal connection to the earth that transcended language or culture.
He noted the overseer, Hargrove, a figure of authority with a commanding
presence. Hargrove's vigilant gaze surveyed the laborers, his posture
radiating authority and expectation, and his whip speaking volumes when a
slave needed encouragement.
The estate, though alien to Tarzan's jungle sensibilities, held an
undeniable energy--a pulsating rhythm of labor and determination. It was a
new world, a world of toil and industry, where sweat mingled with the scent
of earth and determination thrived amidst the challenges of the land.
Tarzan took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the fields and the
metallic tang of the mines. His muscles tensed with anticipation, ready to
embrace the challenges that awaited him in this new realm.
* * * * *
In the heart of Lord Harrington' vast estate stood Hargrove, the overseer
whose authority was unquestioned, a man known for his unyielding demeanor
and the crack of his whip that echoed through the fields.
Lord Harrington, tall and distinguished, led Tarzan through the plantation
grounds, the air heavy with the scent of earth and the sounds of toil. His
estate sprawled across the landscape, the fields stretching endlessly under
the golden sun.
Tarzan, a figure of immense strength and primal grace, stood tall beside
Lord Harrington. His powerful physique was evident in every sinew and
muscle that rippled beneath his sun-kissed skin. His bearing was one of
quiet confidence, indicative of a life lived in harmony with the jungle.
As they approached Hargrove, the overseer's stern countenance surveyed the
new arrival. Hargrove was a man of middle age, his face weathered by the
sun and his eyes sharp, commanding authority with every glance. His whip
hung at his side, a silent symbol of his dominance.
"Ah, Hargrove," Lord Harrington called out, gesturing toward Tarzan. "This
is Tarzan, the newest addition to our workforce. He'll be joining us in our
daily toils."
Hargrove's gaze shifted to Tarzan, assessing him from head to toe with an
unspoken skepticism. He stepped forward, a hint of a grimace on his lips.
"Welcome to the estate, slave. Let's hope your strength matches your
reputation," he remarked, his voice carrying the weight of expectation.
Tarzan met Hargrove's greeting with a stoic and determined expression. He
offered no words, his silence showing the confidence he held in his own
abilities.
Lord Harrington, observing the exchange, spoke in a tone that conveyed both
authority and encouragement. "Hargrove will show you the ropes,
Tarzan. Follow his lead, and all will go well."
With that, Hargrove turned to lead Tarzan into the fields, his stride
purposeful and his expectations clear. Tarzan followed, prepared to embrace
the challenges that lay ahead under Hargrove's watchful eye and the crack
of his whip.
* * * * *
Tarzan stood in the midst of the vast plantation, the heavy wooden plow
held firmly in his powerful hands. The sun beat down, casting a golden hue
across the expanse of the fields, as he prepared to embark on his day of
labor.
Under the watchful gaze of Hargrove, the overseer, Tarzan's first day of
labor commenced on Lord Harrington' sprawling estate. The morning sun,
casting golden hues across the fields, marked the beginning of his journey
as a laborer.
With a nod from Hargrove, Tarzan moved toward the designated section of the
fields, observing the seasoned workers to understand the rhythm of their
tasks. The laborers, some toiling with plows, others tending to crops,
greeted him with nods and curious glances.
Hargrove's voice boomed over the vast expanse as he instructed Tarzan on
the techniques of plowing the fields, explaining the intricacies of the
tools and the manner in which the work was expected to be done. His
instructions, direct and unwavering, aimed at ensuring efficiency and
precision in the labor.
Tarzan listened intently, his keen observation complemented by the strength
inherent in his massive physique. As he positioned himself behind the plow,
the weight of the tool felt unfamiliar in his hands, yet his determination
to learn and adapt remained unwavering.
With a steadfast resolve, Tarzan pushed the plow forward, following the
straight furrows Hargrove had shown him. The soil gave way beneath the
blade, as Tarzan's muscles flexed with each rhythmic movement, his
determination unyielding despite the novelty of the task.
With his mighty muscles rippling beneath his tanned skin, Tarzan drove the
plow deep into the earth. He exerted an incredible amount of strength,
pulling the plow forward, breaking the ground and turning the soil. Each
step was a display of his raw power, as the earth yielded to his
determination.
The soil churned and parted under the force of his efforts, creating neat
furrows in the land. Beads of sweat trickled down Tarzan's brow, revealing
the toil of his labor. His breaths came steady and measured, a testament to
his endurance.
The overseer, Hargrove, observed from nearby, keeping a stern eye on
Tarzan's progress. He unleashed his whip across tarzan's back to bring the
new slave up to pace.
"Steady now, Tarzan! Keep the rhythm!" he called out, his voice carrying
over the fields. He wielded a watchful eye, ensuring Tarzan's pace was in
line with expectations.
Tarzan's grunts echoed across the plantation as he continued his herculean
task, his determination unyielding. The plow cut through the earth with
each relentless tug, leaving a trail of overturned soil in its wake.
Despite the challenging nature of the work, Tarzan remained unfazed. His
connection to the land and his inherent strength allowed him to endure, his
commitment unwavering.
As the hours passed, Tarzan pressed on, his back glistening with
perspiration under the sweltering sun. Each movement of the plow was a
declaration of his resilience and unwavering resolve in the face of his
newfound role on Lord Harrington' estate.
The day unfolded with Tarzan acclimating to the physical demands of the
labor. Under Hargrove's guidance, his efforts became more fluid, his
strides more confident, and his understanding of the task deepened.
* * * * *
As the day wore on, Tarzan began to grasp the intricate dance between man
and earth. The plow became an extension of his sinew and strength, the
rhythm of the fields a melody he was beginning to understand.
Despite the physical demands, Tarzan's determination remained
unshaken. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow under the afternoon sun as
he maintained a steady pace, his relentless determination and endurance on
full display.
Hargrove's watchful eye remained fixed on Tarzan, offering generous
guidance with the crack of his whip up and down tarzan's toiling torso when
needed. The overseer's demeanor was firm, lashing out liberally as he urged
Tarzan to match the pace of the seasoned laborers.
The other workers observed the newcomer, their initial curiosity giving way
to nods of acknowledgment as they witnessed Tarzan's tireless efforts.
There was a sense of respect brewing among them, recognizing the raw
strength and dedication Tarzan brought to the toil of the fields.
Amidst the swaying crops and the symphony of labor, Tarzan felt a kinship
with the earth. The rhythm of the work, though arduous, brought a sense of
fulfillment that resonated deeply within him. Each step forward, each
furrow plowed, felt like a bridge between his jungle roots and this new
world of labor.
* * * * *
Under the watchful eye of the overseer, Hargrove, and amidst the grueling
labor, Tarzan encountered moments when exhaustion seemed inevitable. The
physical demands of the tasks weighed heavily on him, testing his
limits. But Tarzan, drawing from his inherent resilience and fortitude,
sought a way to surpass these barriers.
The crack of the whip echoed through the fields, a signal for the laborers
to keep pace and remain focused. Having tasted enough of the leather in the
early hours of his labors, the sound itself worked like a catalyst on
tarzan, triggering a deeper reserve of determination within him.
At moments when fatigue crept in, the bite of the whip awakened a
wellspring of strength from within. With each crack of the whip, instead of
feeling cowed or beaten down, Tarzan channeled the energy into a renewed
resolve. It spurred him on, awakening a deeper reserve of resilience that
he didn't know existed. It was a visceral reminder of the challenges he
faced and the need to push past his perceived limits.
Through sheer willpower and an unyielding determination, Tarzan harnessed
the crack of the whip as a call to summon his inner strength, surpassing
his own preconceived barriers and achieving feats he hadn't thought
possible.
Through tireless effort and a desire to learn, Tarzan embraced the toil of
the fields, showing an incredible ability to adapt and excel in his
tasks. The other laborers noticed his rapid progress, admiring his
determination and the raw power he brought to each chore.
* * * * *
Lord Harrington observed the sun dipping toward the horizon as he
approached Hargrove, who was finishing his reports near the edge of the
fields. The overseer's stern gaze softened slightly as Lord Harrington drew
closer.
"Good evening, Hargrove. How has the day fared with our newest addition?"
Lord Harrington inquired, his tone a blend of curiosity and expectation.
Hargrove straightened, his expression shifting from stern focus to a hint
of satisfaction.
"My Lord, Tarzan's proven to be a capable laborer, albeit a touch
unfamiliar with the tools of the field. But I reckon he'll catch on
swiftly."
Lord Harrington nodded, acknowledging the assessment.
"Excellent. He's a powerful man, and I trust he'll adjust quickly. Keep a
close eye on his progress."
"As you command, my Lord," Hargrove affirmed with a respectful nod, fully
understanding the expectations set before him.
"And how did he respond to your guidance?" Lord Harrington inquired
further, genuinely intrigued by Tarzan's reception.
"A bit rough around the edges, my Lord, but he's eager to learn. The whip,
it seems, is proving an effective teacher," Hargrove replied with a touch
of satisfaction, indicating the discipline that had nudged Tarzan's efforts
throughout the day.
Lord Harrington raised an eyebrow, considering the overseer's
observation. "Ah, so he's receptive to discipline?" Hargrove offered a
knowing nod.
"Indeed, my Lord. He's got the strength, just needs a bit of a nudge in the
right direction."
"Very well. Continue overseeing his progress closely, Hargrove. I expect
him to be a valuable asset to our estate," Lord Harrington concluded,
turning to leave as the sun dipped further below the horizon.
"As you wish, my Lord," Hargrove replied with a bow, already turning his
attention back to the remaining tasks of the day and smirking as he set his
sights on tarzan, gripping his whip with glee.
* * * * *
The sun hung low in the sky as Tarzan still labored in the fields, the
weight of the plow in his hands a stark contrast to the untamed power he
once wielded. The chains that bound him seemed to grow heavier with each
passing hour, their constant presence a cruel reminder of his captivity.
As the day wore on, the other workers on Lord Harrington's estate couldn't
help but be drawn to the spectacle before them. They watched in a mix of
awe and amusement, their voices carrying on the wind.
"Look at the brute strength on him," one remarked, his eyes wide with a
mixture of fear and fascination.
"Never seen anything like it. He's like a force of nature," another added,
his tone a mixture of admiration and trepidation.
Yet, not all who observed were kind. Some took a different delight in
Tarzan's plight, taunting him with cruel words and jibes, seeking to remind
him of his place.
"Thought he was some kind of king of the jungle. Look at him now, nothing
more than a beast of burden," one sneered, a cruel smirk playing on his
lips.
Through the merciless work and taunts, Tarzan's spirit remained unbroken,
his gaze fixed on the horizon, a silent resolve burning within him. He
learned to accept his role, finding a grim satisfaction in laboring for his
Master, his every action a testament to the indomitable force that still
pulsed through his veins.
* * * * *
The day began its transition into night as Tarzan navigated the duality of
his existence. His powerful form toiled under the sun, the weight of chains
a constant reminder of his servitude. But as twilight descended, he would
be transformed into a living legend, captivating the audience at
Mr. Blackwood's club.
Through it all, Tarzan's spirit remained unyielding, a beacon of resilience
in the face of an uncertain fate. The jungle watched, its ancient heart
beating in rhythm with the trials of its wayward son.
As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, signaling the end of the
day's toil, Tarzan found himself weary but content. At Hargrove's signal,
with muscles aching but spirits unbroken, Tarzan left the fields, feeling a
newfound sense of accomplishment. He had taken the first steps in his new
role, embracing the challenge of labor on Lord Harrington' estate.
As the day drew to a close, the sky painted in hues of fiery gold, Lord
Harrington approached, a leash in hand. He looked upon Tarzan with an air
of calculated satisfaction, recognizing the value of the force he now
commanded.
"Your day's work is done, Tarzan," Lord Harrington stated, his tone
measured. "But there is one more task that awaits you."
With that, he fastened the leash to Tarzan's collar, leading him away from
the fields, towards the looming presence of Mr. Blackwood's club. The night
held promises of even greater challenges, as Tarzan prepared to be the
centerpiece of a twisted spectacle for the entertainment of the club's
patrons.
The jungle watched in silence, its ancient heart heavy with the weight of
witnessing its guardian in chains. Tarzan's journey, now a harrowing
odyssey of servitude and spectacle, spoke to the resilience of the human
spirit, even in the face of the cruelest of trials.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER SIXTEEN-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
<pre>Date: Wed, 6 Dec 2023 17:05:48 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 16
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
(Note: I've previously mistakenly used the name "Hastings" for the
character "Harrington." These are one and the same person. Sorry for any
confusion.)
Chapter 16: Tarzan of the Fields --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
Chapter 16 -- Tarzan of the Fields
The carriage trundled along the uneven path with tarzan briskly trotting
along behind it, harnessed securely to his new Master's fine carriage.
Each step taken by the tethered tarzan running behind Lord Harrington like
a captured beast marked the transition from his jungle home to a new
domain.
Tarzan's keen gaze swept across the horizon as the estate unfurled before
him. Fields stretched out like a patchwork quilt, each segment a tapestry
of green and brown under the sun's gentle caress. The rhythmic dance of the
crops swaying in the breeze drew his attention, a mesmerizing sight he'd
never witnessed in his jungle home.
The mines, looming in the distance, stood as stoic sentinels against the
backdrop of the estate. Men, mere specks in the vastness of the pits,
toiled diligently, their movements purposeful and measured. Tarzan could
sense the weight of their labor, the earth yielding its treasures through
the sweat of their brows.
As the carriage neared the heart of the estate, Tarzan caught glimpses of
the workers in the fields. Their forms, bent in toil, were a stark contrast
to the powerful figures he was accustomed to encountering in the
jungle. Yet, there was a rawness to their labor that resonated with him, a
primal connection to the earth that transcended language or culture.
He noted the overseer, Hargrove, a figure of authority with a commanding
presence. Hargrove's vigilant gaze surveyed the laborers, his posture
radiating authority and expectation, and his whip speaking volumes when a
slave needed encouragement.
The estate, though alien to Tarzan's jungle sensibilities, held an
undeniable energy--a pulsating rhythm of labor and determination. It was a
new world, a world of toil and industry, where sweat mingled with the scent
of earth and determination thrived amidst the challenges of the land.
Tarzan took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the fields and the
metallic tang of the mines. His muscles tensed with anticipation, ready to
embrace the challenges that awaited him in this new realm.
* * * * *
In the heart of Lord Harrington' vast estate stood Hargrove, the overseer
whose authority was unquestioned, a man known for his unyielding demeanor
and the crack of his whip that echoed through the fields.
Lord Harrington, tall and distinguished, led Tarzan through the plantation
grounds, the air heavy with the scent of earth and the sounds of toil. His
estate sprawled across the landscape, the fields stretching endlessly under
the golden sun.
Tarzan, a figure of immense strength and primal grace, stood tall beside
Lord Harrington. His powerful physique was evident in every sinew and
muscle that rippled beneath his sun-kissed skin. His bearing was one of
quiet confidence, indicative of a life lived in harmony with the jungle.
As they approached Hargrove, the overseer's stern countenance surveyed the
new arrival. Hargrove was a man of middle age, his face weathered by the
sun and his eyes sharp, commanding authority with every glance. His whip
hung at his side, a silent symbol of his dominance.
"Ah, Hargrove," Lord Harrington called out, gesturing toward Tarzan. "This
is Tarzan, the newest addition to our workforce. He'll be joining us in our
daily toils."
Hargrove's gaze shifted to Tarzan, assessing him from head to toe with an
unspoken skepticism. He stepped forward, a hint of a grimace on his lips.
"Welcome to the estate, slave. Let's hope your strength matches your
reputation," he remarked, his voice carrying the weight of expectation.
Tarzan met Hargrove's greeting with a stoic and determined expression. He
offered no words, his silence showing the confidence he held in his own
abilities.
Lord Harrington, observing the exchange, spoke in a tone that conveyed both
authority and encouragement. "Hargrove will show you the ropes,
Tarzan. Follow his lead, and all will go well."
With that, Hargrove turned to lead Tarzan into the fields, his stride
purposeful and his expectations clear. Tarzan followed, prepared to embrace
the challenges that lay ahead under Hargrove's watchful eye and the crack
of his whip.
* * * * *
Tarzan stood in the midst of the vast plantation, the heavy wooden plow
held firmly in his powerful hands. The sun beat down, casting a golden hue
across the expanse of the fields, as he prepared to embark on his day of
labor.
Under the watchful gaze of Hargrove, the overseer, Tarzan's first day of
labor commenced on Lord Harrington' sprawling estate. The morning sun,
casting golden hues across the fields, marked the beginning of his journey
as a laborer.
With a nod from Hargrove, Tarzan moved toward the designated section of the
fields, observing the seasoned workers to understand the rhythm of their
tasks. The laborers, some toiling with plows, others tending to crops,
greeted him with nods and curious glances.
Hargrove's voice boomed over the vast expanse as he instructed Tarzan on
the techniques of plowing the fields, explaining the intricacies of the
tools and the manner in which the work was expected to be done. His
instructions, direct and unwavering, aimed at ensuring efficiency and
precision in the labor.
Tarzan listened intently, his keen observation complemented by the strength
inherent in his massive physique. As he positioned himself behind the plow,
the weight of the tool felt unfamiliar in his hands, yet his determination
to learn and adapt remained unwavering.
With a steadfast resolve, Tarzan pushed the plow forward, following the
straight furrows Hargrove had shown him. The soil gave way beneath the
blade, as Tarzan's muscles flexed with each rhythmic movement, his
determination unyielding despite the novelty of the task.
With his mighty muscles rippling beneath his tanned skin, Tarzan drove the
plow deep into the earth. He exerted an incredible amount of strength,
pulling the plow forward, breaking the ground and turning the soil. Each
step was a display of his raw power, as the earth yielded to his
determination.
The soil churned and parted under the force of his efforts, creating neat
furrows in the land. Beads of sweat trickled down Tarzan's brow, revealing
the toil of his labor. His breaths came steady and measured, a testament to
his endurance.
The overseer, Hargrove, observed from nearby, keeping a stern eye on
Tarzan's progress. He unleashed his whip across tarzan's back to bring the
new slave up to pace.
"Steady now, Tarzan! Keep the rhythm!" he called out, his voice carrying
over the fields. He wielded a watchful eye, ensuring Tarzan's pace was in
line with expectations.
Tarzan's grunts echoed across the plantation as he continued his herculean
task, his determination unyielding. The plow cut through the earth with
each relentless tug, leaving a trail of overturned soil in its wake.
Despite the challenging nature of the work, Tarzan remained unfazed. His
connection to the land and his inherent strength allowed him to endure, his
commitment unwavering.
As the hours passed, Tarzan pressed on, his back glistening with
perspiration under the sweltering sun. Each movement of the plow was a
declaration of his resilience and unwavering resolve in the face of his
newfound role on Lord Harrington' estate.
The day unfolded with Tarzan acclimating to the physical demands of the
labor. Under Hargrove's guidance, his efforts became more fluid, his
strides more confident, and his understanding of the task deepened.
* * * * *
As the day wore on, Tarzan began to grasp the intricate dance between man
and earth. The plow became an extension of his sinew and strength, the
rhythm of the fields a melody he was beginning to understand.
Despite the physical demands, Tarzan's determination remained
unshaken. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow under the afternoon sun as
he maintained a steady pace, his relentless determination and endurance on
full display.
Hargrove's watchful eye remained fixed on Tarzan, offering generous
guidance with the crack of his whip up and down tarzan's toiling torso when
needed. The overseer's demeanor was firm, lashing out liberally as he urged
Tarzan to match the pace of the seasoned laborers.
The other workers observed the newcomer, their initial curiosity giving way
to nods of acknowledgment as they witnessed Tarzan's tireless efforts.
There was a sense of respect brewing among them, recognizing the raw
strength and dedication Tarzan brought to the toil of the fields.
Amidst the swaying crops and the symphony of labor, Tarzan felt a kinship
with the earth. The rhythm of the work, though arduous, brought a sense of
fulfillment that resonated deeply within him. Each step forward, each
furrow plowed, felt like a bridge between his jungle roots and this new
world of labor.
* * * * *
Under the watchful eye of the overseer, Hargrove, and amidst the grueling
labor, Tarzan encountered moments when exhaustion seemed inevitable. The
physical demands of the tasks weighed heavily on him, testing his
limits. But Tarzan, drawing from his inherent resilience and fortitude,
sought a way to surpass these barriers.
The crack of the whip echoed through the fields, a signal for the laborers
to keep pace and remain focused. Having tasted enough of the leather in the
early hours of his labors, the sound itself worked like a catalyst on
tarzan, triggering a deeper reserve of determination within him.
At moments when fatigue crept in, the bite of the whip awakened a
wellspring of strength from within. With each crack of the whip, instead of
feeling cowed or beaten down, Tarzan channeled the energy into a renewed
resolve. It spurred him on, awakening a deeper reserve of resilience that
he didn't know existed. It was a visceral reminder of the challenges he
faced and the need to push past his perceived limits.
Through sheer willpower and an unyielding determination, Tarzan harnessed
the crack of the whip as a call to summon his inner strength, surpassing
his own preconceived barriers and achieving feats he hadn't thought
possible.
Through tireless effort and a desire to learn, Tarzan embraced the toil of
the fields, showing an incredible ability to adapt and excel in his
tasks. The other laborers noticed his rapid progress, admiring his
determination and the raw power he brought to each chore.
* * * * *
Lord Harrington observed the sun dipping toward the horizon as he
approached Hargrove, who was finishing his reports near the edge of the
fields. The overseer's stern gaze softened slightly as Lord Harrington drew
closer.
"Good evening, Hargrove. How has the day fared with our newest addition?"
Lord Harrington inquired, his tone a blend of curiosity and expectation.
Hargrove straightened, his expression shifting from stern focus to a hint
of satisfaction.
"My Lord, Tarzan's proven to be a capable laborer, albeit a touch
unfamiliar with the tools of the field. But I reckon he'll catch on
swiftly."
Lord Harrington nodded, acknowledging the assessment.
"Excellent. He's a powerful man, and I trust he'll adjust quickly. Keep a
close eye on his progress."
"As you command, my Lord," Hargrove affirmed with a respectful nod, fully
understanding the expectations set before him.
"And how did he respond to your guidance?" Lord Harrington inquired
further, genuinely intrigued by Tarzan's reception.
"A bit rough around the edges, my Lord, but he's eager to learn. The whip,
it seems, is proving an effective teacher," Hargrove replied with a touch
of satisfaction, indicating the discipline that had nudged Tarzan's efforts
throughout the day.
Lord Harrington raised an eyebrow, considering the overseer's
observation. "Ah, so he's receptive to discipline?" Hargrove offered a
knowing nod.
"Indeed, my Lord. He's got the strength, just needs a bit of a nudge in the
right direction."
"Very well. Continue overseeing his progress closely, Hargrove. I expect
him to be a valuable asset to our estate," Lord Harrington concluded,
turning to leave as the sun dipped further below the horizon.
"As you wish, my Lord," Hargrove replied with a bow, already turning his
attention back to the remaining tasks of the day and smirking as he set his
sights on tarzan, gripping his whip with glee.
* * * * *
The sun hung low in the sky as Tarzan still labored in the fields, the
weight of the plow in his hands a stark contrast to the untamed power he
once wielded. The chains that bound him seemed to grow heavier with each
passing hour, their constant presence a cruel reminder of his captivity.
As the day wore on, the other workers on Lord Harrington's estate couldn't
help but be drawn to the spectacle before them. They watched in a mix of
awe and amusement, their voices carrying on the wind.
"Look at the brute strength on him," one remarked, his eyes wide with a
mixture of fear and fascination.
"Never seen anything like it. He's like a force of nature," another added,
his tone a mixture of admiration and trepidation.
Yet, not all who observed were kind. Some took a different delight in
Tarzan's plight, taunting him with cruel words and jibes, seeking to remind
him of his place.
"Thought he was some kind of king of the jungle. Look at him now, nothing
more than a beast of burden," one sneered, a cruel smirk playing on his
lips.
Through the merciless work and taunts, Tarzan's spirit remained unbroken,
his gaze fixed on the horizon, a silent resolve burning within him. He
learned to accept his role, finding a grim satisfaction in laboring for his
Master, his every action a testament to the indomitable force that still
pulsed through his veins.
* * * * *
The day began its transition into night as Tarzan navigated the duality of
his existence. His powerful form toiled under the sun, the weight of chains
a constant reminder of his servitude. But as twilight descended, he would
be transformed into a living legend, captivating the audience at
Mr. Blackwood's club.
Through it all, Tarzan's spirit remained unyielding, a beacon of resilience
in the face of an uncertain fate. The jungle watched, its ancient heart
beating in rhythm with the trials of its wayward son.
As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, signaling the end of the
day's toil, Tarzan found himself weary but content. At Hargrove's signal,
with muscles aching but spirits unbroken, Tarzan left the fields, feeling a
newfound sense of accomplishment. He had taken the first steps in his new
role, embracing the challenge of labor on Lord Harrington' estate.
As the day drew to a close, the sky painted in hues of fiery gold, Lord
Harrington approached, a leash in hand. He looked upon Tarzan with an air
of calculated satisfaction, recognizing the value of the force he now
commanded.
"Your day's work is done, Tarzan," Lord Harrington stated, his tone
measured. "But there is one more task that awaits you."
With that, he fastened the leash to Tarzan's collar, leading him away from
the fields, towards the looming presence of Mr. Blackwood's club. The night
held promises of even greater challenges, as Tarzan prepared to be the
centerpiece of a twisted spectacle for the entertainment of the club's
patrons.
The jungle watched in silence, its ancient heart heavy with the weight of
witnessing its guardian in chains. Tarzan's journey, now a harrowing
odyssey of servitude and spectacle, spoke to the resilience of the human
spirit, even in the face of the cruelest of trials.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER SIXTEEN-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</pre>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-10 | Date: Wed, 22 Nov 2023 17:23:20 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 10 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 10: Pre-Auction Inventory -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com The auctioneer, a man with a silver tongue and a keen eye for profit, stepped forward, his voice carrying across the assembled bidders. "Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed patrons and distinguished bidders, I present to you a specimen like no other. A man whose physique and strength have astonished all who have laid eyes upon him. Behold, Tarzan! A sound rose up from the crowd, partly cheering at the presentation of the mighty muscle stud of the jungle and partly licking their lips at the sight of his seemingly invincible strength bound and ready for sale. "Tarzan stands before you, the epitome of the power and grace of the human form. His towering frame, standing at over six feet, exudes an aura of primal might. His body, sculpted by nature itself, is a marvel to behold. "Let us begin with his upper body, where raw power resides," the auctioneer said, choosing a cane from the side of the stage and using it to poke and prod at the various parts of tarzan's anatomy as he described them to the eager crowd. "His shoulders, broad and powerful, ripple with muscles that seem to defy gravity itself." A smack of the pointer-cane between the shoulder blades brought tarzan to attention, chest out. "The contours of his deltoids and trapezius muscles create a landscape of sheer strength," the auctioneer said before roughly swatting tarzan square in each nip, causing his pecs to dance in defense. "His chest, a formidable expanse of well-defined pectoral muscles, invites admiration from all angles. With each breath, you can witness the rhythmic rise and fall of these powerful masses, attesting to his vitality. "Tarzan's biceps and triceps are works of art in their own right. When flexed, they become like iron, showcasing his immense strength. Veins course through his forearms, bearing witness to the incredible blood flow that powers his muscles. His grip, firm and unyielding, speaks of the years he has spent conquering the untamed jungle. "As we move down his body, the chiseled abdomen comes into view. Tarzan's core, etched with the precision of a master sculptor, exhibits the results of rigorous training and relentless determination. Each abdominal muscle is sharply defined, forming a symphony of muscularity that few can attain. "His legs, massive and sinewy, are built for endurance and power," the auctioneer continued, rudely striking his inner thighs with the merciless cane to get tarzan to spread his legs for the bidders. "Tarzan's quadriceps and hamstrings are like cables of steel, capable of propelling him through the most challenging terrain. His calves, well-developed and resilient, complete the lower half of his anatomy, ensuring that he can traverse jungles and mountains with equal ease. "But it's not just the size and definition of his muscles that make Tarzan extraordinary. It's the grace and agility with which he moves. He possesses the reflexes of a jungle cat, the agility of a skilled acrobat, and the endurance of a seasoned athlete. "Tarzan's skin, tanned to a golden hue by the unforgiving sun, glistens with the sheen of one accustomed to an outdoor life. His physique is a canvas upon which nature has painted the story of his adventures, from scaling towering trees to wrestling ferocious beasts. "I invite you to take a closer look at his hands, roughened by years of gripping vines and wielding makeshift weapons. His fingers, strong and dexterous, can deftly navigate the densest of jungles or craft tools to survive in the wild." Now the auctioneer grabbed a fistful of tarzan's mane, yanking his head back and forth abruptly to demonstrate the strength of what he clenched in his grip. "And then there's his hair, a wild mane that frames his face like a crown. It is the untamed symbol of his connection to the wilderness, flowing freely in the wind as he traverses the jungle canopy. "His face, rugged and handsome, bears the marks of a life filled with challenges and triumphs. His piercing eyes, a vivid shade of green, hold the wisdom of a man who has learned the secrets of the jungle. "And last but by no means least, ladies and gentleman, I present Tarzan's loincloth, a simple yet essential garment. Crafted from the hide of a fierce jungle leopard and with natural fibers found deep in the jungle, it represents his connection to the wild. It is durable and practical, designed to provide comfort and freedom of movement while protecting the savage where he is most vulnerable, no matter his muscles." The auctioneer didn't hold back as laid into tarzan's loincloth with his cane, causing the skimpy leather covering to bulge with the beast awakened beneath the leather. "As you gaze upon this magnificent specimen, consider the possibilities that await," the auctioneer concluded, using his point to lift tarzan's head up by the chin. "Tarzan is not just a physical marvel; he possesses a spirit untamed and a heart unbroken. He embodies the strength of the human will and the indomitable spirit of survival. "Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed bidders, we are ready to open the floor for your consideration. What value do you place on this extraordinary man, whose very presence embodies the essence of the untamed wilderness? Tarzan awaits his fate in your capable hands." * * * * * As the auctioneer's voice echoed through the bustling market, Tarzan couldn't help but feel a strange mix of pride at the accurate desription of his many strengths along with humiliation and resignation at being displayed like some prize livestock. Each word seemed to dissect him, reducing him to a collection of attributes meant to entice potential buyers. His muscles, once symbols of power and freedom, were now merely commodities to be appraised. The weight of the eyes upon him was palpable, and he felt a bitter pang of longing for the jungles he once called home. As the auctioneer's description continued, Tarzan's thoughts drifted to the days when he swung through the treetops, master of his domain. Now, he stood on this wooden platform, stripped of his autonomy, a spectacle for those who held the power of his fate in their hands. His gaze met none of theirs, for he refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing his defiance. The auctioneer's voice seemed to blur into a drone as Tarzan's mind wandered. He thought of the vast landscapes he once roamed, the untamed beasts he called companions, and the sunsets that painted the sky in hues he could no longer fathom. The wind that whispered through the leaves now carried only the scent of sweat and despair. Yet, amidst the dehumanizing appraisal, a spark of determination ignited within Tarzan. He would not yield entirely. Though bound and put on display, he clung to the memory of the untamed spirit that coursed through his veins. This auctioneer's words could not diminish the essence of who he was. As the crowd murmured and the bidding was set to commence, Tarzan's gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon. He would endure, for deep within him, a fire still burned. A fire that reminded him he was more than this platform, more than these eyes upon him. He was Tarzan, and no matter the circumstances, the wild heart of the jungle would forever beat within him." END OF CHAPTER TEN ----------------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Wed, 22 Nov 2023 17:23:20 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 10
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 10: Pre-Auction Inventory --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
The auctioneer, a man with a silver tongue and a keen eye for profit,
stepped forward, his voice carrying across the assembled bidders.
"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed patrons and distinguished bidders, I
present to you a specimen like no other. A man whose physique and strength
have astonished all who have laid eyes upon him. Behold, Tarzan!
A sound rose up from the crowd, partly cheering at the presentation of the
mighty muscle stud of the jungle and partly licking their lips at the sight
of his seemingly invincible strength bound and ready for sale.
"Tarzan stands before you, the epitome of the power and grace of the human
form. His towering frame, standing at over six feet, exudes an aura of
primal might. His body, sculpted by nature itself, is a marvel to behold.
"Let us begin with his upper body, where raw power resides," the auctioneer
said, choosing a cane from the side of the stage and using it to poke and
prod at the various parts of tarzan's anatomy as he described them to the
eager crowd. "His shoulders, broad and powerful, ripple with muscles that
seem to defy gravity itself."
A smack of the pointer-cane between the shoulder blades brought tarzan to
attention, chest out.
"The contours of his deltoids and trapezius muscles create a landscape of
sheer strength," the auctioneer said before roughly swatting tarzan square
in each nip, causing his pecs to dance in defense. "His chest, a formidable
expanse of well-defined pectoral muscles, invites admiration from all
angles. With each breath, you can witness the rhythmic rise and fall of
these powerful masses, attesting to his vitality.
"Tarzan's biceps and triceps are works of art in their own right. When
flexed, they become like iron, showcasing his immense strength. Veins
course through his forearms, bearing witness to the incredible blood flow
that powers his muscles. His grip, firm and unyielding, speaks of the years
he has spent conquering the untamed jungle.
"As we move down his body, the chiseled abdomen comes into view. Tarzan's
core, etched with the precision of a master sculptor, exhibits the results
of rigorous training and relentless determination. Each abdominal muscle is
sharply defined, forming a symphony of muscularity that few can attain.
"His legs, massive and sinewy, are built for endurance and power," the
auctioneer continued, rudely striking his inner thighs with the merciless
cane to get tarzan to spread his legs for the bidders. "Tarzan's quadriceps
and hamstrings are like cables of steel, capable of propelling him through
the most challenging terrain. His calves, well-developed and resilient,
complete the lower half of his anatomy, ensuring that he can traverse
jungles and mountains with equal ease.
"But it's not just the size and definition of his muscles that make Tarzan
extraordinary. It's the grace and agility with which he moves. He possesses
the reflexes of a jungle cat, the agility of a skilled acrobat, and the
endurance of a seasoned athlete.
"Tarzan's skin, tanned to a golden hue by the unforgiving sun, glistens
with the sheen of one accustomed to an outdoor life. His physique is a
canvas upon which nature has painted the story of his adventures, from
scaling towering trees to wrestling ferocious beasts.
"I invite you to take a closer look at his hands, roughened by years of
gripping vines and wielding makeshift weapons. His fingers, strong and
dexterous, can deftly navigate the densest of jungles or craft tools to
survive in the wild." Now the auctioneer grabbed a fistful of tarzan's
mane, yanking his head back and forth abruptly to demonstrate the strength
of what he clenched in his grip.
"And then there's his hair, a wild mane that frames his face like a
crown. It is the untamed symbol of his connection to the wilderness,
flowing freely in the wind as he traverses the jungle canopy.
"His face, rugged and handsome, bears the marks of a life filled with
challenges and triumphs. His piercing eyes, a vivid shade of green, hold
the wisdom of a man who has learned the secrets of the jungle.
"And last but by no means least, ladies and gentleman, I present Tarzan's
loincloth, a simple yet essential garment. Crafted from the hide of a
fierce jungle leopard and with natural fibers found deep in the jungle, it
represents his connection to the wild. It is durable and practical,
designed to provide comfort and freedom of movement while protecting the
savage where he is most vulnerable, no matter his muscles."
The auctioneer didn't hold back as laid into tarzan's loincloth with his
cane, causing the skimpy leather covering to bulge with the beast awakened
beneath the leather.
"As you gaze upon this magnificent specimen, consider the possibilities
that await," the auctioneer concluded, using his point to lift tarzan's
head up by the chin. "Tarzan is not just a physical marvel; he possesses a
spirit untamed and a heart unbroken. He embodies the strength of the human
will and the indomitable spirit of survival.
"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed bidders, we are ready to open the floor for
your consideration. What value do you place on this extraordinary man,
whose very presence embodies the essence of the untamed wilderness? Tarzan
awaits his fate in your capable hands."
* * * * *
As the auctioneer's voice echoed through the bustling market, Tarzan
couldn't help but feel a strange mix of pride at the accurate desription of
his many strengths along with humiliation and resignation at being
displayed like some prize livestock.
Each word seemed to dissect him, reducing him to a collection of attributes
meant to entice potential buyers. His muscles, once symbols of power and
freedom, were now merely commodities to be appraised. The weight of the
eyes upon him was palpable, and he felt a bitter pang of longing for the
jungles he once called home.
As the auctioneer's description continued, Tarzan's thoughts drifted to the
days when he swung through the treetops, master of his domain.
Now, he stood on this wooden platform, stripped of his autonomy, a
spectacle for those who held the power of his fate in their hands. His gaze
met none of theirs, for he refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing
his defiance.
The auctioneer's voice seemed to blur into a drone as Tarzan's mind
wandered. He thought of the vast landscapes he once roamed, the untamed
beasts he called companions, and the sunsets that painted the sky in hues
he could no longer fathom. The wind that whispered through the leaves now
carried only the scent of sweat and despair.
Yet, amidst the dehumanizing appraisal, a spark of determination ignited
within Tarzan. He would not yield entirely. Though bound and put on
display, he clung to the memory of the untamed spirit that coursed through
his veins. This auctioneer's words could not diminish the essence of who he
was.
As the crowd murmured and the bidding was set to commence, Tarzan's gaze
remained fixed on the distant horizon. He would endure, for deep within
him, a fire still burned. A fire that reminded him he was more than this
platform, more than these eyes upon him. He was Tarzan, and no matter the
circumstances, the wild heart of the jungle would forever beat within him."
END OF CHAPTER TEN -----------------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you
have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-23 | Date: Fri, 22 Dec 2023 13:26:02 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 23 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 23: Of Servitude and Spectacle -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com * * * * * In the waning hours of the night, Blackwood's men unbind tarzan from the cage and Blackwood grabs his leash to take him outside to the horse-drawn carriage that waits for them. "Did you see the size of that one?" a patron remarks to his companion as tarzan is led out of The Dom's Den. "Harrington's got himself a real specimen." "Aye, a real beast," comes the reply. "Wonder what they'll do with him." "I heard Harrington's got plans for the jungle man. Going to put him to work, he is." "Work? A beast like that, he should be in a circus!" "Harrington knows what he's doing. That one will fetch a pretty penny, mark my words." Mr. Blackwood finds Lord Harrington looking with concern at the pair of horses waiting to pull the carriage home to his estate. "These stallions have been overworked," Harrington says, frowning at the thought of burdening his prized steeds with a late-night carriage pull of the party returning from the Dom's Den. "Let them rest," Blackwood suggests, yanking on tarzan's leash and giving him a swat with his riding crop. "Such labors are best left to a true beast." Blackwood and Harrington watch as Blackwood's men harness tarzan to the carriage. The two superior masters then get into the carriage, pouring relaxing drinks for the luxurious ride home. Blackwood's men sit on the seat up front and outside the carriage, holding tarzan's reins and readying their whips to keep him up to speed. As the men draw every ounce of strength from the savage stud, Blackwood and Harrington have a grand time emptying a couple bottles in the comfort of the carriage as tarzan sweats to carry them home. Every muscle in Tarzan's mighty frame strained against the weight of the carriage. His muscles rippled with exertion, each step a proclamation of his unparalleled strength. The leather straps that bound him to the heavy vehicle dug into his shoulders, a constant reminder of his servitude. His breath came in ragged gasps, mingling with the sweat that poured down his back. The scent of the horses and the earth filled his nostrils, a cruel irony in this twisted parody of his former life. He was reduced to a mere beast of burden, a spectacle for the whims of his captors. Tarzan's gaze was fixed on the road ahead, his senses attuned to every nuance of the terrain. He navigated the path with a grace born of years spent moving through the jungle, adapting to the foreign demands placed upon him. Each step was deliberate, every movement calculated to maximize his strength. As the carriage trundled forward, the voices of Harrington and Blackwood carried on the wind. Their laughter and mirth grated against Tarzan's ears, a stark reminder of his place in this cruel charade. He was but a pawn in their game, a means to an end, and the weight of that knowledge bore down on him. "Quite the catch, Blackwood," Lord Harrington chuckles to his partner, impressed with the discipline tarzan has learned in his time served at The Dom's Den. "You've outdone yourself this time." "He's a strong one, no doubt," Blackwood says, watching the muscle stud laboring through the carriage window. "We'll turn quite the profit with him." "And the entertainment value alone," Harrington marvels. "Our patrons will pay a premium for such a spectacle." "Indeed. This partnership will be quite lucrative, my friend," Blackwood replies. "Here's to our newfound venture," Lord Harrington says, raising a glass in the comfortable carriage. "To prosperity!" "To prosperity!" Blackwood agrees as they celebrate their new partnership. Outside, beneath the veneer of submission, a spark of defiance still smoldered within Tarzan's heart. He was a king, a guardian of the jungle's secrets, and he would not be broken. With every step, he drew strength from the earth beneath him, from the very essence of the wild that coursed through his veins. In the rhythm of his labor, Tarzan found a semblance of solace. The steady pull of the carriage became a mantra, a focus that allowed him to momentarily escape the reality of his captivity. He was Tarzan, and though they sought to tame him, the heart of the jungle still beat within his chest. * * * * * The night air was cool and crisp as the carriage rumbled along the forested path. The rhythmic clop of hooves from the horses following the carriage was punctuated by the creaking of the carriage, and the distant sounds of nocturnal creatures added an eerie ambiance. Inside the carriage, Lord Harrington and Mr. Blackwood sat side by side, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of lantern light. They exchanged satisfied glances, knowing they had acquired a unique asset. Meanwhile, Tarzan, guided by Blackwood's men, moved in determined strides. His powerful muscles flexed with each step, the moonlight casting fleeting shadows on his form. He pulled the carriage with a determined vigor, showing no signs of faltering. As they progressed, Harrington's estate emerged from the darkness, its grandeur a stark contrast to the wildness of the jungle. The carriage came to a halt, and Blackwood's men swiftly tended to Tarzan, unbinding him from his duty. "Good work, lad," one of them muttered, patting Tarzan's broad back before leading him towards the stables. Inside the carriage, Harrington poured a glass of fine brandy, offering one to Blackwood. "To our prosperous future," he toasted, the crystal glasses clinking together. Blackwood's eyes gleamed with anticipation. "To prosperity indeed," he replied, savoring the rich warmth of the brandy. As the night settled around them, plans and visions swirled in their minds. The acquisition of Tarzan promised untold fortunes and a level of power neither had experienced before. Harrington's estate was a grand sight, its sprawling grounds lit by the soft glow of lanterns as Blackwood and Harrington dismounted from the carriage. The stable was well-maintained, and a comfortable bed of straw lay in one corner. Tarzan was guided towards it by one of Blackwood's men, who secured him gently but firmly. "Rest well, my savage slave," Harrington said, his voice carrying an air of authority. "Tomorrow will be another productive day." Tarzan, though bound, seemed to understand the gesture. He settled onto the bed of straw, his muscles relaxing after the night's labor. Blackwood watched with a calculating eye. "He's a remarkable specimen, Harrington. With proper training and conditioning, he could be even more valuable." Harrington nodded, his mind already churning with possibilities. "We'll need to implement a rigorous regimen. And perhaps some specialized equipment." The men exchanged a knowing look, their ambitions aligned. With Tarzan under their control, the possibilities were limitless. "We'll need to push his limits, gradually increasing intensity," Harrington added. "A controlled diet, rich in proteins and essential nutrients. We must ensure he reaches his peak potential." "What about mental conditioning?" Blackwood wondered aloud. "Discipline and obedience are just as important." "Agreed," said Lord Harrington, glancing at his overseer, to make sure he took note. "We'll employ techniques to reinforce obedience. Put him on the subliminal reinforcement program." "This endeavor could revolutionize our operations," Blackwood said. "The potential is staggering." * * * * * Tarzan lay in the hay, his body aching but his mind alert. He listened intently to the men discussing his future, their voices echoing through the stable. The words were foreign, yet he gleaned their intentions from the tone. It was a strange blend of fascination and trepidation that welled up within him. He was a pawn in a game he couldn't comprehend. Harrington's voice was authoritative, filled with plans and aspirations. Blackwood's responses held an undertone of excitement, a hint of greed. Tarzan's heart pounded in his chest, a wild beat against the calm backdrop of the stable. As the conversation dwindled, Tarzan's gaze fixed on the stable's wooden beams above him. He yearned for the freedom he once knew, the untamed wilderness that was now a distant memory. His muscles clenched with the longing for the jungle, for the primal rhythm of life. Harrington stood for a moment, gazing at Tarzan in the soft glow of lantern light. The specimen before him was a marvel of strength, reduced to a captive existence. It was both exhilarating and unnerving to have such power at his command. He was on the cusp of something extraordinary, a venture that could propel him to unprecedented heights. With a final, contemplative glance, Harrington turned away. The stable doors closed, shutting out the night, and he made his way to his quarters. Sleep was elusive, his mind racing with the boundless potential that lay in the captive beast. Blackwood lingered in the stable, his eyes fixed on Tarzan's sleeping form. The rise and fall of his chest, the play of moonlight on his muscles--it was a sight to behold. This acquisition was more than he had ever imagined, a masterpiece of potential profit. As he turned to leave, a sly smile crept across Blackwood's face. The future held boundless opportunities, and Tarzan was the key. The slumbering beast represented a new era, a realm of wealth and influence beyond his wildest dreams. * * * * * As the night enveloped the stable, Tarzan's weary body finally found solace in slumber. The distant sounds of other animals in their stalls offered a strange sense of comfort, a reminder of the untamed world he once ruled. The hay beneath him cradled his aching form, a poor substitute for the jungle floor. He was unaware of the barely audible subliminal suggestions reaching his ears from Lord Harrington's nocturnal reinforcement system. In the quiet moments before sleep claimed him, Tarzan's mind wandered through the trials of the day. The labor in the fields, the performance in the club, the unyielding gaze of Harrington and Blackwood--they were all pieces in a puzzle he couldn't fully comprehend. His existence had become a curious blend of servitude and spectacle. Images flashed through Tarzan's mind: the patrons' eyes alight with pleasure, Blackwood's men directing his every move, the supervisors in the field wielding their whips. He had become a living embodiment of strength and submission, a creature forged by the desires of those who held power over him. Acceptance settled over Tarzan like a shroud. With the guidance of Lord Harrington's subliminal system, he understood his role now, as much as it pained him. He was an asset, a prized possession in Harrington and Blackwood's grand design. There was a strange sense of purpose in that acknowledgment, a resolve to make his superior masters proud. As sleep claimed him, Tarzan's dreams danced on the edge of memory and longing. Visions of the jungle, of primal freedom, mingled with the stark reality of his captivity. The night held him in its embrace, cradling him in the bittersweet cocoon of his new existence. * * * * * As the night settles in and Tarzan's weary body finds its way to rest, his mind drifts into the realm of dreams. The vivid landscapes of his recent trials intertwine with the memories of his past, forming a tapestry of experiences both challenging and surreal. In his dreams, Tarzan stands once again amidst the vast fields, the earth beneath his feet as familiar as the heartbeats of the jungle. The sun beats down upon him, casting long shadows across the furrows of the land he toiled. The plow, heavy and unyielding, becomes an extension of his strength. With each determined stride, the ground surrenders to his command. The weight of his labors is tempered by a sense of purpose, a connection to the soil that grounds him. Tarzan's loincloth, once a simple garment that barely concealed his modesty, now clings tightly to his form. The fabric, a rugged weave of natural fibers, has weathered the elements and countless trials. It drapes low on his hips, the thong securely fastened around his waist. The material, worn and faded, bears the stains of his adventures, evidence of the challenges he's faced. Despite its weathered appearance, the loincloth symbolizes his resilience, its frayed edges a reminder of the harsh environments Tarzan has navigated. Though now bound and confined, the loincloth still retains a hint of its original vibrancy, a symbol of the untamed spirit that once defined the man who wears it. Yet, as the sun sets and the fields fade into twilight, Tarzan's dreams shift. He stands now in the opulent chambers of Blackwood's estate, the air thick with anticipation. The revelry surrounds him, a symphony of laughter and clinking glasses. Tarzan moves with a grace unexpected of a man of his stature, his agility a tribute to the adaptability of the wild. Feats of strength and displays of agility elicit gasps of astonishment and applause, echoing the fervor of the crowd. In the midst of the festivities, Blackwood's commands become a symphony of their own. Tarzan bends to the will of his new master, a dance of obedience and reward. The small morsels offered in Blackwood's hand serve as both sustenance and affirmation, a peculiar form of nourishment for a life transformed. Yet, not all moments in Tarzan's dreams are bathed in opulence. The fields and the club dissolve, replaced by the rugged terrain of the jungle. Tarzan swings effortlessly through the trees, the primal call of the wild echoing in his ears. The lush foliage provides cover, the cacophony of the forest masking his movements. In these moments, he is free once more, a creature of the untamed expanse that birthed him. As the night progresses, Tarzan's dreams become a mosaic of experiences, a reflection of the dichotomy he now embodies. The juxtaposition of the fields and the revelry, the toil and the opulence, paint a portrait of a man navigating two worlds. Each trial, each task, etches itself into the fabric of his being, shaping him into something new. * * * * * In the depths of slumber, Tarzan's subconscious weaves a tapestry of dreams, a realm where reality blurs with the surreal, and the complexities of his new existence unravel. As his body lies still, his mind embarks on a journey that delves into the heart of his transformation. In the dreamscape, Tarzan is bound, not by ropes or chains, but by an intangible force that compels him. He kneels before his masters, Lord Harrington and Mr. Blackwood, his head bowed in a gesture of submission. This is not the defiant Tarzan of the jungle, but a version of him that recognizes a different kind of strength - the strength to yield, to adapt, to accept. His loincloth, once a symbol of his defiance, now drapes him in a manner befitting his status. It clings to him, a cloth of servitude that wraps around his hips, a tangible reminder of his place in this new world. It is no longer a mere garment, but an emblem of his submission, a visual representation of his acknowledgement of his masters' authority. In his dreams, Tarzan no longer fights against his role. Instead, he embraces it, allowing the currents of change to carry him along. He moves with a fluidity that transcends the physical, an understanding that true strength lies in the ability to adapt, to become what the circumstances demand. The dreamscape is a sanctuary where Tarzan explores the contours of his new identity. He serves his masters with a diligence that borders on reverence, anticipating their needs before they are even voiced. Every action is imbued with a grace that belies his untamed origins, demonstrating the malleability of the human spirit. As Tarzan dreams, he finds solace in his newfound purpose. The concept of inferiority no longer carries the sting of rebellion, but rather, it offers a sense of belonging. He revels in the knowledge that he has a place in this world, a purpose that extends beyond the confines of the jungle. His masters' dominance becomes a pillar of stability, a force that guides him through the complexities of his new reality. The dreams do not erase the memory of the wild, nor do they dull the ache of separation from his former life. Instead, they offer a perspective shift, a lens through which Tarzan can view his transformation with a measure of acceptance. He is no longer defined solely by his physical prowess, but by his ability to adapt, to survive, and ultimately, to thrive. In the dreamscape, Tarzan's heart beats in synchrony with the rhythm of servitude. He knows his place, and he embraces it with a humility that is as striking as it is unexpected. The dreams are a mirror, reflecting the evolution of a man who once roamed the untamed expanse, but now finds his purpose in the service of his masters. As dawn approaches, the dreams gradually fade, leaving Tarzan with a sense of equilibrium. He awakens, the echoes of his subconscious journey still reverberating within him. He rises, not as a captive spirit, but as a man who has come to terms with his place in this world, a living testament to the transformative power of acceptance. Tarzan faces the day with a newfound resolve, ready to navigate the intricacies of his existence with a heart unburdened by resistance. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Fri, 22 Dec 2023 13:26:02 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 23
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 23: Of Servitude and Spectacle --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
In the waning hours of the night, Blackwood's men unbind tarzan from the
cage and Blackwood grabs his leash to take him outside to the horse-drawn
carriage that waits for them.
"Did you see the size of that one?" a patron remarks to his companion as
tarzan is led out of The Dom's Den. "Harrington's got himself a real
specimen."
"Aye, a real beast," comes the reply. "Wonder what they'll do with him."
"I heard Harrington's got plans for the jungle man. Going to put him to
work, he is."
"Work? A beast like that, he should be in a circus!"
"Harrington knows what he's doing. That one will fetch a pretty penny, mark
my words."
Mr. Blackwood finds Lord Harrington looking with concern at the pair of
horses waiting to pull the carriage home to his estate.
"These stallions have been overworked," Harrington says, frowning at the
thought of burdening his prized steeds with a late-night carriage pull of
the party returning from the Dom's Den.
"Let them rest," Blackwood suggests, yanking on tarzan's leash and giving
him a swat with his riding crop. "Such labors are best left to a true
beast."
Blackwood and Harrington watch as Blackwood's men harness tarzan to the
carriage. The two superior masters then get into the carriage, pouring
relaxing drinks for the luxurious ride home. Blackwood's men sit on the
seat up front and outside the carriage, holding tarzan's reins and readying
their whips to keep him up to speed. As the men draw every ounce of
strength from the savage stud, Blackwood and Harrington have a grand time
emptying a couple bottles in the comfort of the carriage as tarzan sweats
to carry them home.
Every muscle in Tarzan's mighty frame strained against the weight of the
carriage. His muscles rippled with exertion, each step a proclamation of
his unparalleled strength. The leather straps that bound him to the heavy
vehicle dug into his shoulders, a constant reminder of his servitude.
His breath came in ragged gasps, mingling with the sweat that poured down
his back. The scent of the horses and the earth filled his nostrils, a
cruel irony in this twisted parody of his former life. He was reduced to a
mere beast of burden, a spectacle for the whims of his captors.
Tarzan's gaze was fixed on the road ahead, his senses attuned to every
nuance of the terrain. He navigated the path with a grace born of years
spent moving through the jungle, adapting to the foreign demands placed
upon him. Each step was deliberate, every movement calculated to maximize
his strength.
As the carriage trundled forward, the voices of Harrington and Blackwood
carried on the wind. Their laughter and mirth grated against Tarzan's ears,
a stark reminder of his place in this cruel charade. He was but a pawn in
their game, a means to an end, and the weight of that knowledge bore down
on him.
"Quite the catch, Blackwood," Lord Harrington chuckles to his partner,
impressed with the discipline tarzan has learned in his time served at The
Dom's Den. "You've outdone yourself this time."
"He's a strong one, no doubt," Blackwood says, watching the muscle stud
laboring through the carriage window. "We'll turn quite the profit with
him."
"And the entertainment value alone," Harrington marvels. "Our patrons will
pay a premium for such a spectacle."
"Indeed. This partnership will be quite lucrative, my friend," Blackwood
replies.
"Here's to our newfound venture," Lord Harrington says, raising a glass in
the comfortable carriage. "To prosperity!"
"To prosperity!" Blackwood agrees as they celebrate their new partnership.
Outside, beneath the veneer of submission, a spark of defiance still
smoldered within Tarzan's heart. He was a king, a guardian of the jungle's
secrets, and he would not be broken. With every step, he drew strength from
the earth beneath him, from the very essence of the wild that coursed
through his veins.
In the rhythm of his labor, Tarzan found a semblance of solace. The steady
pull of the carriage became a mantra, a focus that allowed him to
momentarily escape the reality of his captivity. He was Tarzan, and though
they sought to tame him, the heart of the jungle still beat within his
chest.
* * * * *
The night air was cool and crisp as the carriage rumbled along the forested
path. The rhythmic clop of hooves from the horses following the carriage
was punctuated by the creaking of the carriage, and the distant sounds of
nocturnal creatures added an eerie ambiance.
Inside the carriage, Lord Harrington and Mr. Blackwood sat side by side,
their faces illuminated by the soft glow of lantern light. They exchanged
satisfied glances, knowing they had acquired a unique asset.
Meanwhile, Tarzan, guided by Blackwood's men, moved in determined strides.
His powerful muscles flexed with each step, the moonlight casting fleeting
shadows on his form. He pulled the carriage with a determined vigor,
showing no signs of faltering.
As they progressed, Harrington's estate emerged from the darkness, its
grandeur a stark contrast to the wildness of the jungle. The carriage came
to a halt, and Blackwood's men swiftly tended to Tarzan, unbinding him from
his duty.
"Good work, lad," one of them muttered, patting Tarzan's broad back before
leading him towards the stables.
Inside the carriage, Harrington poured a glass of fine brandy, offering one
to Blackwood.
"To our prosperous future," he toasted, the crystal glasses clinking
together.
Blackwood's eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"To prosperity indeed," he replied, savoring the rich warmth of the brandy.
As the night settled around them, plans and visions swirled in their
minds. The acquisition of Tarzan promised untold fortunes and a level of
power neither had experienced before. Harrington's estate was a grand
sight, its sprawling grounds lit by the soft glow of lanterns as Blackwood
and Harrington dismounted from the carriage.
The stable was well-maintained, and a comfortable bed of straw lay in one
corner. Tarzan was guided towards it by one of Blackwood's men, who secured
him gently but firmly.
"Rest well, my savage slave," Harrington said, his voice carrying an air of
authority. "Tomorrow will be another productive day."
Tarzan, though bound, seemed to understand the gesture. He settled onto the
bed of straw, his muscles relaxing after the night's labor.
Blackwood watched with a calculating eye.
"He's a remarkable specimen, Harrington. With proper training and
conditioning, he could be even more valuable."
Harrington nodded, his mind already churning with possibilities. "We'll
need to implement a rigorous regimen. And perhaps some specialized
equipment."
The men exchanged a knowing look, their ambitions aligned. With Tarzan
under their control, the possibilities were limitless.
"We'll need to push his limits, gradually increasing intensity," Harrington
added. "A controlled diet, rich in proteins and essential nutrients. We
must ensure he reaches his peak potential."
"What about mental conditioning?" Blackwood wondered aloud. "Discipline and
obedience are just as important."
"Agreed," said Lord Harrington, glancing at his overseer, to make sure he
took note. "We'll employ techniques to reinforce obedience. Put him on the
subliminal reinforcement program."
"This endeavor could revolutionize our operations," Blackwood said. "The
potential is staggering."
* * * * *
Tarzan lay in the hay, his body aching but his mind alert. He listened
intently to the men discussing his future, their voices echoing through the
stable. The words were foreign, yet he gleaned their intentions from the
tone. It was a strange blend of fascination and trepidation that welled up
within him. He was a pawn in a game he couldn't comprehend.
Harrington's voice was authoritative, filled with plans and
aspirations. Blackwood's responses held an undertone of excitement, a hint
of greed. Tarzan's heart pounded in his chest, a wild beat against the calm
backdrop of the stable.
As the conversation dwindled, Tarzan's gaze fixed on the stable's wooden
beams above him. He yearned for the freedom he once knew, the untamed
wilderness that was now a distant memory. His muscles clenched with the
longing for the jungle, for the primal rhythm of life.
Harrington stood for a moment, gazing at Tarzan in the soft glow of lantern
light. The specimen before him was a marvel of strength, reduced to a
captive existence. It was both exhilarating and unnerving to have such
power at his command. He was on the cusp of something extraordinary, a
venture that could propel him to unprecedented heights.
With a final, contemplative glance, Harrington turned away. The stable
doors closed, shutting out the night, and he made his way to his
quarters. Sleep was elusive, his mind racing with the boundless potential
that lay in the captive beast.
Blackwood lingered in the stable, his eyes fixed on Tarzan's sleeping
form. The rise and fall of his chest, the play of moonlight on his
muscles--it was a sight to behold. This acquisition was more than he had
ever imagined, a masterpiece of potential profit.
As he turned to leave, a sly smile crept across Blackwood's face. The
future held boundless opportunities, and Tarzan was the key. The slumbering
beast represented a new era, a realm of wealth and influence beyond his
wildest dreams.
* * * * *
As the night enveloped the stable, Tarzan's weary body finally found solace
in slumber. The distant sounds of other animals in their stalls offered a
strange sense of comfort, a reminder of the untamed world he once
ruled. The hay beneath him cradled his aching form, a poor substitute for
the jungle floor. He was unaware of the barely audible subliminal
suggestions reaching his ears from Lord Harrington's nocturnal
reinforcement system.
In the quiet moments before sleep claimed him, Tarzan's mind wandered
through the trials of the day. The labor in the fields, the performance in
the club, the unyielding gaze of Harrington and Blackwood--they were all
pieces in a puzzle he couldn't fully comprehend. His existence had become a
curious blend of servitude and spectacle.
Images flashed through Tarzan's mind: the patrons' eyes alight with
pleasure, Blackwood's men directing his every move, the supervisors in the
field wielding their whips. He had become a living embodiment of strength
and submission, a creature forged by the desires of those who held power
over him.
Acceptance settled over Tarzan like a shroud. With the guidance of Lord
Harrington's subliminal system, he understood his role now, as much as it
pained him. He was an asset, a prized possession in Harrington and
Blackwood's grand design. There was a strange sense of purpose in that
acknowledgment, a resolve to make his superior masters proud.
As sleep claimed him, Tarzan's dreams danced on the edge of memory and
longing. Visions of the jungle, of primal freedom, mingled with the stark
reality of his captivity. The night held him in its embrace, cradling him
in the bittersweet cocoon of his new existence.
* * * * *
As the night settles in and Tarzan's weary body finds its way to rest, his
mind drifts into the realm of dreams. The vivid landscapes of his recent
trials intertwine with the memories of his past, forming a tapestry of
experiences both challenging and surreal.
In his dreams, Tarzan stands once again amidst the vast fields, the earth
beneath his feet as familiar as the heartbeats of the jungle. The sun beats
down upon him, casting long shadows across the furrows of the land he
toiled. The plow, heavy and unyielding, becomes an extension of his
strength. With each determined stride, the ground surrenders to his
command. The weight of his labors is tempered by a sense of purpose, a
connection to the soil that grounds him.
Tarzan's loincloth, once a simple garment that barely concealed his
modesty, now clings tightly to his form. The fabric, a rugged weave of
natural fibers, has weathered the elements and countless trials. It drapes
low on his hips, the thong securely fastened around his waist. The
material, worn and faded, bears the stains of his adventures, evidence of
the challenges he's faced. Despite its weathered appearance, the loincloth
symbolizes his resilience, its frayed edges a reminder of the harsh
environments Tarzan has navigated. Though now bound and confined, the
loincloth still retains a hint of its original vibrancy, a symbol of the
untamed spirit that once defined the man who wears it.
Yet, as the sun sets and the fields fade into twilight, Tarzan's dreams
shift. He stands now in the opulent chambers of Blackwood's estate, the air
thick with anticipation. The revelry surrounds him, a symphony of laughter
and clinking glasses. Tarzan moves with a grace unexpected of a man of his
stature, his agility a tribute to the adaptability of the wild. Feats of
strength and displays of agility elicit gasps of astonishment and applause,
echoing the fervor of the crowd.
In the midst of the festivities, Blackwood's commands become a symphony of
their own. Tarzan bends to the will of his new master, a dance of obedience
and reward. The small morsels offered in Blackwood's hand serve as both
sustenance and affirmation, a peculiar form of nourishment for a life
transformed.
Yet, not all moments in Tarzan's dreams are bathed in opulence. The fields
and the club dissolve, replaced by the rugged terrain of the jungle. Tarzan
swings effortlessly through the trees, the primal call of the wild echoing
in his ears. The lush foliage provides cover, the cacophony of the forest
masking his movements. In these moments, he is free once more, a creature
of the untamed expanse that birthed him.
As the night progresses, Tarzan's dreams become a mosaic of experiences, a
reflection of the dichotomy he now embodies. The juxtaposition of the
fields and the revelry, the toil and the opulence, paint a portrait of a
man navigating two worlds. Each trial, each task, etches itself into the
fabric of his being, shaping him into something new.
* * * * *
In the depths of slumber, Tarzan's subconscious weaves a tapestry of
dreams, a realm where reality blurs with the surreal, and the complexities
of his new existence unravel. As his body lies still, his mind embarks on a
journey that delves into the heart of his transformation.
In the dreamscape, Tarzan is bound, not by ropes or chains, but by an
intangible force that compels him. He kneels before his masters, Lord
Harrington and Mr. Blackwood, his head bowed in a gesture of
submission. This is not the defiant Tarzan of the jungle, but a version of
him that recognizes a different kind of strength - the strength to yield,
to adapt, to accept.
His loincloth, once a symbol of his defiance, now drapes him in a manner
befitting his status. It clings to him, a cloth of servitude that wraps
around his hips, a tangible reminder of his place in this new world. It is
no longer a mere garment, but an emblem of his submission, a visual
representation of his acknowledgement of his masters' authority.
In his dreams, Tarzan no longer fights against his role. Instead, he
embraces it, allowing the currents of change to carry him along. He moves
with a fluidity that transcends the physical, an understanding that true
strength lies in the ability to adapt, to become what the circumstances
demand.
The dreamscape is a sanctuary where Tarzan explores the contours of his new
identity. He serves his masters with a diligence that borders on reverence,
anticipating their needs before they are even voiced. Every action is
imbued with a grace that belies his untamed origins, demonstrating the
malleability of the human spirit.
As Tarzan dreams, he finds solace in his newfound purpose. The concept of
inferiority no longer carries the sting of rebellion, but rather, it offers
a sense of belonging. He revels in the knowledge that he has a place in
this world, a purpose that extends beyond the confines of the jungle. His
masters' dominance becomes a pillar of stability, a force that guides him
through the complexities of his new reality.
The dreams do not erase the memory of the wild, nor do they dull the ache
of separation from his former life. Instead, they offer a perspective
shift, a lens through which Tarzan can view his transformation with a
measure of acceptance. He is no longer defined solely by his physical
prowess, but by his ability to adapt, to survive, and ultimately, to
thrive.
In the dreamscape, Tarzan's heart beats in synchrony with the rhythm of
servitude. He knows his place, and he embraces it with a humility that is
as striking as it is unexpected. The dreams are a mirror, reflecting the
evolution of a man who once roamed the untamed expanse, but now finds his
purpose in the service of his masters.
As dawn approaches, the dreams gradually fade, leaving Tarzan with a sense
of equilibrium. He awakens, the echoes of his subconscious journey still
reverberating within him. He rises, not as a captive spirit, but as a man
who has come to terms with his place in this world, a living testament to
the transformative power of acceptance. Tarzan faces the day with a
newfound resolve, ready to navigate the intricacies of his existence with a
heart unburdened by resistance.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-53 | Date: Fri, 9 Aug 2024 15:11:04 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 53 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 53: The Shadows of Revenge-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 53 -- The Shadows of Revenge The Baron's mind was a cauldron of seething rage and calculated vengeance. As he delved deeper into his memories, the shadows of his past danced before him, whispering promises of retribution. In the dimly lit confines of his cell, the Baron endured the unrelenting torment of his captors. They reveled in his suffering, their sadistic glee echoing off the cold, unforgiving walls. Yet, within the heart of this darkness, the Baron found a glimmer of resolve. He knew that he could not allow himself to be consumed by despair. Instead, he channeled his pain into a steely determination. The beatings became a cruel symphony, each strike a testament to the Baron's unyielding spirit. He bore the blows with a stoic defiance, knowing that every lash, every bruise, was a step closer to his ultimate goal. As the years wore on, the Baron's body became a canvas of scars, each one a mark of his endurance. He transformed his pain into power, honing himself into a weapon that would one day be unleashed upon his nemesis. The crucible of labor ground against him, the weight of his tasks a constant reminder of his captivity. But the Baron refused to break. He dug his heels into the unforgiving earth, summoning a wellspring of inner strength. In the suffocating darkness of the guards' chamber, the Baron faced the depths of human cruelty. They reveled in their sadistic games, delighting in his suffering. Yet, even here, he glimpsed a truth that would shape his destiny. The Baron understood the darkness that lurked within every soul, the potential for cruelty and domination. He vowed to wield this knowledge like a weapon, using it to pierce the heart of his greatest adversary. In the years that followed, the Baron emerged from the crucible reborn. He was no longer a man broken by captivity, but a force of nature, an embodiment of unyielding determination. As the present Baron von Richter brooded over his memories, he knew that the time for vengeance was drawing near. He had forged himself into a weapon, a tempest of fury and resolve. The shadows of his past whispered promises of retribution, urging him forward. The Baron's path was clear, and he would stop at nothing to see his nemesis brought to his knees. ...to be continued... * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Fri, 9 Aug 2024 15:11:04 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 53
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 53: The Shadows of Revenge--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 53 -- The Shadows of Revenge
The Baron's mind was a cauldron of seething rage and calculated
vengeance. As he delved deeper into his memories, the shadows of his past
danced before him, whispering promises of retribution.
In the dimly lit confines of his cell, the Baron endured the unrelenting
torment of his captors. They reveled in his suffering, their sadistic glee
echoing off the cold, unforgiving walls.
Yet, within the heart of this darkness, the Baron found a glimmer of
resolve. He knew that he could not allow himself to be consumed by
despair. Instead, he channeled his pain into a steely determination.
The beatings became a cruel symphony, each strike a testament to the
Baron's unyielding spirit. He bore the blows with a stoic defiance, knowing
that every lash, every bruise, was a step closer to his ultimate goal.
As the years wore on, the Baron's body became a canvas of scars, each one a
mark of his endurance. He transformed his pain into power, honing himself
into a weapon that would one day be unleashed upon his nemesis.
The crucible of labor ground against him, the weight of his tasks a
constant reminder of his captivity. But the Baron refused to break. He dug
his heels into the unforgiving earth, summoning a wellspring of inner
strength.
In the suffocating darkness of the guards' chamber, the Baron faced the
depths of human cruelty. They reveled in their sadistic games, delighting
in his suffering. Yet, even here, he glimpsed a truth that would shape his
destiny.
The Baron understood the darkness that lurked within every soul, the
potential for cruelty and domination. He vowed to wield this knowledge like
a weapon, using it to pierce the heart of his greatest adversary.
In the years that followed, the Baron emerged from the crucible reborn. He
was no longer a man broken by captivity, but a force of nature, an
embodiment of unyielding determination. As the present Baron von Richter
brooded over his memories, he knew that the time for vengeance was drawing
near. He had forged himself into a weapon, a tempest of fury and resolve.
The shadows of his past whispered promises of retribution, urging him
forward. The Baron's path was clear, and he would stop at nothing to see
his nemesis brought to his knees.
...to be continued...
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-49 | Date: Fri, 2 Aug 2024 20:40:56 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance -- Chapter 49 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 49: Defiance and Dominance-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 49 -- Defiance and Dominance As the shadows deepened, Baron von Richter stood at the edge of his lavish estate, gazing out into the heart of the jungle. He was a formidable figure, tall and broad-shouldered, a man hardened by years of conquest. His steely gaze betrayed no hint of the festering grudge that lurked within. Tonight was the night of his reckoning. Back in time, in the early days of his ruthless career, Baron von Richter had encountered the legendary Tarzan. The very thought of that encounter fueled the fire within him. In the heart of the jungle, the night was alive with the sounds of wildlife, a cacophony of roars, calls, and rustling leaves. The campfire roared, casting flickering shadows on the faces of the Baron's men. They celebrated their bountiful haul, their raucous laughter echoing through the wilderness. Baron von Richter, clad in khaki safari attire and a wide-brimmed hat, stood at the center of it all, a cruel grin etched across his face. He raised a glass of aged whiskey high, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "To the jungle's spoils, my loyal men!" the Baron said. "Tomorrow, we'll be the toast of the aristocracy!" The men roared in agreement, their tankards clashing in a boisterous toast. As the revelry reached its peak, a low growl pierced through the night, a warning from the jungle itself. The men fell silent, their faces etched with unease. Emerging from the shadows like a wraith, Tarzan stepped into the flickering light. His tall, sinewy frame was a testament to the jungle's might, and the loincloth that clad him bore the mark of his untamed existence. The Baron's men exchanged incredulous glances, their laughter curdling into nervous chuckles. "Well, well, what have we here?" the Baron sneered, his voice dripping with derision. "Another jungle savage, come to save his furry friends?" Tarzan's eyes held an intensity that cut through the night. With a voice that carried the weight of the wild, he issued his commanded. "Release them," tarzan said. "Now." The men's laughter returned, heartier than before. They were seasoned brutes, a breed of man that dominated through sheer force. With haughty grins, they ignored Tarzan's command. The first to challenge him was a hulking brute, muscles bulging beneath a ragged shirt. He charged, fists swinging, only to find Tarzan a tempest of motion. The battle was swift, ending with the man sprawled at Tarzan's feet, defeated. One by one, they came, each more fearsome than the last. Yet, Tarzan met their assaults with a feral grace, his movements a dance of survival. Four fell before him, their arrogance shattered by his raw power. As the fifth man lunged, Tarzan's eyes flickered with a hunter's cunning. He dodged the attack, seizing the man's arm in a vice-like grip. With a guttural growl, Tarzan twisted, the sickening snap reverberating through the night. The air was thick with tension as the remaining four men circled, their faces contorted with rage. Together, they charged, a wall of aggression. Tarzan was a whirlwind of fury and strength, his strikes precise and devastating. Bones cracked, flesh yielded, and the jungle seemed to echo with the resounding clashes of combat. Finally, they lay defeated, sprawled in the dirt, their pride reduced to dust. In the heart of the camp, Baron von Richter stood alone, his face a mask of disbelief. He was the last man standing against this force of nature. Tarzan approached him, the jungle's fire burning in his eyes. The Baron's bravado wavered, replaced by a flicker of unease. With a voice that resonated like thunder, Tarzan repeated his declaration. "Release them," he said. "Or face the jungle's wrath." The Baron's defiance melted, replaced by a realization that he stood against a power greater than his own. He nodded, his voice a hollow whisper. "Free them," the Baron told the first of his men to recover. The great cats roared their freedom into the night, and with a final, piercing glare, Tarzan retreated into the shadows, leaving the Baron to contemplate his defeat. Present-day Baron von Richter closed his eyes, reliving that fateful night. His vengeance was at hand, and this time, he would not falter. Tarzan would kneel, defeated, before the world. The past had molded him into a force that would not be denied. He would claim his victory, and Tarzan would know the true measure of his power. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FORTY-NINE------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Fri, 2 Aug 2024 20:40:56 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance -- Chapter 49
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 49: Defiance and Dominance--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 49 -- Defiance and Dominance
As the shadows deepened, Baron von Richter stood at the edge of his lavish
estate, gazing out into the heart of the jungle. He was a formidable
figure, tall and broad-shouldered, a man hardened by years of conquest. His
steely gaze betrayed no hint of the festering grudge that lurked
within. Tonight was the night of his reckoning.
Back in time, in the early days of his ruthless career, Baron von Richter
had encountered the legendary Tarzan. The very thought of that encounter
fueled the fire within him.
In the heart of the jungle, the night was alive with the sounds of
wildlife, a cacophony of roars, calls, and rustling leaves. The campfire
roared, casting flickering shadows on the faces of the Baron's men. They
celebrated their bountiful haul, their raucous laughter echoing through the
wilderness.
Baron von Richter, clad in khaki safari attire and a wide-brimmed hat,
stood at the center of it all, a cruel grin etched across his face. He
raised a glass of aged whiskey high, his eyes gleaming with triumph.
"To the jungle's spoils, my loyal men!" the Baron said. "Tomorrow, we'll be
the toast of the aristocracy!"
The men roared in agreement, their tankards clashing in a boisterous toast.
As the revelry reached its peak, a low growl pierced through the night, a
warning from the jungle itself. The men fell silent, their faces etched
with unease.
Emerging from the shadows like a wraith, Tarzan stepped into the flickering
light. His tall, sinewy frame was a testament to the jungle's might, and
the loincloth that clad him bore the mark of his untamed existence.
The Baron's men exchanged incredulous glances, their laughter curdling into
nervous chuckles.
"Well, well, what have we here?" the Baron sneered, his voice dripping with
derision. "Another jungle savage, come to save his furry friends?"
Tarzan's eyes held an intensity that cut through the night. With a voice
that carried the weight of the wild, he issued his commanded.
"Release them," tarzan said. "Now."
The men's laughter returned, heartier than before. They were seasoned
brutes, a breed of man that dominated through sheer force. With haughty
grins, they ignored Tarzan's command.
The first to challenge him was a hulking brute, muscles bulging beneath a
ragged shirt. He charged, fists swinging, only to find Tarzan a tempest of
motion. The battle was swift, ending with the man sprawled at Tarzan's
feet, defeated.
One by one, they came, each more fearsome than the last. Yet, Tarzan met
their assaults with a feral grace, his movements a dance of survival. Four
fell before him, their arrogance shattered by his raw power.
As the fifth man lunged, Tarzan's eyes flickered with a hunter's
cunning. He dodged the attack, seizing the man's arm in a vice-like
grip. With a guttural growl, Tarzan twisted, the sickening snap
reverberating through the night.
The air was thick with tension as the remaining four men circled, their
faces contorted with rage. Together, they charged, a wall of aggression.
Tarzan was a whirlwind of fury and strength, his strikes precise and
devastating. Bones cracked, flesh yielded, and the jungle seemed to echo
with the resounding clashes of combat.
Finally, they lay defeated, sprawled in the dirt, their pride reduced to
dust.
In the heart of the camp, Baron von Richter stood alone, his face a mask of
disbelief. He was the last man standing against this force of nature.
Tarzan approached him, the jungle's fire burning in his eyes. The Baron's
bravado wavered, replaced by a flicker of unease.
With a voice that resonated like thunder, Tarzan repeated his declaration.
"Release them," he said. "Or face the jungle's wrath."
The Baron's defiance melted, replaced by a realization that he stood
against a power greater than his own. He nodded, his voice a hollow
whisper.
"Free them," the Baron told the first of his men to recover.
The great cats roared their freedom into the night, and with a final,
piercing glare, Tarzan retreated into the shadows, leaving the Baron to
contemplate his defeat.
Present-day Baron von Richter closed his eyes, reliving that fateful
night. His vengeance was at hand, and this time, he would not
falter. Tarzan would kneel, defeated, before the world.
The past had molded him into a force that would not be denied. He would
claim his victory, and Tarzan would know the true measure of his power.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FORTY-NINE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-12 | Date: Sun, 26 Nov 2023 11:38:34 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 12 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 12: Lord Hastings' Desire -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com * * * * * It had been a whirlwind turn of events for tarzan since a sense of foreboding stirring within him was followed by his encounter with the stranger, Kessler, a man of imposing stature and an aura of hidden intent. Kessler, clad in the guise of a heroic rescuer, greeted Tarzan with an unsettling gleam in his eyes. He spoke of a mission to free falsely enslaved men, appealing to Tarzan's sense of justice and camaraderie. As the stranger examined Tarzan's powerful physique, his touch lingered longer than necessary, an unspoken challenge in his gaze. Tarzan, sensing the undercurrent of deceit, braced himself. The rescuer takes tarzan to the slave auction site to scope it out and plot their heroic restoration of the wrongfully enslaved men's freedom. The journey to the impending auction revealed the true nature of the stranger's influence. The slaver was respected among those who dealt in human lives, his reputation a sinister force that hung heavy in the air. At the auction site, Tarzan's status shifted, his power usurped by the slaver's cunning. He observed the impending sale, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he was now ensnared in this twisted web. The slaver paraded the would-be slaves, comparing their strength to Tarzan's with an air of cruel amusement. He appealed to Tarzan's pride, mocking him for lacking the courage to bear the chains worn by the other captives. In a moment of calculated defiance, Tarzan acquiesced, allowing himself to be bound to prove his strength and courage. The slaver's laughter echoed through the jungle, victory gleaming in his eyes. Things happened quicker than tarzan could keep track of. He didn't understand the change that came over the rescuer, but assumed it was part of the plot to rescue the other slaves and played along. Tarzan figured his role was to pass himself off as a slave to be better positioned to rescue the others. As Tarzan stood on the precipice of his impending fate, he held fast to the laws of the jungle, accepting the ebb and flow of power. The men, prospective buyers, inspected him with a mixture of greed and calculation, each eyeing him as a tool to serve their ambitions. Among them stood three distinct figures, each with a vision of how Tarzan's strength could serve their purposes. Their intentions, veiled in their expressions, hinted at a future of uncertainty and peril. As the auctioneer's gavel fell, sealing Tarzan's fate, the story stood poised on the precipice of revelation. The bidding had begun, a crescendo of tension echoing through the jungle, leaving Tarzan's destiny suspended in the balance. * * * * * Lord Hastings stood at the edge of the bustling marketplace, observing the flurry of activity with a calculating gaze. His goal for the day was clear: to secure a strong addition to his labor force, someone whose strength and resilience would serve his interests in the fields and mines. With a firm grip on his cane, he paced slowly, eyes scanning the array of men being paraded for auction. The potential laborers were examined with a discerning eye, each assessed for the fortitude and vigor required for his estates. He wasn't merely seeking a servant; Lord Hastings sought a dominant force, someone who could endure the grueling demands of toil and obedience. In his mind, he envisioned a laborer who would stand unyielding under the relentless sun, whose muscles would be forged by labor and discipline. As the auction began, Lord Hastings watched attentively, his mind calculating the value of each man's physique, their potential to endure the harsh conditions of his estates. He knew what he wanted, and his bids reflected his determination to secure a worker who would add significant value to his holdings. The auctioneer's voice rang out, reverberating through the clearing. "Ladies and gentlemen, here, standing in chains before you today, is a specimen unlike any other. A man of indomitable strength and untamed spirit. Behold Tarzan, a figure that embodies the very essence of unyielding might, a paragon of vigor and resilience, a testament to the untamed power of the jungle, to raw strength, resilience, and unparalleled might. His muscles, sculpted by the trials of the wild, capable of feats that defy imagination. He is the epitome of untamed glory! "Let us start with an opening bid that truly befits his stature. What do we have? Who among you recognizes the value of harnessing such raw strength, such unparalleled prowess? Let the bids commence!" Lord Hastings, a landowner with vast fields and underground mines, saw Tarzan as a formidable laborer. He envisioned Tarzan toiling beneath the unforgiving sun, using his mighty strength to extract riches from the earth. His eyes gleamed with the prospect of Tarzan's potential, the promise of untold wealth. Lord Hastings stood amid the throng of bidders, his gaze fixed on the figure of Tarzan as he was displayed before the crowd. The auctioneer extolled the virtues of the captives, emphasizing their strength and endurance. Amidst them all, Tarzan stood out, a prime specimen of raw, untamed power. With a keen eye, Lord Hastings observed Tarzan's muscular physique, noting the sinewy strength etched in every line of the savage's body. He saw potential--a laborer whose vigor could withstand the rigors of the fields and mines. The fullness of his loincloth hinted at the source of his power, a power Lord Hastings became intent on seizing for his own. "The savage possesses remarkable strength, a resilience born of the jungle," Lord Hastings mused to himself, his thoughts aligning with his desires. He envisioned Tarzan toiling under the sun, a testament to endurance and unwavering determination. As the bidding escalated, Lord Hastings remained resolute, determined to secure Tarzan for his endeavors. He recognized in the savage a force that could enhance the productivity of his estates, someone who could withstand the harsh conditions and emerge unbroken. "500 pounds!" he declared, as he raised his paddle, his gaze fixed on Tarzan. The crowd gasped at the size of the opening bid and turned to see who cast it. "I see in him a steward of my lands," Lord Hastings declared, "a guardian to protect my estate. Under the guidance of my overseer's lash, he will work as hard as a dozen slaves, and his strength will fortify my holdings against any threat!" The auctioneer adjusted his pitch. "Lord Hastings recognizes Tarzan's potential as both an unsurpassed laborer and a protector, a sentinel guarding his lordship's domain. 500 pounds! Do I hear more?" The crowd looked amongst themselves with insatiable curiosity, but they recognized there was little chance of such a high opening bid for a single slave being surpassed by another bidder. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER TWELVE ----------------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sun, 26 Nov 2023 11:38:34 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 12
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 12: Lord Hastings' Desire --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
It had been a whirlwind turn of events for tarzan since a sense of
foreboding stirring within him was followed by his encounter with the
stranger, Kessler, a man of imposing stature and an aura of hidden intent.
Kessler, clad in the guise of a heroic rescuer, greeted Tarzan with an
unsettling gleam in his eyes. He spoke of a mission to free falsely
enslaved men, appealing to Tarzan's sense of justice and camaraderie.
As the stranger examined Tarzan's powerful physique, his touch lingered
longer than necessary, an unspoken challenge in his gaze. Tarzan, sensing
the undercurrent of deceit, braced himself.
The rescuer takes tarzan to the slave auction site to scope it out and plot
their heroic restoration of the wrongfully enslaved men's freedom. The
journey to the impending auction revealed the true nature of the stranger's
influence. The slaver was respected among those who dealt in human lives,
his reputation a sinister force that hung heavy in the air.
At the auction site, Tarzan's status shifted, his power usurped by the
slaver's cunning. He observed the impending sale, his heart heavy with the
knowledge that he was now ensnared in this twisted web.
The slaver paraded the would-be slaves, comparing their strength to
Tarzan's with an air of cruel amusement. He appealed to Tarzan's pride,
mocking him for lacking the courage to bear the chains worn by the other
captives.
In a moment of calculated defiance, Tarzan acquiesced, allowing himself to
be bound to prove his strength and courage. The slaver's laughter echoed
through the jungle, victory gleaming in his eyes.
Things happened quicker than tarzan could keep track of. He didn't
understand the change that came over the rescuer, but assumed it was part
of the plot to rescue the other slaves and played along. Tarzan figured
his role was to pass himself off as a slave to be better positioned to
rescue the others.
As Tarzan stood on the precipice of his impending fate, he held fast to the
laws of the jungle, accepting the ebb and flow of power. The men,
prospective buyers, inspected him with a mixture of greed and calculation,
each eyeing him as a tool to serve their ambitions.
Among them stood three distinct figures, each with a vision of how Tarzan's
strength could serve their purposes. Their intentions, veiled in their
expressions, hinted at a future of uncertainty and peril.
As the auctioneer's gavel fell, sealing Tarzan's fate, the story stood
poised on the precipice of revelation. The bidding had begun, a crescendo
of tension echoing through the jungle, leaving Tarzan's destiny suspended
in the balance.
* * * * *
Lord Hastings stood at the edge of the bustling marketplace, observing the
flurry of activity with a calculating gaze. His goal for the day was clear:
to secure a strong addition to his labor force, someone whose strength and
resilience would serve his interests in the fields and mines.
With a firm grip on his cane, he paced slowly, eyes scanning the array of
men being paraded for auction. The potential laborers were examined with a
discerning eye, each assessed for the fortitude and vigor required for his
estates.
He wasn't merely seeking a servant; Lord Hastings sought a dominant force,
someone who could endure the grueling demands of toil and obedience. In his
mind, he envisioned a laborer who would stand unyielding under the
relentless sun, whose muscles would be forged by labor and discipline.
As the auction began, Lord Hastings watched attentively, his mind
calculating the value of each man's physique, their potential to endure the
harsh conditions of his estates. He knew what he wanted, and his bids
reflected his determination to secure a worker who would add significant
value to his holdings.
The auctioneer's voice rang out, reverberating through the clearing.
"Ladies and gentlemen, here, standing in chains before you today, is a
specimen unlike any other. A man of indomitable strength and untamed
spirit. Behold Tarzan, a figure that embodies the very essence of
unyielding might, a paragon of vigor and resilience, a testament to the
untamed power of the jungle, to raw strength, resilience, and unparalleled
might. His muscles, sculpted by the trials of the wild, capable of feats
that defy imagination. He is the epitome of untamed glory!
"Let us start with an opening bid that truly befits his stature. What do we
have? Who among you recognizes the value of harnessing such raw strength,
such unparalleled prowess? Let the bids commence!"
Lord Hastings, a landowner with vast fields and underground mines, saw
Tarzan as a formidable laborer. He envisioned Tarzan toiling beneath the
unforgiving sun, using his mighty strength to extract riches from the
earth. His eyes gleamed with the prospect of Tarzan's potential, the
promise of untold wealth.
Lord Hastings stood amid the throng of bidders, his gaze fixed on the
figure of Tarzan as he was displayed before the crowd. The auctioneer
extolled the virtues of the captives, emphasizing their strength and
endurance. Amidst them all, Tarzan stood out, a prime specimen of raw,
untamed power.
With a keen eye, Lord Hastings observed Tarzan's muscular physique, noting
the sinewy strength etched in every line of the savage's body. He saw
potential--a laborer whose vigor could withstand the rigors of the fields
and mines. The fullness of his loincloth hinted at the source of his power,
a power Lord Hastings became intent on seizing for his own.
"The savage possesses remarkable strength, a resilience born of the
jungle," Lord Hastings mused to himself, his thoughts aligning with his
desires. He envisioned Tarzan toiling under the sun, a testament to
endurance and unwavering determination.
As the bidding escalated, Lord Hastings remained resolute, determined to
secure Tarzan for his endeavors. He recognized in the savage a force that
could enhance the productivity of his estates, someone who could withstand
the harsh conditions and emerge unbroken.
"500 pounds!" he declared, as he raised his paddle, his gaze fixed on
Tarzan. The crowd gasped at the size of the opening bid and turned to see
who cast it. "I see in him a steward of my lands," Lord Hastings declared,
"a guardian to protect my estate. Under the guidance of my overseer's lash,
he will work as hard as a dozen slaves, and his strength will fortify my
holdings against any threat!"
The auctioneer adjusted his pitch.
"Lord Hastings recognizes Tarzan's potential as both an unsurpassed laborer
and a protector, a sentinel guarding his lordship's domain. 500 pounds! Do
I hear more?"
The crowd looked amongst themselves with insatiable curiosity, but they
recognized there was little chance of such a high opening bid for a single
slave being surpassed by another bidder.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER TWELVE -----------------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you
have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-19 | Date: Mon, 11 Dec 2023 17:45:19 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 19 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 19: Bound in Captivity -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com * * * * * Chapter 19: Bound in Captivity As the dawn broke over the horizon, Mr. Blackwood guided Tarzan back to Lord Harrington's sprawling estate. The journey was a solemn one, the weight of Tarzan's captivity settling heavily upon him. The jungle, distant and wild, seemed to beckon in the distance, its ancient heart aching for its rightful king. Upon their return, Mr. Blackwood approached Lord Harrington, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. "My lord, the night proved to be a success beyond measure" Blackwood said to his new partner. "Tarzan's display of strength and agility left the patrons in awe. The profits were substantial." Lord Harrington's gaze bore into Tarzan, a glint of greed in his eyes. "Excellent news, Blackwood. It seems our investment has paid off handsomely." At Mr. Blackwood's side stood three distinguished men, each eager for their chance to oversee Tarzan in the fields and mines. They offered Lord Harrington a substantial sum for this privilege, their intentions clear in their ambitious eyes. "Lord Harrington," one of the men spoke, "We assure you, with our guidance, Tarzan's labor will yield results beyond compare. We have devised methods to ensure maximum productivity." Lord Harrington considered their offer, a smile playing at his lips. "Very well, gentlemen. I grant you this opportunity." He provided the men with the tools they would need to oversee Tarzan's work: a riding crop, a bull whip, and a cattle prod. Each item symbolized the control they now held over the once-mighty king of the jungle. Under the watchful eyes of their new overseers, Tarzan toiled in the fields and mines, his body demonstrating the raw power that still flowed through his veins. The men, with their tools of authority, directed his every move, their voices cold and commanding. As the day wore on, the sun bearing down with unyielding intensity, Tarzan's muscles strained against the relentless labor. The overseers, their stature elevated by their newfound authority, pushed him to the brink of exhaustion. Meanwhile, in the shadowed corners of the estate, Mr. Blackwood and Lord Harrington spoke in hushed tones, their voices filled with the promise of even greater profits. They discussed plans to exploit Tarzan's strength for further gain, to extract every ounce of value from their prized acquisition. He was proving more profitable than they could have imagined, with men lining up to pay for the privaledge of whipping tarzan into shape and up to pace. As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of red and gold, Tarzan was led back to his meager quarters. His body, weary and battered, bore the marks of a day of relentless toil. Yet, his spirit remained unbroken, a beacon of defiance in the face of his captivity. The jungle, with its ancient wisdom, watched over Tarzan, its branches whispering secrets of hope and resilience. The once-king, bound by fate, knew that his journey was far from over, and the call of the wild still echoed in his heart. * * * * * As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, Tarzan's weary form was led to the kennels. The hose, a harsh and impersonal instrument, sprayed him down, cleansing away the residue of his day's labor. It was a reminder of his lowly status, a stark contrast to the untamed spirit that still pulsed within him. From the depths of his coat, Mr. Blackwood produced a garment, a simple and coarse tunic that would now replace Tarzan's signature loincloth. It was a garment more fitting for one of Tarzan's lowly stature, a tangible representation of his fallen status. "Put this on, Tarzan," Mr. Blackwood instructed, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "It is more appropriate for your current role." Tarzan accepted the garment with a measured acceptance, understanding that it was another step in his journey of captivity. He donned the tunic, the fabric rough against his skin, leaving his mighty chest exposed and barely covering his cock -- intimidating even at rest -- and leaving his big bull balls dangling beneath the edge of the slave garment, a tangible reminder of his altered existence. Leashed and bound, Tarzan was led back to the opulent club where the night's revelry awaited. Before securing him for the trip, Mr. Blackwood spoke to Tarzan, his words a mixture of instruction and assurance. "Tonight, Tarzan, you will entertain the patrons once more. Remember your place and show them the strength that they admire so greatly." Tarzan listened, his demeanor respectful and compliant. He had learned to treat Mr. Blackwood with the deference that his new role demanded, a survival instinct that guided him through the trials of captivity. He rode in a cage strapped to the top of the carriage, the once-king now confined in a cage that spoke volumes of his fallen status. It was a stark juxtaposition to Mr. Blackwood, who rode in comfort and ease, a testament to the power dynamic that now governed their interactions. The spectacle of the savage stud caged and controlled like a common beast was not lost on those encountering the carriage and its cargo on its trip to the Dom's Den. As they approached the club, the atmosphere shifted, the anticipation of the night's spectacle palpable. Tarzan understood the gravity of his role, the captive king now a living curiosity for the amusement of his superiors. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER NINETEEN------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Mon, 11 Dec 2023 17:45:19 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 19
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 19: Bound in Captivity --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
Chapter 19: Bound in Captivity
As the dawn broke over the horizon, Mr. Blackwood guided Tarzan back to
Lord Harrington's sprawling estate. The journey was a solemn one, the
weight of Tarzan's captivity settling heavily upon him. The jungle, distant
and wild, seemed to beckon in the distance, its ancient heart aching for
its rightful king.
Upon their return, Mr. Blackwood approached Lord Harrington, a glimmer of
satisfaction in his eyes.
"My lord, the night proved to be a success beyond measure" Blackwood said
to his new partner. "Tarzan's display of strength and agility left the
patrons in awe. The profits were substantial."
Lord Harrington's gaze bore into Tarzan, a glint of greed in his eyes.
"Excellent news, Blackwood. It seems our investment has paid off
handsomely."
At Mr. Blackwood's side stood three distinguished men, each eager for their
chance to oversee Tarzan in the fields and mines. They offered Lord
Harrington a substantial sum for this privilege, their intentions clear in
their ambitious eyes.
"Lord Harrington," one of the men spoke, "We assure you, with our guidance,
Tarzan's labor will yield results beyond compare. We have devised methods
to ensure maximum productivity."
Lord Harrington considered their offer, a smile playing at his lips.
"Very well, gentlemen. I grant you this opportunity."
He provided the men with the tools they would need to oversee Tarzan's
work: a riding crop, a bull whip, and a cattle prod. Each item symbolized
the control they now held over the once-mighty king of the jungle.
Under the watchful eyes of their new overseers, Tarzan toiled in the fields
and mines, his body demonstrating the raw power that still flowed through
his veins. The men, with their tools of authority, directed his every move,
their voices cold and commanding.
As the day wore on, the sun bearing down with unyielding intensity,
Tarzan's muscles strained against the relentless labor. The overseers,
their stature elevated by their newfound authority, pushed him to the brink
of exhaustion.
Meanwhile, in the shadowed corners of the estate, Mr. Blackwood and Lord
Harrington spoke in hushed tones, their voices filled with the promise of
even greater profits. They discussed plans to exploit Tarzan's strength for
further gain, to extract every ounce of value from their prized
acquisition. He was proving more profitable than they could have imagined,
with men lining up to pay for the privaledge of whipping tarzan into shape
and up to pace.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of red and
gold, Tarzan was led back to his meager quarters. His body, weary and
battered, bore the marks of a day of relentless toil. Yet, his spirit
remained unbroken, a beacon of defiance in the face of his captivity.
The jungle, with its ancient wisdom, watched over Tarzan, its branches
whispering secrets of hope and resilience. The once-king, bound by fate,
knew that his journey was far from over, and the call of the wild still
echoed in his heart.
* * * * *
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues,
Tarzan's weary form was led to the kennels. The hose, a harsh and
impersonal instrument, sprayed him down, cleansing away the residue of his
day's labor. It was a reminder of his lowly status, a stark contrast to the
untamed spirit that still pulsed within him.
From the depths of his coat, Mr. Blackwood produced a garment, a simple and
coarse tunic that would now replace Tarzan's signature loincloth. It was a
garment more fitting for one of Tarzan's lowly stature, a tangible
representation of his fallen status.
"Put this on, Tarzan," Mr. Blackwood instructed, his voice carrying the
weight of authority. "It is more appropriate for your current role."
Tarzan accepted the garment with a measured acceptance, understanding that
it was another step in his journey of captivity. He donned the tunic, the
fabric rough against his skin, leaving his mighty chest exposed and barely
covering his cock -- intimidating even at rest -- and leaving his big bull
balls dangling beneath the edge of the slave garment, a tangible reminder
of his altered existence.
Leashed and bound, Tarzan was led back to the opulent club where the
night's revelry awaited. Before securing him for the trip, Mr. Blackwood
spoke to Tarzan, his words a mixture of instruction and assurance.
"Tonight, Tarzan, you will entertain the patrons once more. Remember your
place and show them the strength that they admire so greatly."
Tarzan listened, his demeanor respectful and compliant. He had learned to
treat Mr. Blackwood with the deference that his new role demanded, a
survival instinct that guided him through the trials of captivity.
He rode in a cage strapped to the top of the carriage, the once-king now
confined in a cage that spoke volumes of his fallen status. It was a stark
juxtaposition to Mr. Blackwood, who rode in comfort and ease, a testament
to the power dynamic that now governed their interactions.
The spectacle of the savage stud caged and controlled like a common beast
was not lost on those encountering the carriage and its cargo on its trip
to the Dom's Den.
As they approached the club, the atmosphere shifted, the anticipation of
the night's spectacle palpable. Tarzan understood the gravity of his role,
the captive king now a living curiosity for the amusement of his superiors.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER NINETEEN-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-46 | Date: Mon, 22 Apr 2024 03:14:09 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 46
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 46: The Power of Submission--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
As the men gather to discuss the experience, a sense of satisfaction and
triumph permeates the air. They exchange knowing glances, their expressions
a mixture of amusement and dominance.
Hargrove, always keen on assessing a slave's potential, speaks first.
"Remarkable, isn't it? To witness the transformation of such a once-proud
creature into a submissive vessel, completely at our mercy. His training
progresses even in his sleep."
Blackwood nods in agreement, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
"Indeed. It's clear that the conditioning has taken root deep within
him. He responds to our commands without hesitation. A triumph in the
effectiveness of our methods."
Alden, though less vocal, chimes in with a wry smile.
"He's become a true specimen of servitude. It's almost poetic, watching him
kneel before us, his once formidable presence reduced to a mere plaything
for our amusement."
Harrington, ever the strategist, offers his observations.
"His compliance is promising. With the right guidance, he could prove to be
an invaluable asset. His strength and submission, combined with the leash
and ring, make for a potent combination."
The Baron, the orchestrator of this entire endeavor, gazes at Tarzan with a
glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
"Gentlemen, we are on the cusp of a new era. With Tarzan firmly under our
control, we hold the key to dominance unlike anything we've seen before. He
will be the jewel of the Alpha Ascension, a symbol of our absolute power."
The men exchange nods of agreement, their confidence in their plan
unwavering. Tarzan's fate is sealed, and they revel in the knowledge that
they hold the reins of his destiny.
* * * * *
In Alden's Gossip Column:
The Alpha Ascension Unfolds: Tarzan's Triumph of Submission
Dear readers,
Oh, what a spectacle unfolded before my very eyes! The once-mighty Tarzan,
the epitome of strength and primal power, now reduced to a mere shadow of
his former self, bound by chains of servitude.
In a remarkable display of dominance, the illustrious Baron and his
esteemed companions, Blackwood, Hargrove, Harrington, and yours truly,
Alden, reveled in Tarzan's submission. Each command met with unwavering
obedience, his every move orchestrated by the flick of a leash.
The scene was a masterpiece of control, with Tarzan's once defiant spirit
now humbled, kneeling before his superiors. His physique, once a symbol of
untamed wilderness, now a canvas of submission, adorned with a leash and a
"manhood" ring binding him beneath his loincloth, a stark reminder of his
newfound station.
The Baron's plan is unfolding seamlessly, and I have no doubt that Tarzan
will play a central role in the upcoming Alpha Ascension, a living
testament to the triumph of dominance.
Stay tuned, dear readers, for this saga is far from over. The Alpha
Ascension promises to be an event of unparalleled grandeur, and I shall be
here to bring you every tantalizing detail.
Until next time,
Alden
* * * * *
Hargrove took a step forward, his presence looming over the kneeling
Tarzan. He could feel the tension in the air, the weight of the Baron's
command resting heavily on his shoulders. This was his moment to prove
himself, to demonstrate his prowess in the art of dominance.
"Tarzan," he began, his voice low and commanding, "you were once the king
of the jungle, ruling with an iron fist. But now, look at you. Kneeling
before your betters, a mere shadow of your former self. You have learned
the power of submission, haven't you?"
Hargrove's fingers trailed lightly down Tarzan's spine, feeling the subtle
tremors that ran through the once-mighty frame. He circled around, studying
the way Tarzan's muscles tensed and relaxed in response to his touch. It
was a dance of dominance and submission, a delicate interplay of power
dynamics.
He stopped in front of Tarzan, locking eyes with him.
"You will learn, Tarzan. You will learn to yield, to serve, to submit. And
in doing so, you will find a new kind of strength. A strength born from the
acceptance of your place in this hierarchy."
With that, Hargrove stepped back, allowing the weight of his words to
settle. He knew that this was just the beginning, that the road to Tarzan's
ultimate submission was a long and arduous one. But he was determined to
see it through, to witness the transformation of the once-proud jungle king
into a willing servant.
And so, Hargrove continued his task, guiding Tarzan down the path of
humility and obedience, one deliberate step at a time.
Hargrove wasted no time. He knew that the process of breaking Tarzan down,
of molding him into a submissive servant, required precision and
persistence. He circled the kneeling figure, his steps deliberate and
purposeful.
"Look at you," he mused, his voice a low rumble, "a slave, just like any
other. But there's still that fire in your eyes, that spark of
defiance. We'll have to work on that, won't we?"
He reached down, fingers gripping Tarzan's chin firmly, tilting his head up
to meet Hargrove's gaze. Their eyes locked, and Hargrove could see the
struggle within Tarzan, the battle between his ingrained instincts and the
reality of his new position.
"Your strength is still there, Tarzan," he murmured, "but it needs to be
channeled, harnessed for a different purpose. You will find power in
submission, in knowing when to yield and when to serve."
With a swift motion, Hargrove brought Tarzan to his feet, keeping a tight
grip on his arm. He guided him across the room, their footsteps echoing off
the walls. It was a dance of dominance and compliance, a silent
conversation of control.
"Kneel," Hargrove commanded, and Tarzan obeyed, sinking to the ground once
more. It was a sight to behold--the once-mighty Tarzan brought to his
knees, submitting to his new master.
As the days went by, Hargrove continued his work, each interaction a
carefully calculated step towards Tarzan's ultimate submission. He tested
boundaries, pushed limits, and rewarded compliance. It was a delicate
balance, a dance of dominance and surrender that would ultimately reshape
Tarzan's identity.
And through it all, Hargrove remained vigilant, knowing that the
transformation was not yet complete. Tarzan's journey from jungle king to
willing servant was a process that required time, patience, and a masterful
hand to guide it to its inevitable conclusion.
Tarzan's transformation was evident in every sinew of his body. His once
defiant posture had softened, replaced by a quiet readiness to serve. He
moved with a grace that belied his former wildness, anticipating the needs
of his superiors before they even voiced them.
His eyes, once fierce and untamed, now held a glint of something
else--deference, perhaps even a touch of gratitude. When he spoke, it was
in halting, broken English, a stark contrast to the eloquence of his
betters. He no longer protested or challenged; instead, he offered simple
acknowledgments of his masters' commands.
"Tarzan... do," he would say, a willingness to comply evident in his voice.
He learned quickly, absorbing the lessons of submission with an almost
unnerving efficiency. His body became a canvas for the desires of his
superiors, a testament to his newfound role. He bore the marks of their
control--cuffs and restraints, symbols of his servitude.
Hargrove watched with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation. Tarzan's
progress spoke to the effectiveness of their methods, to the power of their
dominance. Each step towards submission was a victory proving the
malleability of even the mightiest spirit.
Tarzan was becoming a living embodiment of their authority, a slave who
understood his place and embraced it willingly. His once wild heart now
beat in rhythm with the desires of his masters, a standard bearer for the
transformative power of their dominance.
* * * * *
As Tarzan knelt alone in the quiet moments between his service to the
superiors, his mind churned with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. His
identity, once forged in the untamed heart of the jungle, had undergone a
profound metamorphosis. He contemplated the shift from savage to servant,
from wild to willing.
In the stillness of his solitude, he whispered to himself in the broken
English he had adopted,
"Tarzan... Tarzan serve."
His thoughts were a mixture of acceptance and resignation, tinged with a
strange sense of fulfillment. There was a simplicity in this newfound
purpose, a clarity that had been absent from the complexities of his
previous existence. He no longer fought against the currents of authority;
instead, he flowed with them, finding solace in the obedience he offered.
With every act of submission, every gesture of service, he felt a peculiar
sense of belonging. He was no longer an outsider, a lone figure in the
depths of the jungle. He was a part of a greater whole, a cog in the
machinery of dominance and submission.
Though his body bore the marks of his masters' control, he wore them with a
strange pride. They were symbols of his newfound identity, badges of honor
that marked him as theirs. He no longer longed for the freedom of the wild;
instead, he found a different kind of liberation in his service.
As he whispered to himself in the dim light of the stable, he acknowledged
the truth of his existence,
"Tarzan... serve." It was a mantra that anchored him, a reminder of his
purpose in this new world he inhabited. And in that acceptance, he found a
curious sense of peace.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FORTY-SIX-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
<pre>Date: Mon, 22 Apr 2024 03:14:09 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 46
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 46: The Power of Submission--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
As the men gather to discuss the experience, a sense of satisfaction and
triumph permeates the air. They exchange knowing glances, their expressions
a mixture of amusement and dominance.
Hargrove, always keen on assessing a slave's potential, speaks first.
"Remarkable, isn't it? To witness the transformation of such a once-proud
creature into a submissive vessel, completely at our mercy. His training
progresses even in his sleep."
Blackwood nods in agreement, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
"Indeed. It's clear that the conditioning has taken root deep within
him. He responds to our commands without hesitation. A triumph in the
effectiveness of our methods."
Alden, though less vocal, chimes in with a wry smile.
"He's become a true specimen of servitude. It's almost poetic, watching him
kneel before us, his once formidable presence reduced to a mere plaything
for our amusement."
Harrington, ever the strategist, offers his observations.
"His compliance is promising. With the right guidance, he could prove to be
an invaluable asset. His strength and submission, combined with the leash
and ring, make for a potent combination."
The Baron, the orchestrator of this entire endeavor, gazes at Tarzan with a
glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
"Gentlemen, we are on the cusp of a new era. With Tarzan firmly under our
control, we hold the key to dominance unlike anything we've seen before. He
will be the jewel of the Alpha Ascension, a symbol of our absolute power."
The men exchange nods of agreement, their confidence in their plan
unwavering. Tarzan's fate is sealed, and they revel in the knowledge that
they hold the reins of his destiny.
* * * * *
In Alden's Gossip Column:
The Alpha Ascension Unfolds: Tarzan's Triumph of Submission
Dear readers,
Oh, what a spectacle unfolded before my very eyes! The once-mighty Tarzan,
the epitome of strength and primal power, now reduced to a mere shadow of
his former self, bound by chains of servitude.
In a remarkable display of dominance, the illustrious Baron and his
esteemed companions, Blackwood, Hargrove, Harrington, and yours truly,
Alden, reveled in Tarzan's submission. Each command met with unwavering
obedience, his every move orchestrated by the flick of a leash.
The scene was a masterpiece of control, with Tarzan's once defiant spirit
now humbled, kneeling before his superiors. His physique, once a symbol of
untamed wilderness, now a canvas of submission, adorned with a leash and a
"manhood" ring binding him beneath his loincloth, a stark reminder of his
newfound station.
The Baron's plan is unfolding seamlessly, and I have no doubt that Tarzan
will play a central role in the upcoming Alpha Ascension, a living
testament to the triumph of dominance.
Stay tuned, dear readers, for this saga is far from over. The Alpha
Ascension promises to be an event of unparalleled grandeur, and I shall be
here to bring you every tantalizing detail.
Until next time,
Alden
* * * * *
Hargrove took a step forward, his presence looming over the kneeling
Tarzan. He could feel the tension in the air, the weight of the Baron's
command resting heavily on his shoulders. This was his moment to prove
himself, to demonstrate his prowess in the art of dominance.
"Tarzan," he began, his voice low and commanding, "you were once the king
of the jungle, ruling with an iron fist. But now, look at you. Kneeling
before your betters, a mere shadow of your former self. You have learned
the power of submission, haven't you?"
Hargrove's fingers trailed lightly down Tarzan's spine, feeling the subtle
tremors that ran through the once-mighty frame. He circled around, studying
the way Tarzan's muscles tensed and relaxed in response to his touch. It
was a dance of dominance and submission, a delicate interplay of power
dynamics.
He stopped in front of Tarzan, locking eyes with him.
"You will learn, Tarzan. You will learn to yield, to serve, to submit. And
in doing so, you will find a new kind of strength. A strength born from the
acceptance of your place in this hierarchy."
With that, Hargrove stepped back, allowing the weight of his words to
settle. He knew that this was just the beginning, that the road to Tarzan's
ultimate submission was a long and arduous one. But he was determined to
see it through, to witness the transformation of the once-proud jungle king
into a willing servant.
And so, Hargrove continued his task, guiding Tarzan down the path of
humility and obedience, one deliberate step at a time.
Hargrove wasted no time. He knew that the process of breaking Tarzan down,
of molding him into a submissive servant, required precision and
persistence. He circled the kneeling figure, his steps deliberate and
purposeful.
"Look at you," he mused, his voice a low rumble, "a slave, just like any
other. But there's still that fire in your eyes, that spark of
defiance. We'll have to work on that, won't we?"
He reached down, fingers gripping Tarzan's chin firmly, tilting his head up
to meet Hargrove's gaze. Their eyes locked, and Hargrove could see the
struggle within Tarzan, the battle between his ingrained instincts and the
reality of his new position.
"Your strength is still there, Tarzan," he murmured, "but it needs to be
channeled, harnessed for a different purpose. You will find power in
submission, in knowing when to yield and when to serve."
With a swift motion, Hargrove brought Tarzan to his feet, keeping a tight
grip on his arm. He guided him across the room, their footsteps echoing off
the walls. It was a dance of dominance and compliance, a silent
conversation of control.
"Kneel," Hargrove commanded, and Tarzan obeyed, sinking to the ground once
more. It was a sight to behold--the once-mighty Tarzan brought to his
knees, submitting to his new master.
As the days went by, Hargrove continued his work, each interaction a
carefully calculated step towards Tarzan's ultimate submission. He tested
boundaries, pushed limits, and rewarded compliance. It was a delicate
balance, a dance of dominance and surrender that would ultimately reshape
Tarzan's identity.
And through it all, Hargrove remained vigilant, knowing that the
transformation was not yet complete. Tarzan's journey from jungle king to
willing servant was a process that required time, patience, and a masterful
hand to guide it to its inevitable conclusion.
Tarzan's transformation was evident in every sinew of his body. His once
defiant posture had softened, replaced by a quiet readiness to serve. He
moved with a grace that belied his former wildness, anticipating the needs
of his superiors before they even voiced them.
His eyes, once fierce and untamed, now held a glint of something
else--deference, perhaps even a touch of gratitude. When he spoke, it was
in halting, broken English, a stark contrast to the eloquence of his
betters. He no longer protested or challenged; instead, he offered simple
acknowledgments of his masters' commands.
"Tarzan... do," he would say, a willingness to comply evident in his voice.
He learned quickly, absorbing the lessons of submission with an almost
unnerving efficiency. His body became a canvas for the desires of his
superiors, a testament to his newfound role. He bore the marks of their
control--cuffs and restraints, symbols of his servitude.
Hargrove watched with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation. Tarzan's
progress spoke to the effectiveness of their methods, to the power of their
dominance. Each step towards submission was a victory proving the
malleability of even the mightiest spirit.
Tarzan was becoming a living embodiment of their authority, a slave who
understood his place and embraced it willingly. His once wild heart now
beat in rhythm with the desires of his masters, a standard bearer for the
transformative power of their dominance.
* * * * *
As Tarzan knelt alone in the quiet moments between his service to the
superiors, his mind churned with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. His
identity, once forged in the untamed heart of the jungle, had undergone a
profound metamorphosis. He contemplated the shift from savage to servant,
from wild to willing.
In the stillness of his solitude, he whispered to himself in the broken
English he had adopted,
"Tarzan... Tarzan serve."
His thoughts were a mixture of acceptance and resignation, tinged with a
strange sense of fulfillment. There was a simplicity in this newfound
purpose, a clarity that had been absent from the complexities of his
previous existence. He no longer fought against the currents of authority;
instead, he flowed with them, finding solace in the obedience he offered.
With every act of submission, every gesture of service, he felt a peculiar
sense of belonging. He was no longer an outsider, a lone figure in the
depths of the jungle. He was a part of a greater whole, a cog in the
machinery of dominance and submission.
Though his body bore the marks of his masters' control, he wore them with a
strange pride. They were symbols of his newfound identity, badges of honor
that marked him as theirs. He no longer longed for the freedom of the wild;
instead, he found a different kind of liberation in his service.
As he whispered to himself in the dim light of the stable, he acknowledged
the truth of his existence,
"Tarzan... serve." It was a mantra that anchored him, a reminder of his
purpose in this new world he inhabited. And in that acceptance, he found a
curious sense of peace.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FORTY-SIX-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</pre>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-15 | Date: Mon, 4 Dec 2023 16:57:01 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 15 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 15: The Spoils of Victory -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com * * * * * Chapter 15 -- The Spoils of Victory The market square buzzed with jubilation as Lord Hastings, flanked by his retinue, departed from the auction venue. The crowd, a mix of onlookers and bidders, erupted into a chorus of congratulatory cheers. Lord Hastings, an aura of satisfaction enveloping him, acknowledged the crowd with a nod, his expression a blend of triumph and reserved delight. Mr. Blackwood and Worthington, the other bidders, stood among the gathering, discussing the turn of events animatedly. Their expressions varied -- Worthington appeared resigned but amiable, while Blackwood seemed disappointed yet determined. As Lord Hastings made his way through the throng, some market-goers caught glimpses of Tarzan, now property bound to the victor. Excitement rippled through the crowd at the sight of the fabled Tarzan, now seemingly destined for a new chapter under Lord Hastings' ownership. The atmosphere crackled with curiosity and anticipation. "The jungle's king is headed to Lord Hastings' estate," marveled one in the crowd. "Seems the jungle's mightiest will be serving the lord now," laughed a villager. "What madness! The king bowing to a lord?" Meanwhile, various individuals traded speculations and comments about the auction, the high-stakes bidding, and the potential implications of Tarzan's new status. They whispered in hushed tones about the Lord's intentions, while others expressed admiration for his successful bid. "Hastings will rule the wilds through the jungle's own champion," one ventured. "They say Lord Hastings will have him plow his fields, just like a common laborer!" "I reckon it's a show of grandeur. A king as a servant--quite the spectacle, I'd say," said a third from the crowd. "It's like a tale out of the ancient scrolls, seeing the jungle's sovereign at the beck and call of a lord." The whispers grew louder and bolder as the villagers speculated on Tarzan's newfound destiny. In the midst of this vibrant scene, the triumphant Lord Hastings maintained a composed and dignified demeanor, his gaze fixed ahead as he navigated through the bustling market, flanked by his entourage, signaling a consequential turning point that would shape Tarzan's future. * * * * * Soon enough, the sun set, casting a golden glow over the jungle as the crowd dispersed from the auction clearing. The air was alive with chatter and celebration, the victorious bidders reveling in their success. Among them, Lord Hastings stood tall, a triumphant glint in his eyes as he accepted congratulations from fellow attendees. As the festivities commenced, drums echoed through the night, beckoning villagers and attendees to join in the jubilation. Fires crackled, casting dancing shadows across the makeshift gathering. Villagers and bidders alike shared stories and toasted to their fortunes. Tarzan's fate was the topic of every conversation. Whispers of speculation mingled with laughter and music. The villagers marveled at the extraordinary auction, their voices a symphony of excitement. Lord Hastings, the proud victor, hosted an impromptu feast in the midst of the festivities. Tables overflowed with fruits, meats, and exotic dishes brought from distant lands. His guests toasted to his successful bid and speculated about the future of the mysterious captive. Amidst the revelry, a sense of anticipation lingered in the air. Tarzan's destiny had become the talk of the region, and whispers of the jungle's king being under the command of Lord Hastings stirred imaginations, attracting more and more crowds to the village to see if the whispers were true. Lord Hastings sneered at his new slave as the chains that bound Tarzan clinked with every step, echoing the uncertain path that now lay before him. "Tarzan," Lord Hastings addressed him, his voice tinged with an air of authority, "You are now under my employ. You shall serve me faithfully, and in return, you shall be granted certain privileges." Tarzan's gaze, fierce and unwavering, met Lord Harrington's with a silent acknowledgment of their newfound arrangement. He understood the precarious nature of his situation, and though bound, his spirit remained untamed. Meanwhile, the disappointed club owner, Mr. Blackwood, observed from a distance, his dissatisfaction evident in the lines etched on his face. He approached Lord Harrington, a cunning gleam in his eyes. "Lord Hastings, I see the potential in this... acquisition," Mr. Blackwood began, choosing his words with calculated precision. "Perhaps we can strike a mutually beneficial arrangement. Tarzan's strength could serve my club well, providing a unique spectacle for my patrons." Lord Hastings listened to Blackwood and considered the proposal, his mind working through the possibilities. "You speak wisely, Mr. Blackwood," said the measured and calculating Lord Hastings. "Tarzan's abilities are indeed extraordinary, and it would be a shame to confine them to one domain." After a moment of contemplation, Hastings invited Blackwood to meet him at his estate to discuss the details of a mutually beneficial deal. By day, Tarzan would labor in Lord Harrington's fields and mines, his strength harnessed for the benefit of his estate. By night, he would be transported to Mr. Blackwood's club, where he would be displayed as a living marvel, captivating the audience with his untamed prowess. As the arrangement took shape, Tarzan found himself at the intersection of two disparate worlds, his destiny now intertwined with the ambitions of Lord Harrington and Mr. Blackwood. As the night wore on, the celebration reached its peak. Drums throbbed, fires blazed, and laughter filled the jungle. Lord Hastings looked on, the weight of his victory settling upon him as he anticipated the dawn that would bring the beginning of a new chapter in his estate's history. The celebration, a tapestry of joy and excitement, continued long into the night, marking the end of an auction that had set Tarzan's destiny on a new and uncertain path. * * * * * As the festivities raged on, preparations were swiftly made for Lord Hastings' departure with his new asset. Tarzan, now seemingly resigned to his temporary fate, found himself physically restrained for the journey to Lord Hastings' estate. Lord Hastings, draped in an elegant coat, stepped out of the bustling market and away from the festivities, his demeanor exuding an air of superiority that filled him after his triumph. His men followed, with Tarzan, now bound by an unspoken contract, walking with an unyielding posture, his gaze fixed ahead. As they ventured through the lingering crowds, whispers and murmurs followed their path like a wake. Merchants glanced up from their stalls, exchanging knowing nods, while villagers' murmured conversations added to the buzz that followed the departing duo. "Did you see that? Tarzan, of all people, bought as a mere servant." "The great jungle king, serving a lord? Unbelievable!" Lord Hastings remained unruffled by the chatter, his stride purposeful as he moved toward the grand carriage awaiting them at the edge of the market. His attendants, clad in rich attire, stood ready, casting curious glances at Tarzan. The auctioneer, still overseeing the dispersing crowd, approached with a final flourish. "Congratulations once more, Lord Hastings" he said. "A most fortuitous acquisition, I must say." Lord Hastings nodded in acknowledgment. "Indeed, a fitting addition to my estate." Tarzan remained stoic, his eyes scanning the surroundings, while the auctioneer continued. "May your purchase bring great prosperity, my lord." "Thank you," Lord Hastings replied, his voice resonating with authority. The onlookers, sensing the conclusion of the spectacle, began dispersing, whispers of Tarzan's fate and Lord Hastings' sudden elevation through his acquisition echoing in their wake. Upon Lord Hastings' instructions, Tarzan was harnessed to the carriage. Strong ropes wrapped around his torso and chest were secured to the rear of the carriage. This arrangement was intended to force Tarzan to trot along with the carriage, a physical display of his subservience to his new master. Mr. Blackwood watched with satisfaction as the savage stud was put in his proper place, tied like a beast to the carriage of his superior. He licked his lips at the sight, nodding to Lord Hastings until they would meet again at the end of tarzan's first day spent laboring in the fields. As the carriage door closed, Tarzan glanced once more at Lord Hastings from outside of the carriage, a hint of determination glinting in his eyes. Despite the unsettling situation, a resolve simmered within him--his ultimate quest to save the captive slaves and reclaim their freedom still burning bright. With a flick of the reins, the carriage rolled away, leaving the market behind and venturing toward Lord Hastings' estate, Tarzan's fate tethered to the man who had claimed ownership over his strength. With each step, Tarzan felt the constriction of the harness, a constant reminder of his newfound captivity. He glanced around, the bustling market gradually fading behind them. The curious stares and whispers of the crowd had become distant echoes as the carriage moved forward, leaving the market square behind. Lord Hastings, seated comfortably inside the carriage, observed Tarzan's plight through the window. The satisfaction in his eyes was evident, a silent declaration of his dominion over the jungle king. Tarzan, despite his strength, felt the weight of the situation. The harness held him captive, and the rhythm of the carriage's movement became a disheartening symbol of his loss of freedom. Yet, within him stirred a determination, a fire fueled by a hope that this was all part of a plan, a journey leading to liberation rather than servitude. As the landscape changed and the estate drew closer, Tarzan couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty. He awaited the moment when his true purpose in this captivity would reveal itself, hoping for an opportunity to claim his rightful place in the jungle. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FIFTEEN------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Mon, 4 Dec 2023 16:57:01 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 15
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 15: The Spoils of Victory --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
Chapter 15 -- The Spoils of Victory
The market square buzzed with jubilation as Lord Hastings, flanked by his
retinue, departed from the auction venue. The crowd, a mix of onlookers and
bidders, erupted into a chorus of congratulatory cheers. Lord Hastings, an
aura of satisfaction enveloping him, acknowledged the crowd with a nod, his
expression a blend of triumph and reserved delight.
Mr. Blackwood and Worthington, the other bidders, stood among the
gathering, discussing the turn of events animatedly. Their expressions
varied -- Worthington appeared resigned but amiable, while Blackwood seemed
disappointed yet determined.
As Lord Hastings made his way through the throng, some market-goers caught
glimpses of Tarzan, now property bound to the victor. Excitement rippled
through the crowd at the sight of the fabled Tarzan, now seemingly destined
for a new chapter under Lord Hastings' ownership. The atmosphere crackled
with curiosity and anticipation.
"The jungle's king is headed to Lord Hastings' estate," marveled one in the
crowd.
"Seems the jungle's mightiest will be serving the lord now," laughed a
villager.
"What madness! The king bowing to a lord?"
Meanwhile, various individuals traded speculations and comments about the
auction, the high-stakes bidding, and the potential implications of
Tarzan's new status. They whispered in hushed tones about the Lord's
intentions, while others expressed admiration for his successful bid.
"Hastings will rule the wilds through the jungle's own champion," one
ventured.
"They say Lord Hastings will have him plow his fields, just like a common
laborer!"
"I reckon it's a show of grandeur. A king as a servant--quite the
spectacle, I'd say," said a third from the crowd.
"It's like a tale out of the ancient scrolls, seeing the jungle's sovereign
at the beck and call of a lord."
The whispers grew louder and bolder as the villagers speculated on Tarzan's
newfound destiny.
In the midst of this vibrant scene, the triumphant Lord Hastings maintained
a composed and dignified demeanor, his gaze fixed ahead as he navigated
through the bustling market, flanked by his entourage, signaling a
consequential turning point that would shape Tarzan's future.
* * * * *
Soon enough, the sun set, casting a golden glow over the jungle as the
crowd dispersed from the auction clearing. The air was alive with chatter
and celebration, the victorious bidders reveling in their success. Among
them, Lord Hastings stood tall, a triumphant glint in his eyes as he
accepted congratulations from fellow attendees.
As the festivities commenced, drums echoed through the night, beckoning
villagers and attendees to join in the jubilation. Fires crackled, casting
dancing shadows across the makeshift gathering. Villagers and bidders alike
shared stories and toasted to their fortunes.
Tarzan's fate was the topic of every conversation. Whispers of speculation
mingled with laughter and music. The villagers marveled at the
extraordinary auction, their voices a symphony of excitement.
Lord Hastings, the proud victor, hosted an impromptu feast in the midst of
the festivities. Tables overflowed with fruits, meats, and exotic dishes
brought from distant lands. His guests toasted to his successful bid and
speculated about the future of the mysterious captive.
Amidst the revelry, a sense of anticipation lingered in the air. Tarzan's
destiny had become the talk of the region, and whispers of the jungle's
king being under the command of Lord Hastings stirred imaginations,
attracting more and more crowds to the village to see if the whispers were
true.
Lord Hastings sneered at his new slave as the chains that bound Tarzan
clinked with every step, echoing the uncertain path that now lay before
him.
"Tarzan," Lord Hastings addressed him, his voice tinged with an air of
authority, "You are now under my employ. You shall serve me faithfully, and
in return, you shall be granted certain privileges."
Tarzan's gaze, fierce and unwavering, met Lord Harrington's with a silent
acknowledgment of their newfound arrangement. He understood the precarious
nature of his situation, and though bound, his spirit remained untamed.
Meanwhile, the disappointed club owner, Mr. Blackwood, observed from a
distance, his dissatisfaction evident in the lines etched on his face. He
approached Lord Harrington, a cunning gleam in his eyes.
"Lord Hastings, I see the potential in this... acquisition," Mr. Blackwood
began, choosing his words with calculated precision. "Perhaps we can strike
a mutually beneficial arrangement. Tarzan's strength could serve my club
well, providing a unique spectacle for my patrons."
Lord Hastings listened to Blackwood and considered the proposal, his mind
working through the possibilities.
"You speak wisely, Mr. Blackwood," said the measured and calculating Lord
Hastings. "Tarzan's abilities are indeed extraordinary, and it would be a
shame to confine them to one domain."
After a moment of contemplation, Hastings invited Blackwood to meet him at
his estate to discuss the details of a mutually beneficial deal. By day,
Tarzan would labor in Lord Harrington's fields and mines, his strength
harnessed for the benefit of his estate. By night, he would be transported
to Mr. Blackwood's club, where he would be displayed as a living marvel,
captivating the audience with his untamed prowess.
As the arrangement took shape, Tarzan found himself at the intersection of
two disparate worlds, his destiny now intertwined with the ambitions of
Lord Harrington and Mr. Blackwood.
As the night wore on, the celebration reached its peak. Drums throbbed,
fires blazed, and laughter filled the jungle. Lord Hastings looked on, the
weight of his victory settling upon him as he anticipated the dawn that
would bring the beginning of a new chapter in his estate's history.
The celebration, a tapestry of joy and excitement, continued long into the
night, marking the end of an auction that had set Tarzan's destiny on a new
and uncertain path.
* * * * *
As the festivities raged on, preparations were swiftly made for Lord
Hastings' departure with his new asset. Tarzan, now seemingly resigned to
his temporary fate, found himself physically restrained for the journey to
Lord Hastings' estate.
Lord Hastings, draped in an elegant coat, stepped out of the bustling
market and away from the festivities, his demeanor exuding an air of
superiority that filled him after his triumph. His men followed, with
Tarzan, now bound by an unspoken contract, walking with an unyielding
posture, his gaze fixed ahead.
As they ventured through the lingering crowds, whispers and murmurs
followed their path like a wake. Merchants glanced up from their stalls,
exchanging knowing nods, while villagers' murmured conversations added to
the buzz that followed the departing duo.
"Did you see that? Tarzan, of all people, bought as a mere servant."
"The great jungle king, serving a lord? Unbelievable!"
Lord Hastings remained unruffled by the chatter, his stride purposeful as
he moved toward the grand carriage awaiting them at the edge of the
market. His attendants, clad in rich attire, stood ready, casting curious
glances at Tarzan. The auctioneer, still overseeing the dispersing crowd,
approached with a final flourish.
"Congratulations once more, Lord Hastings" he said. "A most fortuitous
acquisition, I must say."
Lord Hastings nodded in acknowledgment.
"Indeed, a fitting addition to my estate."
Tarzan remained stoic, his eyes scanning the surroundings, while the
auctioneer continued.
"May your purchase bring great prosperity, my lord."
"Thank you," Lord Hastings replied, his voice resonating with authority.
The onlookers, sensing the conclusion of the spectacle, began dispersing,
whispers of Tarzan's fate and Lord Hastings' sudden elevation through his
acquisition echoing in their wake.
Upon Lord Hastings' instructions, Tarzan was harnessed to the
carriage. Strong ropes wrapped around his torso and chest were secured to
the rear of the carriage. This arrangement was intended to force Tarzan to
trot along with the carriage, a physical display of his subservience to his
new master.
Mr. Blackwood watched with satisfaction as the savage stud was put in his
proper place, tied like a beast to the carriage of his superior. He licked
his lips at the sight, nodding to Lord Hastings until they would meet again
at the end of tarzan's first day spent laboring in the fields.
As the carriage door closed, Tarzan glanced once more at Lord Hastings from
outside of the carriage, a hint of determination glinting in his
eyes. Despite the unsettling situation, a resolve simmered within him--his
ultimate quest to save the captive slaves and reclaim their freedom still
burning bright.
With a flick of the reins, the carriage rolled away, leaving the market
behind and venturing toward Lord Hastings' estate, Tarzan's fate tethered
to the man who had claimed ownership over his strength.
With each step, Tarzan felt the constriction of the harness, a constant
reminder of his newfound captivity. He glanced around, the bustling market
gradually fading behind them. The curious stares and whispers of the crowd
had become distant echoes as the carriage moved forward, leaving the market
square behind.
Lord Hastings, seated comfortably inside the carriage, observed Tarzan's
plight through the window. The satisfaction in his eyes was evident, a
silent declaration of his dominion over the jungle king.
Tarzan, despite his strength, felt the weight of the situation. The harness
held him captive, and the rhythm of the carriage's movement became a
disheartening symbol of his loss of freedom. Yet, within him stirred a
determination, a fire fueled by a hope that this was all part of a plan, a
journey leading to liberation rather than servitude.
As the landscape changed and the estate drew closer, Tarzan couldn't shake
the feeling of uncertainty. He awaited the moment when his true purpose in
this captivity would reveal itself, hoping for an opportunity to claim his
rightful place in the jungle.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FIFTEEN-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you
have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-43 | Date: Fri, 19 Apr 2024 03:54:03 -0600 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance, Chapter 43 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Special thanks this week to the Outpost's theater critic and gossip columnist, Jonathan Alden, who picked up much of the slack when I was inexcusably late with this most recent chapter. Chapter 42: The Savage Soul Unleashed-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Gossip Gazette By Jonathan Alden Tarzan Unleashed: A Symphony of Power and Submission Dear readers, Last night, I had the extraordinary privilege of witnessing a spectacle that defied all expectations, a display of dominance that left even this seasoned observer breathless. In the hallowed halls of Mr. Blackwood's exclusive club, I beheld a trio of alpha masters exerting their power over none other than the legendary Tarzan. The air was thick with tension, every command a sharp crack that resonated through the room. The first master, with a voice like rolling thunder, commanded Tarzan to flex his formidable muscles. It was a sight to behold, the jungle hero's sinews rippling with primal power. The second master took a more tactile approach, his hands tracing the contours of Tarzan's sculpted physique, testing the limits of his endurance. The third, the unequivocal authority in the room, directed Tarzan through a series of movements that pushed the slave to his very limits. Each tug on the leash was a stark reminder of his place, every word a decree that brooked no dissent. Hidden in the shadows, I could barely contain the fire that surged through me. The displays of power were nothing short of intoxicating. I watched as Tarzan's body yielded and obeyed, every sinewy muscle a tribute to the mastery of his captors. From my vantage point, I caught tantalizing glimpses of what Tarzan's loincloth normally concealed, a vulnerability that only heightened the erotic tension in the room. This was a symphony of power and submission, a ballet of command and obedience that left me, and surely every witness present, breathless. I feverishly recorded every detail, every nuance, determined to capture this raw, unbridled dominance in words. It is a tale that I am certain will captivate you, dear readers, just as it captivated me. In the wake of this extraordinary night, I am left with one burning question: what further heights of submission will Tarzan be compelled to reach? The answer, I suspect, lies in the hands of these formidable masters, whose dominance over the legendary jungle hero is a testament to the boundless depths of human desire. Until next time, my discerning readers, stay captivated. Yours in scandal and spectacle, Jonathan Alden * * * * * Outpost Column Tarzan's Ascension: Readers Weigh In! Dear Readers, Last week, I posed a question to you all: "What further heights of submission will Tarzan be compelled to reach?" Your responses have been nothing short of extraordinary. It seems you are just as captivated by this spectacle as I am. From the depths of your imaginations, you've conjured up scenarios that leave no room for ambiguity about where Tarzan belongs. Here are some of your most intriguing suggestions: Reader One: "I'd like to see Tarzan bound and gagged, kneeling at the feet of a true alpha master, ready to serve without question." Reader Two: "How about Tarzan in a strict bondage position, his muscles straining against restraints, a symbol of his absolute submission." Reader Three: "I can't help but fantasize about Tarzan wearing a collar, branded with the mark of his new master. It's time he knows his place." Reader Four: "I imagine Tarzan, clad only in a leather harness, awaiting his master's every command, eager to please in any way necessary." Reader Five: "Let's see Tarzan in the stocks, arms and legs bound, completely vulnerable and at the mercy of his dominant. It's time he's truly humbled." Reader Six: "Tarzan, stripped of all pretense, clad only in chains, his defiance broken, ready to serve his true superior." These are just a few of the many responses I received. It's clear that Tarzan's Alpha Ascension has captured your imaginations. Your vivid and explicit visions serve as a testament to the power of this event. The Alpha Ascension is nearly upon us, and rest assured, I will be there to witness every moment. Until then, keep those fantasies flowing, dear readers. Yours in anticipation, Jonathan Alden Gossip Gazette, The Outpost * * * * * Alden and Mr. Blackwood sat in Mr. Blackwood's dimly lit office, surrounded by the scent of aged leather and polished wood. The air was charged with anticipation, each of them eager to discuss the readers' suggestions for tarzan's grand display at the Alpha Ascension. "So, Alden, what have your readers offered up?" Mr. Blackwood leaned back in his chair, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. Alden produced a sheaf of papers filled with neatly typed suggestions, each one more tantalizing than the last. "Well, we've certainly received some imaginative ideas. Let's start with this one," he said, sliding a paper across the desk towards Mr. Blackwood. The wealthy club owner picked up the paper and scanned the contents. "Ah, positioning tarzan in a kneeling posture with his head bowed, presenting himself as the ultimate symbol of submission. That's a classic move, Alden. It allows for maximum exposure and vulnerability." Alden nodded in agreement. "Exactly. And paired with that suggestion, we have this one," he added, passing another paper to Mr. Blackwood. "Placing him on a raised platform, ensuring everyone has a clear view of his submission. It's a powerful visual, don't you think?" Mr. Blackwood's eyes gleamed with approval. "Yes, indeed. And let's not forget the incorporation of restraints. We can secure him in a way that emphasizes his helplessness. It'll be a stark reminder of his place in the hierarchy." Alden's excitement was palpable. "Precisely. And here's a suggestion that caught my eye - having him wear a ceremonial collar. It's a powerful symbol of ownership and control. Imagine the impact that would have." Mr. Blackwood's lips curved into a satisfied smile. "Yes, a collar would make a statement. It signifies his complete surrender to his masters. It's the epitome of submission." Alden leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Now, about these other suggestions. The first one proposes tarzan in a leather harness, completely at the mercy of his master's commands. It's a striking image, don't you think?" Mr. Blackwood nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, a harness would leave him exposed and utterly under our control. The contrast between the leather and his skin... It would emphasize his transformation." "Exactly," Alden replied. "Now, the second suggestion involves the stocks. It's a timeless display of vulnerability. Arms and legs bound, completely at the mercy of his dominant. It's a powerful statement of submission." Mr. Blackwood's gaze fixed on Alden, his eyes ablaze with anticipation. "The stocks... That would be a profound visual. The helplessness, the complete surrender... It would leave an indelible mark on all who witness it." Alden continued, his voice filled with conviction. "And then there's the suggestion of chains. Stripping him of all pretense, leaving him clad only in chains, broken and ready to serve his true superior. It's the ultimate symbol of his submission." Mr. Blackwood's face took on a steely resolve. "Chains... Yes. It would be a stark reminder of his place, of his purpose. The clinking, the weight... It would serve as a constant reminder of his submission." As they delved deeper into the implementation of these suggestions, their discussion became more animated. Ideas flowed freely, each one more daring and evocative than the last. They were shaping an event that would leave an indelible mark on everyone present, a testament to tarzan's complete surrender to his masters. By the time they concluded their discussion, they had a meticulously detailed plan for each suggestion. Tarzan's display at the Alpha Ascension would be a symphony of submission, a masterpiece of dominance and control. They were poised to showcase the true extent of tarzan's transformation from mighty hero to obedient servant. * * * * * As they delve into the specifics, Alden and Blackwood exchange a flurry of ideas, each one more tantalizing than the last. They consider various outfits and restraints to adorn tarzan, discussing the merits of leather harnesses, chains, and other accoutrements that will emphasize his submission. They talk about how each item will fit and emphasize his physique, ensuring that every detail contributes to the overall impact. They also discuss the sequence of actions that tarzan will perform during the Alpha Ascension. Alden is particularly keen on choreographing a series of movements that showcase tarzan's obedience and responsiveness to his masters' commands. They want to strike a balance between controlled dominance and a show of raw power, ensuring that the audience is captivated from start to finish. Furthermore, they consider the psychological aspect of the performance. How will tarzan's demeanor be? What expressions will he wear? How can they amplify the feeling of his submission through non-verbal cues? These questions prompt a detailed discussion about body language and facial expressions, aiming to convey the depths of tarzan's newfound servitude. Alden and Blackwood also talk about the setting. They want the arena to be carefully designed to evoke a sense of power and dominance. They discuss lighting, music, and even the scent in the air, all of which will contribute to the atmosphere of the event. Through this intense brainstorming session, they refine their vision, carefully considering each element to ensure that the Alpha Ascension becomes a truly unforgettable experience for everyone involved. * * * * * As Alden and Blackwood pause in their planning, they glance out at the fields and gasp simultaneously at the sight of the overseer completely controlling the savage slave with his masterful use of tarzan's cock leash. With one end of the leash held tight in the overseer's fist and the other end pulling on tarzan's cock ring under his loincloth, the effect is arousing for all who witness it. The diligence Hargrove employs in keeping the leash in place, gripping the loincloth to ensure proper positioning, has had a tremendous effect to both humiliate tarzan and direct him toward his proper place and to inspire those who see him. Alden and Blackwood are both thoroughly impressed with the overseer's ingenuity in utilizing the leash to exert control over tarzan. They marvel at how such a seemingly simple addition has had such a profound impact on tarzan's demeanor and the reactions of those around him. Alden notes how the overseer's attention to detail, particularly in how he maintains a firm grip on the leash, has a dual effect on tarzan. On one hand, it serves as a constant reminder of his subservient position, a visible and tactile representation of his submission. On the other hand, it directs him with precision, guiding him to his designated tasks and ensuring he remains focused on his duties. Blackwood chimes in, expressing how the overseer's approach has elevated the entire dynamic on the estate. He mentions how the other slaves have taken notice, witnessing tarzan's transformation from a legendary hero to a submissive servant. They've seen the power of the leash and how it enforces the hierarchy, instilling a deeper sense of order and discipline among them. They both agree that the overseer's use of the leash has been a stroke of genius. It demonstrates his keen understanding of power dynamics and his ability to adapt to the unique challenge presented by tarzan. The leash has become a symbol of authority, a visual cue that everyone can recognize, reinforcing the dominance of tarzan's superiors. In essence, they recognize that the overseer's meticulous application of the leash has been instrumental in reshaping tarzan's identity and solidifying his role as a submissive slave. It's a demonstration of how even the smallest details can have a significant impact on the power dynamic within the estate. As the day's work comes to a close, Hargrove brings tarzan before Alden and Blackwood. The overseer's stern command brings tarzan to a halt before them. "Tarzan, present yourself to your superiors," Hargrove orders, his whip coiled in his hand, a constant reminder of authority. Alden steps forward, looking at tarzan with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. "Hargrove, you've done quite the job with him. May I?" he asks, extending his hand towards tarzan. The overseer nods, allowing Alden to approach. As Alden reaches out, his fingers make contact with the worn leather of the loincloth. He can feel the tautness of the material and the subtle pressure of the chain leash beneath it. It's a stark contrast to the hero's former attire, a clear indication of his new status. "He's a different man now, isn't he?" Alden remarks, his voice filled with a mixture of fascination and satisfaction. Hargrove smirks, nodding in agreement. "Aye, he's learned his place." Blackwood steps forward, intrigued by the meticulous arrangement. He watches intently as Alden explores, then decides to take his turn. With a focused expression, he examines the loincloth, gently pushing and prodding to understand the positioning of the leash. "You've done well, Hargrove," Blackwood comments, impressed by the overseer's attention to detail. "This adds a new layer to his submission." As Blackwood's hand moves, he senses the way the leash is secured beneath the loincloth. He pulls it taut, following its path until he reaches the ring. It's a moment of revelation, as he gains a deeper understanding of how tarzan is tethered and controlled. "It's a stroke of brilliance, Hargrove," Blackwood praises. "This changes everything." Hargrove stands tall, a sense of pride evident in his posture. "Thank you, sir. It's an honor to serve." Mr. Blackwood's fingers deftly explore the contours of the ring beneath tarzan's loincloth, testing its tightness and durability. He gives it a sudden squeeze, noting the immediate reaction that shoots through the slave's body. Tarzan tenses, a sharp intake of breath his only audible response. "Hmm, quite secure, isn't it?" Blackwood remarks, glancing over at Hargrove and Alden. Hargrove watches with keen interest, nodding in agreement. "Indeed, it seems to be doing its job." With a determined expression, Blackwood gives the leash a hard yank downwards. Tarzan is pulled off balance, forced to bend at the knees to relieve the tension. The strain on his body is evident, muscles working to maintain the awkward position. "Remarkable," Blackwood observes. "The level of control is astounding." He releases the leash and then yanks it upwards, keeping his hand raised to measure how long tarzan can stand on tiptoe. The slave complies, his body stretched to its limits. Beads of sweat form on his forehead, revealing his physical exertion. "Look at that," Blackwood marvels. "He's quite the spectacle, isn't he?" Hargrove offers a gruff nod of approval, acknowledging the effectiveness of the leash and ring combination. "He's learning his place, sir." Blackwood takes a section of the chain and uses it to guide tarzan, the cold metal a stark contrast against the warmth of his skin. With a flick of his wrist, he strikes the front of the loincloth, a sharp crack echoing through the space. Tarzan startles, his senses sharpened by the sudden sting. "Keep him alert," Blackwood commands, his tone laced with disdain. "We want him fully aware of his position." As the trio continues their assessment, tarzan remains at their mercy, bound by the unyielding force of their dominance. Each action and command serves to reinforce his place in this new world, a world where he is no longer a hero, but a humble slave. Mr. Blackwood, now fully immersed in his assessment, yanks the chain downwards, his commanding voice cutting through the air. "Knees, slave." Tarzan obeys instantly, dropping to his knees before his master. Blackwood's grip tightens, exerting control over his captive. With one hand, he opens tarzan's mouth, his fingers inspecting teeth, gums, and tongue with a discerning eye. He feels for any irregularities, satisfied with the examination. He then moves to test tarzan's throat, sliding his finger in. Tarzan instinctively tightens his muscles, accommodating the intrusion. Blackwood's lips curve into a satisfied smile, pleased with the level of obedience displayed. "Good, good," he murmurs, a tone of approval in his voice. Turning his attention to the rings adorning tarzan's pecs, Blackwood gives them a calculated tug, observing the subtle shifts in the slave's stance. He pulls them in various directions, noting the ease with which tarzan can be directed by these simple but effective devices. As he pulls one ring, tarzan is brought closer to him, their proximity heightening the tension in the air. Blackwood's fingers find purchase on the fabric of the loincloth, along with the chain beneath it. He squeezes firmly, exerting pressure to elicit a reaction from tarzan. A yelp escapes tarzan's lips, the sensation of the chain digging into his skin impossible to ignore. Blackwood continues, his grip unyielding as he tests the limits of his slave's endurance. He watches intently, assessing every nuance of tarzan's response. "Good boy," Blackwood praises, patting the taut fabric of the loincloth. His words carry both affirmation and a hint of condescension. In this dynamic, he is the master, and tarzan is the obedient servant. The room is charged with the palpable energy of dominance and submission, the boundaries between them clearly defined. Tarzan, once a mighty hero, now kneels before his superior, every action and command reinforcing his place as a humble slave. The men huddle together, their voices low but charged with energy and excitement. They watch tarzan intently, taking in the bulging fabric of his loincloth that betrays his arousal. It's a declaration of their power and dominance over him. Harrington comes outside to join the men, his eyes narrowed with curiosity at what he sees. "Well, well, it seems our jungle hero still has a bit of fight left in him, doesn't he?" He glances at Blackwood and Hargrove, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Hargrove chimes in, "Indeed. It's remarkable how the whip and leash have turned him from a wild beast to a docile pet." Blackwood's gaze is fixed on tarzan, his expression a mix of satisfaction and calculation. He steps closer, addressing the subdued slave. "Tarzan," he begins, his voice firm, "how do you find yourself in this position?" Tarzan's eyes meet Blackwood's, a mixture of shame, arousal, and submission swirling in their depths. "Tarzan... Tarzan at Master mercy," he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of hesitation. A tense silence follows, broken only by the distant echoes of the mine. Blackwood's brows furrow slightly, displeased with the omission. He raises his foot and delivers a sharp kick where tarzan is most vulnerable, where the chain in Blackwood's hand connects to the ring binding tarzan's cock and bull balls. The sudden pain jolts through tarzan, and he grunts, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. He quickly corrects himself, his voice laced with urgency. "Tarzan at Master Blackwood mercy. Tarzan serve, obey, Master command." Blackwood nods, satisfied with the revised response. "Much better, Tarzan. Remember, your place is at my feet, ready to serve and obey without question." The interrogation continues, the men probing deeper into tarzan's psyche. They ask about his previous life, his former exploits, and how it feels to now be stripped of his title and reduced to a mere slave. Each question is designed to elicit not only verbal responses but also to gauge tarzan's body language, his level of submission, and the extent of his understanding of his newfound role. As the conversation progresses, Blackwood keeps a watchful eye on tarzan's reactions. Any hint of defiance or hesitation is met with a stern reminder of his place. The lesson is clear: in this new reality, tarzan's existence is defined by his service to his Master, and any deviation from that path will be met with swift and decisive correction. * * * * * Gossip Gazette By Jonathan Alden Tarzan's Journey: From Jungle Hero to Submissive Sensation Dear readers, Buckle up, because I have some tantalizing tidbits that will leave you on the edge of your seats. The Alpha Ascension is rapidly approaching, and it seems our once-mighty jungle hero, Tarzan, has been quite the subject of interest lately. In a recent exclusive, I was granted an inside look at Tarzan's transformation under the watchful eyes of his newfound superiors. The scene was nothing short of electric, as Tarzan was put through his paces, revealing a side of him we've never seen before. The dynamic between Tarzan and his masters is something straight out of a steamy novel, and it's clear that this Alpha Ascension will be one for the record books. Tarzan's owners spared no effort in ensuring he understands his place, and trust me, the results are jaw-dropping. I witnessed moments of absolute dominance, with Tarzan hanging on every command. It's incredible how a man, once a symbol of untamed power, can be brought to his knees by the right hands. The leash that now binds him is a potent symbol of his submission, a stark contrast to the loincloth that once stood as a testament to his strength. As the Alpha Ascension looms nearer, I can't help but wonder what further heights of submission Tarzan will be compelled to reach. One thing is for certain, this event promises to be a showcase of raw, unbridled dominance that will leave us all spellbound. Until next time, dear readers, keep your eyes peeled for updates on Tarzan's journey. You won't want to miss a moment of this electrifying tale. Yours in scandal and sensation, Jonathan Alden * * * * * Gossip Gazette By Jonathan Alden Tarzan's Trials: Reader Reactions and Provocative Proposals Dear readers, The response to my last column has been nothing short of overwhelming! It seems you're just as intrigued as I am by Tarzan's journey into submission. Your letters have poured in, filled with suggestions, speculations, and some rather provocative proposals for what the Alpha Ascension may hold. Let's dive right into it, shall we? Letter 1: from "RopedInRoyalty" "Dear Mr. Alden, Your account of Tarzan's transformation was positively riveting! I can't help but imagine him further bound, perhaps in leather restraints that accentuate his newfound place of submission. The juxtaposition of strength and vulnerability would be simply delicious, don't you think?" Letter 2: From "MasterOfDesire" "Jonathan, Your column had me on the edge of my seat! I'm picturing Tarzan in a cage, a magnificent display of dominance and confinement. Imagine the spectacle as he's presented, his primal nature tamed by the unyielding control of his masters. Now that would be a sight to behold." Letter 3: From "WhipLover45" "Mr. Alden, Your insights into Tarzan's journey are simply enthralling. I'd love to see him harnessed, each strap speaking to his surrender. The creak of leather, the jingle of chains--it's a symphony of submission waiting to be composed." Letter 4: From "AlphaHunter87" "Dear Jonathan, Your column left me with vivid visions of Tarzan at the mercy of his masters. I propose a challenge--an obstacle course that truly tests his newfound obedience. Each trial would be an opportunity to demonstrate his unwavering submission. The grand finale? Well, let's just say it involves a tantalizing reward." Letter 5: From "BoundInAwe" "Mr. Alden, Your reporting is nothing short of extraordinary. I'd suggest a display of Tarzan in a harness, his body a canvas for his masters' desires. The intricate patterns of leather and chain would embody his complete and utter surrender. It's a vision that leaves me breathless." These are just a few of the captivating suggestions I've received, and I must say, your imaginations are as vivid as ever. The anticipation for the Alpha Ascension is palpable, and I can hardly wait to see how Tarzan's journey unfolds. Until next time, dear readers, keep those letters coming. Your insights and enthusiasm are what make this column thrive. Yours in scandal and sensation, Jonathan Alden * * * * * Gossip Gazette By Jonathan Alden Midnight Whispers: Tarzan's Evening Ritual Dear readers, The intrigue surrounding Tarzan's journey to submission continues to captivate us all. As promised, I'm here to share some exclusive insights into his evening routine, offering you a glimpse into the world of this once-mighty jungle hero. As night falls over Lord Harrington's estate, the atmosphere takes on an almost surreal quality. Shadows dance in the moonlight, and the air is filled with the subtle scent of hay and leather--a tantalizing prelude to the night's events. With the meticulous precision of a maestro, the overseer, Hargrove, guides Tarzan through the final stages of his day. The legendary hero, now a symbol of submission, is led to his sleeping quarters--a humble bed of hay, stark in its simplicity. It's a far cry from the lush canopies of the jungle, a stark reminder of his transformed existence. The removal of Tarzan's loincloth is a ritual in itself. With each motion, Hargrove enforces the stark reality of Tarzan's new reality--the absence of choice, the absence of defiance. The loincloth falls, revealing a canvas of vulnerability. Every inch of his once-proud physique is now subject to the whims of his masters. Tarzan's limbs, once untamed and free, are now bound by the unforgiving embrace of steel. Shackles clasp around wrists and ankles, their cold touch a stark contrast to the heat that radiates from Tarzan's skin. It's a symbolic gesture--a final assertion of dominance, a final reminder of his place. As Tarzan lays on his bed of hay, the chains that now adorn his body glisten in the moonlight, a visual accent to his complete submission. The slave stable itself seems to hold its breath, as if in awe of the transformation that has taken place within its walls. And so, dear readers, we find ourselves at the end of yet another chapter in Tarzan's journey. The night air is filled with an electrifying energy, a sense of anticipation that hangs heavy over the estate. What will the Alpha Ascension bring? What new heights of submission will Tarzan be compelled to reach? The answers lie on the horizon, and I, for one, can hardly wait to see what unfolds. Until next time, dear readers, may your dreams be as vivid as the reality we find ourselves in. Yours in scandal and sensation, Jonathan Alden * * * * * Gossip Gazette By Jonathan Alden Echoes of Submission: Readers' Reveries Dear readers, Your responses to my last column have been nothing short of extraordinary. It seems Tarzan's transformation has ignited a fire within our collective imagination, and your letters overflow with passion and intrigue. Let me share some of your thoughts, as vivid as they are evocative: Letter 1: Dear Mr. Alden, Your words painted a picture that has been etched into my mind since I first read them. The image of Tarzan, vulnerable and submissive, stirs a longing within me that I cannot deny. His once-mighty physique, now subject to the whims of his masters, fuels my most intimate desires. Thank you for providing us with a window into this captivating world. Sincerely, A Captivated Reader Letter 2: Mr. Alden, Your descriptions of Tarzan's transformation have haunted my thoughts and dreams. I find myself unable to escape the image of him, bound and vulnerable, every inch of his body now at the mercy of his masters. The Alpha Ascension promises to be an event of unparalleled dominance, and I can hardly contain my anticipation. Yours in eager anticipation, A Devoted Follower Letter 3: Dear Jonathan Alden, Your words have unlocked a world of fantasies within me. The image of Tarzan, stripped of his defiance and clad only in chains, is seared into my imagination. I find myself yearning to witness his further submission, to see him pushed to new limits of obedience. Your column has kindled a fire within me that I fear will not be easily extinguished. With fervent excitement, A Grateful Reader Letter 4: Mr. Alden, Your words have brought Tarzan's transformation vividly to life. The image of him, his once-proud physique now a canvas for his masters' desires, has left an indelible mark on my imagination. The Alpha Ascension promises to be a spectacle of dominance, and I can scarcely contain my anticipation. Yours in eager anticipation, A Captivated Follower Letter 5: Dear Jonathan Alden, Your descriptions of Tarzan's submission have ignited a fire within me. The image of him, vulnerable and bound, resonates deeply. I find myself yearning to witness his further descent into obedience. Your column has opened my eyes to a world of possibilities, and I eagerly await the Alpha Ascension. With eager anticipation, A Devoted Reader Thank you, dear readers, for sharing your thoughts and desires. It is through your passion that we continue to explore the depths of Tarzan's journey. Yours in scandal and sensation, Jonathan Alden * * * * * Gossip Gazette By Jonathan Alden Dreams of Submission: Readers' Visions Dear readers, Once again, your responses have astounded me. Your dreams and visions of Tarzan's submission reveal a depth of imagination that knows no bounds. Allow me to share some of your most intimate reveries: Letter 1: Dear Mr. Alden, In my dreams, Tarzan knelt before his masters, his powerful physique bound in unbreakable chains. His eyes bore the fire of his once-defiant spirit, now tempered by the unwavering dominance of those who owned him. Each command was met with a fervent obedience, every gesture an affirmation of his new role. Sincerely, A Captivated Dreamer Letter 2: Mr. Alden, In my dreams, Tarzan was led before a gathering of the most commanding men, his body clad only in a leather harness that accentuated his submission. He moved with a grace that belied the chains that bound him, every step a symbol of his newfound role. The room pulsed with an electrifying energy as his masters watched, each command met with an eager fervor. Yours in vivid imagination, An Avid Dreamer Letter 3: Dear Jonathan Alden, In my dreams, Tarzan was presented in the stocks, his powerful limbs rendered powerless by the unyielding embrace of his restraints. He gazed up at his masters with an intensity that spoke of a surrender complete and unwavering. Each touch, each command, was met with a shiver of anticipation, his submission an exquisite dance of desire. With fervent dreams, A Grateful Follower Letter 4: Mr. Alden, In my dreams, Tarzan stood before his masters, stripped of all pretense, his body a canvas for their desires. He moved with a fluidity that spoke of a surrender profound and absolute. Every touch, every command, was met with a surrender that left me breathless. Yours in eager dreams, A Captivated Follower Letter 5: Dear Jonathan Alden, In my dreams, Tarzan's every movement was guided by the chain that bound him, a tangible reminder of his new role. He knelt, he stood, he submitted to every command with a devotion that was both humbling and electrifying to witness. His masters reveled in their newfound authority, every gesture an affirmation of their dominance. With eager dreams, A Devoted Reader Thank you, dear readers, for opening up your dreams and sharing these intimate visions of Tarzan's submission. Your creativity knows no bounds. Yours in scandal and sensation, Jonathan Alden * * * * * Back at the slave stable, Hargrove took charge of the situation, overseeing tarzan's transition from a day of hard labor to the briefest of sleeps before returning to service. With a stern demeanor, he gestured for Tarzan to stand still, surveying him with a critical eye. "Time for you to rest, slave," he grumbled, his voice a low rumble. He grabbed the end of Tarzan's leash, pulling it taut to keep the captive hero in place. Tarzan, still and obedient, awaited his overseer's commands. Hargrove inspected the leather loincloth, ensuring it sat snugly, every inch of Tarzan's powerful form on display. Satisfied, he gave a curt nod to signify his approval. "Off to bed now," Hargrove commanded, leading Tarzan towards his meager bed of hay. The slave followed, his bare feet scraping against the hard ground, the chains jingling with every step. As they reached the bed, Hargrove motioned for Tarzan to sit. The slave lowered himself onto the hay, his muscles tense from the day's exertion. Hargrove approached with a length of chain in hand, securing it to a nearby ring embedded in the wall. He fastened it to Tarzan's collar, ensuring the captive hero was tethered in place. "Rest well, hero," Hargrove muttered sarcastically, giving Tarzan's shoulder a rough pat before stepping back. The room was enveloped in a heavy silence, the dim light casting long, flickering shadows. Tarzan settled onto his meager bed, the hay prickling against his skin. His body, though weary, remained alert, the chains a constant reminder of his new reality. Hargrove stood watch for a moment, ensuring Tarzan was securely restrained. Satisfied, he turned to leave, his boots thudding against the cold ground. "Sleep well, slave," he grumbled, disappearing into the darkness. Alone, Tarzan closed his eyes, his senses attuned to every sound and movement. The night held an air of anticipation, for the Alpha Ascension loomed on the horizon, promising further trials and tribulations for the once-mighty hero. And so, in the stillness of the night, Tarzan drifted into an uneasy slumber, the weight of his chains a constant reminder of his newfound place in this unforgiving world. As the moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale glow across the stable, a fellow slave was summoned to attend to Tarzan. The dim light danced across the hay-strewn floor, casting long, eerie shadows. The slave approached Tarzan's resting form with measured steps, a mix of trepidation and awe in his eyes. He had heard whispers of the once-mighty hero, now reduced to a mere captive, and the gravity of the situation was not lost on him. Gently, the slave knelt beside Tarzan, careful not to disturb his slumber. He observed the leather loincloth that clung to Tarzan's form, a stark contrast to the tattered garment that once proclaimed him a hero. With practiced hands, the slave began to undo the ties of the loincloth, each knot yielding to his deft touch. He moved with a mixture of reverence and purpose, recognizing the significance of this moment. As the loincloth fell away, revealing Tarzan's nakedness, the slave couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion. Here was a man who had once been a force of nature, now reduced to vulnerability. The sight was both humbling and sobering. Next, the slave retrieved the new thong, a simple piece of leather that spoke volumes of Tarzan's changed status. It was smaller, more revealing, a stark reminder of the hierarchy that now governed their existence. With careful precision, the slave fitted the thong onto Tarzan, ensuring it sat snugly against his skin. It was a dramatic transformation, a symbol of submission and servitude. The contrast between the hero of legend and the subdued captive could not have been more glaring. As he worked, the slave couldn't help but reflect on the twists of fate that had brought them to this moment. Tarzan's journey from jungle hero to captive was evidence of the unforgiving nature of their world, where strength could be both a blessing and a curse. Once the thong was in place, the slave stepped back to survey his work. Tarzan now bore the unmistakable mark of a slave, his identity irrevocably altered. The slave couldn't help but feel a mixture of pity and admiration for the man before him. With a final glance, the slave rose to his feet, leaving Tarzan to his uneasy slumber. As he turned to leave, he carried with him a newfound respect for the complexities of power and dominance in their unforgiving world. The night held its secrets, and Tarzan's transformation was but one chapter in the larger tapestry of their existence. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER FORTY-THREE------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Fri, 19 Apr 2024 03:54:03 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance, Chapter 43
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Special thanks this week to the Outpost's theater critic and gossip
columnist, Jonathan Alden, who picked up much of the slack when I was
inexcusably late with this most recent chapter.
Chapter 42: The Savage Soul Unleashed--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Gossip Gazette
By Jonathan Alden
Tarzan Unleashed: A Symphony of Power and Submission
Dear readers,
Last night, I had the extraordinary privilege of witnessing a spectacle
that defied all expectations, a display of dominance that left even this
seasoned observer breathless. In the hallowed halls of Mr. Blackwood's
exclusive club, I beheld a trio of alpha masters exerting their power over
none other than the legendary Tarzan. The air was thick with tension, every
command a sharp crack that resonated through the room.
The first master, with a voice like rolling thunder, commanded Tarzan to
flex his formidable muscles. It was a sight to behold, the jungle hero's
sinews rippling with primal power. The second master took a more tactile
approach, his hands tracing the contours of Tarzan's sculpted physique,
testing the limits of his endurance. The third, the unequivocal authority
in the room, directed Tarzan through a series of movements that pushed the
slave to his very limits. Each tug on the leash was a stark reminder of his
place, every word a decree that brooked no dissent.
Hidden in the shadows, I could barely contain the fire that surged through
me. The displays of power were nothing short of intoxicating. I watched as
Tarzan's body yielded and obeyed, every sinewy muscle a tribute to the
mastery of his captors. From my vantage point, I caught tantalizing
glimpses of what Tarzan's loincloth normally concealed, a vulnerability
that only heightened the erotic tension in the room.
This was a symphony of power and submission, a ballet of command and
obedience that left me, and surely every witness present, breathless. I
feverishly recorded every detail, every nuance, determined to capture this
raw, unbridled dominance in words. It is a tale that I am certain will
captivate you, dear readers, just as it captivated me.
In the wake of this extraordinary night, I am left with one burning
question: what further heights of submission will Tarzan be compelled to
reach? The answer, I suspect, lies in the hands of these formidable
masters, whose dominance over the legendary jungle hero is a testament to
the boundless depths of human desire.
Until next time, my discerning readers, stay captivated.
Yours in scandal and spectacle,
Jonathan Alden
* * * * *
Outpost Column
Tarzan's Ascension: Readers Weigh In!
Dear Readers,
Last week, I posed a question to you all: "What further heights of
submission will Tarzan be compelled to reach?" Your responses have been
nothing short of extraordinary. It seems you are just as captivated by this
spectacle as I am.
From the depths of your imaginations, you've conjured up scenarios that
leave no room for ambiguity about where Tarzan belongs. Here are some of
your most intriguing suggestions:
Reader One: "I'd like to see Tarzan bound and gagged, kneeling at the feet
of a true alpha master, ready to serve without question."
Reader Two: "How about Tarzan in a strict bondage position, his muscles
straining against restraints, a symbol of his absolute submission."
Reader Three: "I can't help but fantasize about Tarzan wearing a collar,
branded with the mark of his new master. It's time he knows his place."
Reader Four: "I imagine Tarzan, clad only in a leather harness, awaiting
his master's every command, eager to please in any way necessary."
Reader Five: "Let's see Tarzan in the stocks, arms and legs bound,
completely vulnerable and at the mercy of his dominant. It's time he's
truly humbled."
Reader Six: "Tarzan, stripped of all pretense, clad only in chains, his
defiance broken, ready to serve his true superior."
These are just a few of the many responses I received. It's clear that
Tarzan's Alpha Ascension has captured your imaginations. Your vivid and
explicit visions serve as a testament to the power of this event.
The Alpha Ascension is nearly upon us, and rest assured, I will be there to
witness every moment. Until then, keep those fantasies flowing, dear
readers.
Yours in anticipation,
Jonathan Alden Gossip Gazette, The Outpost
* * * * *
Alden and Mr. Blackwood sat in Mr. Blackwood's dimly lit office, surrounded
by the scent of aged leather and polished wood. The air was charged with
anticipation, each of them eager to discuss the readers' suggestions for
tarzan's grand display at the Alpha Ascension.
"So, Alden, what have your readers offered up?" Mr. Blackwood leaned back
in his chair, a glint of curiosity in his eyes.
Alden produced a sheaf of papers filled with neatly typed suggestions, each
one more tantalizing than the last.
"Well, we've certainly received some imaginative ideas. Let's start with
this one," he said, sliding a paper across the desk towards Mr. Blackwood.
The wealthy club owner picked up the paper and scanned the contents.
"Ah, positioning tarzan in a kneeling posture with his head bowed,
presenting himself as the ultimate symbol of submission. That's a classic
move, Alden. It allows for maximum exposure and vulnerability."
Alden nodded in agreement.
"Exactly. And paired with that suggestion, we have this one," he added,
passing another paper to Mr. Blackwood. "Placing him on a raised platform,
ensuring everyone has a clear view of his submission. It's a powerful
visual, don't you think?"
Mr. Blackwood's eyes gleamed with approval.
"Yes, indeed. And let's not forget the incorporation of restraints. We can
secure him in a way that emphasizes his helplessness. It'll be a stark
reminder of his place in the hierarchy."
Alden's excitement was palpable.
"Precisely. And here's a suggestion that caught my eye - having him wear a
ceremonial collar. It's a powerful symbol of ownership and control. Imagine
the impact that would have."
Mr. Blackwood's lips curved into a satisfied smile.
"Yes, a collar would make a statement. It signifies his complete surrender
to his masters. It's the epitome of submission."
Alden leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Now, about these other suggestions. The first one proposes tarzan in a
leather harness, completely at the mercy of his master's commands. It's a
striking image, don't you think?"
Mr. Blackwood nodded thoughtfully.
"Yes, a harness would leave him exposed and utterly under our control. The
contrast between the leather and his skin... It would emphasize his
transformation."
"Exactly," Alden replied. "Now, the second suggestion involves the
stocks. It's a timeless display of vulnerability. Arms and legs bound,
completely at the mercy of his dominant. It's a powerful statement of
submission."
Mr. Blackwood's gaze fixed on Alden, his eyes ablaze with anticipation.
"The stocks... That would be a profound visual. The helplessness, the
complete surrender... It would leave an indelible mark on all who witness
it."
Alden continued, his voice filled with conviction.
"And then there's the suggestion of chains. Stripping him of all pretense,
leaving him clad only in chains, broken and ready to serve his true
superior. It's the ultimate symbol of his submission."
Mr. Blackwood's face took on a steely resolve.
"Chains... Yes. It would be a stark reminder of his place, of his
purpose. The clinking, the weight... It would serve as a constant reminder
of his submission."
As they delved deeper into the implementation of these suggestions, their
discussion became more animated. Ideas flowed freely, each one more daring
and evocative than the last. They were shaping an event that would leave an
indelible mark on everyone present, a testament to tarzan's complete
surrender to his masters.
By the time they concluded their discussion, they had a meticulously
detailed plan for each suggestion. Tarzan's display at the Alpha Ascension
would be a symphony of submission, a masterpiece of dominance and
control. They were poised to showcase the true extent of tarzan's
transformation from mighty hero to obedient servant.
* * * * *
As they delve into the specifics, Alden and Blackwood exchange a flurry of
ideas, each one more tantalizing than the last. They consider various
outfits and restraints to adorn tarzan, discussing the merits of leather
harnesses, chains, and other accoutrements that will emphasize his
submission. They talk about how each item will fit and emphasize his
physique, ensuring that every detail contributes to the overall impact.
They also discuss the sequence of actions that tarzan will perform during
the Alpha Ascension. Alden is particularly keen on choreographing a series
of movements that showcase tarzan's obedience and responsiveness to his
masters' commands. They want to strike a balance between controlled
dominance and a show of raw power, ensuring that the audience is captivated
from start to finish.
Furthermore, they consider the psychological aspect of the performance. How
will tarzan's demeanor be? What expressions will he wear? How can they
amplify the feeling of his submission through non-verbal cues? These
questions prompt a detailed discussion about body language and facial
expressions, aiming to convey the depths of tarzan's newfound servitude.
Alden and Blackwood also talk about the setting. They want the arena to be
carefully designed to evoke a sense of power and dominance. They discuss
lighting, music, and even the scent in the air, all of which will
contribute to the atmosphere of the event.
Through this intense brainstorming session, they refine their vision,
carefully considering each element to ensure that the Alpha Ascension
becomes a truly unforgettable experience for everyone involved.
* * * * *
As Alden and Blackwood pause in their planning, they glance out at the
fields and gasp simultaneously at the sight of the overseer completely
controlling the savage slave with his masterful use of tarzan's cock leash.
With one end of the leash held tight in the overseer's fist and the other
end pulling on tarzan's cock ring under his loincloth, the effect is
arousing for all who witness it. The diligence Hargrove employs in keeping
the leash in place, gripping the loincloth to ensure proper positioning,
has had a tremendous effect to both humiliate tarzan and direct him toward
his proper place and to inspire those who see him.
Alden and Blackwood are both thoroughly impressed with the overseer's
ingenuity in utilizing the leash to exert control over tarzan. They marvel
at how such a seemingly simple addition has had such a profound impact on
tarzan's demeanor and the reactions of those around him.
Alden notes how the overseer's attention to detail, particularly in how he
maintains a firm grip on the leash, has a dual effect on tarzan. On one
hand, it serves as a constant reminder of his subservient position, a
visible and tactile representation of his submission. On the other hand, it
directs him with precision, guiding him to his designated tasks and
ensuring he remains focused on his duties.
Blackwood chimes in, expressing how the overseer's approach has elevated
the entire dynamic on the estate. He mentions how the other slaves have
taken notice, witnessing tarzan's transformation from a legendary hero to a
submissive servant. They've seen the power of the leash and how it enforces
the hierarchy, instilling a deeper sense of order and discipline among
them.
They both agree that the overseer's use of the leash has been a stroke of
genius. It demonstrates his keen understanding of power dynamics and his
ability to adapt to the unique challenge presented by tarzan. The leash has
become a symbol of authority, a visual cue that everyone can recognize,
reinforcing the dominance of tarzan's superiors.
In essence, they recognize that the overseer's meticulous application of
the leash has been instrumental in reshaping tarzan's identity and
solidifying his role as a submissive slave. It's a demonstration of how
even the smallest details can have a significant impact on the power
dynamic within the estate.
As the day's work comes to a close, Hargrove brings tarzan before Alden and
Blackwood. The overseer's stern command brings tarzan to a halt before
them.
"Tarzan, present yourself to your superiors," Hargrove orders, his whip
coiled in his hand, a constant reminder of authority.
Alden steps forward, looking at tarzan with a mixture of curiosity and
anticipation.
"Hargrove, you've done quite the job with him. May I?" he asks, extending
his hand towards tarzan.
The overseer nods, allowing Alden to approach. As Alden reaches out, his
fingers make contact with the worn leather of the loincloth. He can feel
the tautness of the material and the subtle pressure of the chain leash
beneath it. It's a stark contrast to the hero's former attire, a clear
indication of his new status.
"He's a different man now, isn't he?" Alden remarks, his voice filled with
a mixture of fascination and satisfaction.
Hargrove smirks, nodding in agreement.
"Aye, he's learned his place."
Blackwood steps forward, intrigued by the meticulous arrangement. He
watches intently as Alden explores, then decides to take his turn. With a
focused expression, he examines the loincloth, gently pushing and prodding
to understand the positioning of the leash.
"You've done well, Hargrove," Blackwood comments, impressed by the
overseer's attention to detail. "This adds a new layer to his submission."
As Blackwood's hand moves, he senses the way the leash is secured beneath
the loincloth. He pulls it taut, following its path until he reaches the
ring. It's a moment of revelation, as he gains a deeper understanding of
how tarzan is tethered and controlled.
"It's a stroke of brilliance, Hargrove," Blackwood praises. "This changes
everything."
Hargrove stands tall, a sense of pride evident in his posture.
"Thank you, sir. It's an honor to serve."
Mr. Blackwood's fingers deftly explore the contours of the ring beneath
tarzan's loincloth, testing its tightness and durability. He gives it a
sudden squeeze, noting the immediate reaction that shoots through the
slave's body. Tarzan tenses, a sharp intake of breath his only audible
response.
"Hmm, quite secure, isn't it?" Blackwood remarks, glancing over at Hargrove
and Alden.
Hargrove watches with keen interest, nodding in agreement.
"Indeed, it seems to be doing its job."
With a determined expression, Blackwood gives the leash a hard yank
downwards. Tarzan is pulled off balance, forced to bend at the knees to
relieve the tension. The strain on his body is evident, muscles working to
maintain the awkward position.
"Remarkable," Blackwood observes. "The level of control is astounding."
He releases the leash and then yanks it upwards, keeping his hand raised to
measure how long tarzan can stand on tiptoe. The slave complies, his body
stretched to its limits. Beads of sweat form on his forehead, revealing his
physical exertion.
"Look at that," Blackwood marvels. "He's quite the spectacle, isn't he?"
Hargrove offers a gruff nod of approval, acknowledging the effectiveness of
the leash and ring combination.
"He's learning his place, sir."
Blackwood takes a section of the chain and uses it to guide tarzan, the
cold metal a stark contrast against the warmth of his skin. With a flick of
his wrist, he strikes the front of the loincloth, a sharp crack echoing
through the space. Tarzan startles, his senses sharpened by the sudden
sting.
"Keep him alert," Blackwood commands, his tone laced with disdain. "We want
him fully aware of his position."
As the trio continues their assessment, tarzan remains at their mercy,
bound by the unyielding force of their dominance. Each action and command
serves to reinforce his place in this new world, a world where he is no
longer a hero, but a humble slave.
Mr. Blackwood, now fully immersed in his assessment, yanks the chain
downwards, his commanding voice cutting through the air.
"Knees, slave."
Tarzan obeys instantly, dropping to his knees before his
master. Blackwood's grip tightens, exerting control over his captive. With
one hand, he opens tarzan's mouth, his fingers inspecting teeth, gums, and
tongue with a discerning eye. He feels for any irregularities, satisfied
with the examination.
He then moves to test tarzan's throat, sliding his finger in. Tarzan
instinctively tightens his muscles, accommodating the
intrusion. Blackwood's lips curve into a satisfied smile, pleased with the
level of obedience displayed.
"Good, good," he murmurs, a tone of approval in his voice.
Turning his attention to the rings adorning tarzan's pecs, Blackwood gives
them a calculated tug, observing the subtle shifts in the slave's
stance. He pulls them in various directions, noting the ease with which
tarzan can be directed by these simple but effective devices.
As he pulls one ring, tarzan is brought closer to him, their proximity
heightening the tension in the air. Blackwood's fingers find purchase on
the fabric of the loincloth, along with the chain beneath it. He squeezes
firmly, exerting pressure to elicit a reaction from tarzan.
A yelp escapes tarzan's lips, the sensation of the chain digging into his
skin impossible to ignore. Blackwood continues, his grip unyielding as he
tests the limits of his slave's endurance. He watches intently, assessing
every nuance of tarzan's response.
"Good boy," Blackwood praises, patting the taut fabric of the
loincloth. His words carry both affirmation and a hint of condescension. In
this dynamic, he is the master, and tarzan is the obedient servant.
The room is charged with the palpable energy of dominance and submission,
the boundaries between them clearly defined. Tarzan, once a mighty hero,
now kneels before his superior, every action and command reinforcing his
place as a humble slave.
The men huddle together, their voices low but charged with energy and
excitement. They watch tarzan intently, taking in the bulging fabric of his
loincloth that betrays his arousal. It's a declaration of their power and
dominance over him. Harrington comes outside to join the men, his eyes
narrowed with curiosity at what he sees.
"Well, well, it seems our jungle hero still has a bit of fight left in him,
doesn't he?" He glances at Blackwood and Hargrove, a smirk playing at the
corners of his lips.
Hargrove chimes in,
"Indeed. It's remarkable how the whip and leash have turned him from a wild
beast to a docile pet."
Blackwood's gaze is fixed on tarzan, his expression a mix of satisfaction
and calculation. He steps closer, addressing the subdued slave.
"Tarzan," he begins, his voice firm, "how do you find yourself in this
position?"
Tarzan's eyes meet Blackwood's, a mixture of shame, arousal, and submission
swirling in their depths.
"Tarzan... Tarzan at Master mercy," he replies, his voice tinged with a
hint of hesitation.
A tense silence follows, broken only by the distant echoes of the
mine. Blackwood's brows furrow slightly, displeased with the omission. He
raises his foot and delivers a sharp kick where tarzan is most vulnerable,
where the chain in Blackwood's hand connects to the ring binding tarzan's
cock and bull balls.
The sudden pain jolts through tarzan, and he grunts, his eyes squeezing
shut for a moment. He quickly corrects himself, his voice laced with
urgency.
"Tarzan at Master Blackwood mercy. Tarzan serve, obey, Master command."
Blackwood nods, satisfied with the revised response.
"Much better, Tarzan. Remember, your place is at my feet, ready to serve
and obey without question."
The interrogation continues, the men probing deeper into tarzan's
psyche. They ask about his previous life, his former exploits, and how it
feels to now be stripped of his title and reduced to a mere slave. Each
question is designed to elicit not only verbal responses but also to gauge
tarzan's body language, his level of submission, and the extent of his
understanding of his newfound role.
As the conversation progresses, Blackwood keeps a watchful eye on tarzan's
reactions. Any hint of defiance or hesitation is met with a stern reminder
of his place. The lesson is clear: in this new reality, tarzan's existence
is defined by his service to his Master, and any deviation from that path
will be met with swift and decisive correction.
* * * * *
Gossip Gazette
By Jonathan Alden
Tarzan's Journey: From Jungle Hero to Submissive Sensation
Dear readers,
Buckle up, because I have some tantalizing tidbits that will leave you on
the edge of your seats. The Alpha Ascension is rapidly approaching, and it
seems our once-mighty jungle hero, Tarzan, has been quite the subject of
interest lately.
In a recent exclusive, I was granted an inside look at Tarzan's
transformation under the watchful eyes of his newfound superiors. The scene
was nothing short of electric, as Tarzan was put through his paces,
revealing a side of him we've never seen before.
The dynamic between Tarzan and his masters is something straight out of a
steamy novel, and it's clear that this Alpha Ascension will be one for the
record books. Tarzan's owners spared no effort in ensuring he understands
his place, and trust me, the results are jaw-dropping.
I witnessed moments of absolute dominance, with Tarzan hanging on every
command. It's incredible how a man, once a symbol of untamed power, can be
brought to his knees by the right hands. The leash that now binds him is a
potent symbol of his submission, a stark contrast to the loincloth that
once stood as a testament to his strength.
As the Alpha Ascension looms nearer, I can't help but wonder what further
heights of submission Tarzan will be compelled to reach. One thing is for
certain, this event promises to be a showcase of raw, unbridled dominance
that will leave us all spellbound.
Until next time, dear readers, keep your eyes peeled for updates on
Tarzan's journey. You won't want to miss a moment of this electrifying
tale.
Yours in scandal and sensation,
Jonathan Alden
* * * * *
Gossip Gazette
By Jonathan Alden
Tarzan's Trials: Reader Reactions and Provocative Proposals
Dear readers,
The response to my last column has been nothing short of overwhelming! It
seems you're just as intrigued as I am by Tarzan's journey into
submission. Your letters have poured in, filled with suggestions,
speculations, and some rather provocative proposals for what the Alpha
Ascension may hold.
Let's dive right into it, shall we?
Letter 1: from "RopedInRoyalty"
"Dear Mr. Alden,
Your account of Tarzan's transformation was positively riveting! I can't
help but imagine him further bound, perhaps in leather restraints that
accentuate his newfound place of submission. The juxtaposition of strength
and vulnerability would be simply delicious, don't you think?"
Letter 2: From "MasterOfDesire"
"Jonathan,
Your column had me on the edge of my seat! I'm picturing Tarzan in a cage,
a magnificent display of dominance and confinement. Imagine the spectacle
as he's presented, his primal nature tamed by the unyielding control of his
masters. Now that would be a sight to behold."
Letter 3: From "WhipLover45"
"Mr. Alden,
Your insights into Tarzan's journey are simply enthralling. I'd love to see
him harnessed, each strap speaking to his surrender. The creak of leather,
the jingle of chains--it's a symphony of submission waiting to be
composed."
Letter 4: From "AlphaHunter87"
"Dear Jonathan,
Your column left me with vivid visions of Tarzan at the mercy of his
masters. I propose a challenge--an obstacle course that truly tests his
newfound obedience. Each trial would be an opportunity to demonstrate his
unwavering submission. The grand finale? Well, let's just say it involves a
tantalizing reward."
Letter 5: From "BoundInAwe"
"Mr. Alden,
Your reporting is nothing short of extraordinary. I'd suggest a display of
Tarzan in a harness, his body a canvas for his masters' desires. The
intricate patterns of leather and chain would embody his complete and utter
surrender. It's a vision that leaves me breathless."
These are just a few of the captivating suggestions I've received, and I
must say, your imaginations are as vivid as ever. The anticipation for the
Alpha Ascension is palpable, and I can hardly wait to see how Tarzan's
journey unfolds.
Until next time, dear readers, keep those letters coming. Your insights and
enthusiasm are what make this column thrive.
Yours in scandal and sensation,
Jonathan Alden
* * * * *
Gossip Gazette
By Jonathan Alden
Midnight Whispers: Tarzan's Evening Ritual
Dear readers,
The intrigue surrounding Tarzan's journey to submission continues to
captivate us all. As promised, I'm here to share some exclusive insights
into his evening routine, offering you a glimpse into the world of this
once-mighty jungle hero.
As night falls over Lord Harrington's estate, the atmosphere takes on an
almost surreal quality. Shadows dance in the moonlight, and the air is
filled with the subtle scent of hay and leather--a tantalizing prelude to
the night's events.
With the meticulous precision of a maestro, the overseer, Hargrove, guides
Tarzan through the final stages of his day. The legendary hero, now a
symbol of submission, is led to his sleeping quarters--a humble bed of hay,
stark in its simplicity. It's a far cry from the lush canopies of the
jungle, a stark reminder of his transformed existence.
The removal of Tarzan's loincloth is a ritual in itself. With each motion,
Hargrove enforces the stark reality of Tarzan's new reality--the absence of
choice, the absence of defiance. The loincloth falls, revealing a canvas of
vulnerability. Every inch of his once-proud physique is now subject to the
whims of his masters.
Tarzan's limbs, once untamed and free, are now bound by the unforgiving
embrace of steel. Shackles clasp around wrists and ankles, their cold touch
a stark contrast to the heat that radiates from Tarzan's skin. It's a
symbolic gesture--a final assertion of dominance, a final reminder of his
place.
As Tarzan lays on his bed of hay, the chains that now adorn his body
glisten in the moonlight, a visual accent to his complete submission. The
slave stable itself seems to hold its breath, as if in awe of the
transformation that has taken place within its walls.
And so, dear readers, we find ourselves at the end of yet another chapter
in Tarzan's journey. The night air is filled with an electrifying energy, a
sense of anticipation that hangs heavy over the estate. What will the Alpha
Ascension bring? What new heights of submission will Tarzan be compelled to
reach?
The answers lie on the horizon, and I, for one, can hardly wait to see what
unfolds.
Until next time, dear readers, may your dreams be as vivid as the reality
we find ourselves in.
Yours in scandal and sensation,
Jonathan Alden
* * * * *
Gossip Gazette
By Jonathan Alden
Echoes of Submission: Readers' Reveries
Dear readers,
Your responses to my last column have been nothing short of
extraordinary. It seems Tarzan's transformation has ignited a fire within
our collective imagination, and your letters overflow with passion and
intrigue.
Let me share some of your thoughts, as vivid as they are evocative:
Letter 1:
Dear Mr. Alden,
Your words painted a picture that has been etched into my mind since I
first read them. The image of Tarzan, vulnerable and submissive, stirs a
longing within me that I cannot deny. His once-mighty physique, now subject
to the whims of his masters, fuels my most intimate desires. Thank you for
providing us with a window into this captivating world.
Sincerely, A Captivated Reader
Letter 2:
Mr. Alden,
Your descriptions of Tarzan's transformation have haunted my thoughts and
dreams. I find myself unable to escape the image of him, bound and
vulnerable, every inch of his body now at the mercy of his masters. The
Alpha Ascension promises to be an event of unparalleled dominance, and I
can hardly contain my anticipation.
Yours in eager anticipation, A Devoted Follower
Letter 3:
Dear Jonathan Alden,
Your words have unlocked a world of fantasies within me. The image of
Tarzan, stripped of his defiance and clad only in chains, is seared into my
imagination. I find myself yearning to witness his further submission, to
see him pushed to new limits of obedience. Your column has kindled a fire
within me that I fear will not be easily extinguished.
With fervent excitement, A Grateful Reader
Letter 4:
Mr. Alden,
Your words have brought Tarzan's transformation vividly to life. The image
of him, his once-proud physique now a canvas for his masters' desires, has
left an indelible mark on my imagination. The Alpha Ascension promises to
be a spectacle of dominance, and I can scarcely contain my anticipation.
Yours in eager anticipation, A Captivated Follower
Letter 5:
Dear Jonathan Alden,
Your descriptions of Tarzan's submission have ignited a fire within me. The
image of him, vulnerable and bound, resonates deeply. I find myself
yearning to witness his further descent into obedience. Your column has
opened my eyes to a world of possibilities, and I eagerly await the Alpha
Ascension.
With eager anticipation, A Devoted Reader
Thank you, dear readers, for sharing your thoughts and desires. It is
through your passion that we continue to explore the depths of Tarzan's
journey.
Yours in scandal and sensation,
Jonathan Alden
* * * * *
Gossip Gazette
By Jonathan Alden
Dreams of Submission: Readers' Visions
Dear readers,
Once again, your responses have astounded me. Your dreams and visions of
Tarzan's submission reveal a depth of imagination that knows no
bounds. Allow me to share some of your most intimate reveries:
Letter 1:
Dear Mr. Alden,
In my dreams, Tarzan knelt before his masters, his powerful physique bound
in unbreakable chains. His eyes bore the fire of his once-defiant spirit,
now tempered by the unwavering dominance of those who owned him. Each
command was met with a fervent obedience, every gesture an affirmation of
his new role.
Sincerely, A Captivated Dreamer
Letter 2:
Mr. Alden,
In my dreams, Tarzan was led before a gathering of the most commanding men,
his body clad only in a leather harness that accentuated his submission. He
moved with a grace that belied the chains that bound him, every step a
symbol of his newfound role. The room pulsed with an electrifying energy as
his masters watched, each command met with an eager fervor.
Yours in vivid imagination, An Avid Dreamer
Letter 3:
Dear Jonathan Alden,
In my dreams, Tarzan was presented in the stocks, his powerful limbs
rendered powerless by the unyielding embrace of his restraints. He gazed up
at his masters with an intensity that spoke of a surrender complete and
unwavering. Each touch, each command, was met with a shiver of
anticipation, his submission an exquisite dance of desire.
With fervent dreams, A Grateful Follower
Letter 4:
Mr. Alden,
In my dreams, Tarzan stood before his masters, stripped of all pretense,
his body a canvas for their desires. He moved with a fluidity that spoke of
a surrender profound and absolute. Every touch, every command, was met with
a surrender that left me breathless.
Yours in eager dreams, A Captivated Follower
Letter 5:
Dear Jonathan Alden,
In my dreams, Tarzan's every movement was guided by the chain that bound
him, a tangible reminder of his new role. He knelt, he stood, he submitted
to every command with a devotion that was both humbling and electrifying to
witness. His masters reveled in their newfound authority, every gesture an
affirmation of their dominance.
With eager dreams, A Devoted Reader
Thank you, dear readers, for opening up your dreams and sharing these
intimate visions of Tarzan's submission. Your creativity knows no bounds.
Yours in scandal and sensation,
Jonathan Alden
* * * * *
Back at the slave stable, Hargrove took charge of the situation, overseeing
tarzan's transition from a day of hard labor to the briefest of sleeps
before returning to service. With a stern demeanor, he gestured for Tarzan
to stand still, surveying him with a critical eye.
"Time for you to rest, slave," he grumbled, his voice a low rumble. He
grabbed the end of Tarzan's leash, pulling it taut to keep the captive hero
in place.
Tarzan, still and obedient, awaited his overseer's commands.
Hargrove inspected the leather loincloth, ensuring it sat snugly, every
inch of Tarzan's powerful form on display. Satisfied, he gave a curt nod to
signify his approval.
"Off to bed now," Hargrove commanded, leading Tarzan towards his meager bed
of hay. The slave followed, his bare feet scraping against the hard ground,
the chains jingling with every step.
As they reached the bed, Hargrove motioned for Tarzan to sit. The slave
lowered himself onto the hay, his muscles tense from the day's
exertion. Hargrove approached with a length of chain in hand, securing it
to a nearby ring embedded in the wall. He fastened it to Tarzan's collar,
ensuring the captive hero was tethered in place.
"Rest well, hero," Hargrove muttered sarcastically, giving Tarzan's
shoulder a rough pat before stepping back.
The room was enveloped in a heavy silence, the dim light casting long,
flickering shadows. Tarzan settled onto his meager bed, the hay prickling
against his skin. His body, though weary, remained alert, the chains a
constant reminder of his new reality.
Hargrove stood watch for a moment, ensuring Tarzan was securely
restrained. Satisfied, he turned to leave, his boots thudding against the
cold ground.
"Sleep well, slave," he grumbled, disappearing into the darkness.
Alone, Tarzan closed his eyes, his senses attuned to every sound and
movement. The night held an air of anticipation, for the Alpha Ascension
loomed on the horizon, promising further trials and tribulations for the
once-mighty hero.
And so, in the stillness of the night, Tarzan drifted into an uneasy
slumber, the weight of his chains a constant reminder of his newfound place
in this unforgiving world.
As the moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale glow across the stable, a
fellow slave was summoned to attend to Tarzan. The dim light danced across
the hay-strewn floor, casting long, eerie shadows.
The slave approached Tarzan's resting form with measured steps, a mix of
trepidation and awe in his eyes. He had heard whispers of the once-mighty
hero, now reduced to a mere captive, and the gravity of the situation was
not lost on him.
Gently, the slave knelt beside Tarzan, careful not to disturb his
slumber. He observed the leather loincloth that clung to Tarzan's form, a
stark contrast to the tattered garment that once proclaimed him a hero.
With practiced hands, the slave began to undo the ties of the loincloth,
each knot yielding to his deft touch. He moved with a mixture of reverence
and purpose, recognizing the significance of this moment.
As the loincloth fell away, revealing Tarzan's nakedness, the slave
couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion. Here was a man who had once been
a force of nature, now reduced to vulnerability. The sight was both
humbling and sobering.
Next, the slave retrieved the new thong, a simple piece of leather that
spoke volumes of Tarzan's changed status. It was smaller, more revealing, a
stark reminder of the hierarchy that now governed their existence.
With careful precision, the slave fitted the thong onto Tarzan, ensuring it
sat snugly against his skin. It was a dramatic transformation, a symbol of
submission and servitude. The contrast between the hero of legend and the
subdued captive could not have been more glaring.
As he worked, the slave couldn't help but reflect on the twists of fate
that had brought them to this moment. Tarzan's journey from jungle hero to
captive was evidence of the unforgiving nature of their world, where
strength could be both a blessing and a curse.
Once the thong was in place, the slave stepped back to survey his
work. Tarzan now bore the unmistakable mark of a slave, his identity
irrevocably altered. The slave couldn't help but feel a mixture of pity and
admiration for the man before him.
With a final glance, the slave rose to his feet, leaving Tarzan to his
uneasy slumber. As he turned to leave, he carried with him a newfound
respect for the complexities of power and dominance in their unforgiving
world. The night held its secrets, and Tarzan's transformation was but one
chapter in the larger tapestry of their existence.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FORTY-THREE-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-7 | Date: Tue, 14 Nov 2023 21:53:01 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance Chapter 7 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 7: Center Stage -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com The slaves were displayed before them, bound and awaiting the auctioneer's gavel. Kessler turned his discerning eye toward the first one, a burly man with rippling muscles, hardened by years of labor. Kessler assessed him with a critical eye. "This one possesses considerable strength," he remarked, "but lacks the discipline for complete obedience." He then glanced at Tarzan, who was watching attentively. "You, Tarzan, have always demonstrated exceptional strength and skill. However, your discipline in servitude remains to be seen." Tarzan nodded, understanding the implications of Kessler's words. "Is true," he replied, the term 'Master' not yet instinctual for him. Kessler, seizing the opportunity, employed the switch with swift precision, eliciting a sharp gasp from Tarzan. The crowd responded with a mixture of amusement and approval. With Kessler's switch struck Tarzan's thigh, leaving a faint red mark. Kessler's lips curled into a satisfied smirk. "Remember your place, tarzan," he said with a measured tone. Moving to the next slave, Kessler continued his evaluation. "This one here is obedient, unquestioningly so. However, his breeding potential is limited," he noted, sparing a glance toward Tarzan. "In your case, Tarzan, your lineage is that of a noble jungle lord. Your potential offspring would carry that same legacy." Tarzan acknowledged Kessler's words with a thoughtful expression. "Tarzan no know line so important," he admitted, once again failing to address Kessler with the title of Master. He hadn't even finished the sentence when Kessler's switch struck his thigh again. The crowd's delight grew, their anticipation building. Kessler's comparisons now began to include the spectators, drawing them into the evaluation. "Do you see, my friends?" he asked, sweeping his arm toward Tarzan and the slave. "The bravery of this one may surpass Tarzan's legendary courage." Moving to the third slave, Kessler's tone shifted. Kessler didn't hesitate, the switch falling with precision. This time, there was a hint of resignation in Tarzan's eyes, coupled with a growing awareness of the role he was meant to play. As Kessler moved on to the next slave, his comparisons grew more pointed, each assessment tailored to highlight the strengths and weaknesses of both the slaves and Tarzan. He noted their bravery, their endurance, their beauty, all the while contrasting them with Tarzan's own attributes. Once again, Kessler's switch intervened, striking Tarzan's thigh. The crowd had become fully engaged, participating in the spectacle. They listened eagerly as Kessler addressed them directly. "So, my esteemed friends, I ask you this: Does Tarzan truly belong on the auction block?" Several voices in the crowd responded, each offering their perspective. "Yes, he should be auctioned!" "He's no different from the others!" "We want to see Tarzan on that block!" Kessler's plan was unfolding seamlessly, his comparisons and crowd involvement all leading toward the climactic moment of the auction. * * * * * The crowd's fervent agreement reverberated through the village square, their anticipation palpable. Kessler's eyebrows arched in approval, a silent acknowledgment that the plan was moving forward seamlessly. With a subtle wink, he signaled to Tarzan that it was time to set their scheme in motion. For a moment, Tarzan had been uncertain about Kessler's intentions, but the wink reassured him. He watched Kessler's confident stride and felt a newfound surge of courage welling within him. It was clear that Kessler's presence commanded respect, and Tarzan was ready to play his part. Kessler turned to the eager crowd, his voice carrying effortlessly. "Wouldn't you all like a closer look at this specimen?" His question elicited an enthusiastic chorus of agreement. "Up on the stage, Tarzan," Kessler commanded, using the switch to encourage him. Tarzan complied, managing to remember to address Kessler as Master just in time, avoiding the sting of the switch. "Good boy," Kessler praised, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips. The amused crowd responded with a mixture of cheers and jeers. "Now, Tarzan, show them your strength," Kessler directed, using the switch to tap Tarzan's biceps. Tarzan flexed his muscles, the crowd responding with a mix of awe and amusement. As Kessler continued to dictate Tarzan's poses, he praised the jungle hero's strength and power. It was time, he decided, to showcase Tarzan's obedience. Turning to face Tarzan, Kessler locked eyes with him. Initially, there was a shared understanding of their secret plan, but gradually, Kessler's gaze took on a steely intensity. He used that commanding presence to compel Tarzan, and as the jungle hero obediently sank to his knees, the crowd erupted in cheers. Kessler turned back to face the spectators, his chest puffed out with pride. Here, before them all, was the mighty Tarzan, brought to heel by Kessler's dominant authority. The plan was working perfectly. END OF CHAPTER Seven ----------------------------------------------- I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Tue, 14 Nov 2023 21:53:01 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance Chapter 7
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 7: Center Stage --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
The slaves were displayed before them, bound and awaiting the auctioneer's
gavel. Kessler turned his discerning eye toward the first one, a burly man
with rippling muscles, hardened by years of labor. Kessler assessed him
with a critical eye.
"This one possesses considerable strength," he remarked, "but lacks the
discipline for complete obedience." He then glanced at Tarzan, who was
watching attentively. "You, Tarzan, have always demonstrated exceptional
strength and skill. However, your discipline in servitude remains to be
seen."
Tarzan nodded, understanding the implications of Kessler's words.
"Is true," he replied, the term 'Master' not yet instinctual for him.
Kessler, seizing the opportunity, employed the switch with swift precision,
eliciting a sharp gasp from Tarzan. The crowd responded with a mixture of
amusement and approval. With Kessler's switch struck Tarzan's thigh,
leaving a faint red mark. Kessler's lips curled into a satisfied smirk.
"Remember your place, tarzan," he said with a measured tone.
Moving to the next slave, Kessler continued his evaluation.
"This one here is obedient, unquestioningly so. However, his breeding
potential is limited," he noted, sparing a glance toward Tarzan. "In your
case, Tarzan, your lineage is that of a noble jungle lord. Your potential
offspring would carry that same legacy."
Tarzan acknowledged Kessler's words with a thoughtful expression.
"Tarzan no know line so important," he admitted, once again failing to
address Kessler with the title of Master. He hadn't even finished the
sentence when Kessler's switch struck his thigh again.
The crowd's delight grew, their anticipation building. Kessler's
comparisons now began to include the spectators, drawing them into the
evaluation.
"Do you see, my friends?" he asked, sweeping his arm toward Tarzan and the
slave. "The bravery of this one may surpass Tarzan's legendary courage."
Moving to the third slave, Kessler's tone shifted.
Kessler didn't hesitate, the switch falling with precision. This time,
there was a hint of resignation in Tarzan's eyes, coupled with a growing
awareness of the role he was meant to play.
As Kessler moved on to the next slave, his comparisons grew more pointed,
each assessment tailored to highlight the strengths and weaknesses of both
the slaves and Tarzan. He noted their bravery, their endurance, their
beauty, all the while contrasting them with Tarzan's own attributes.
Once again, Kessler's switch intervened, striking Tarzan's thigh. The crowd
had become fully engaged, participating in the spectacle. They listened
eagerly as Kessler addressed them directly.
"So, my esteemed friends, I ask you this: Does Tarzan truly belong on the
auction block?"
Several voices in the crowd responded, each offering their perspective.
"Yes, he should be auctioned!"
"He's no different from the others!"
"We want to see Tarzan on that block!" Kessler's plan was unfolding
seamlessly, his comparisons and crowd involvement all leading toward the
climactic moment of the auction.
* * * * *
The crowd's fervent agreement reverberated through the village square,
their anticipation palpable. Kessler's eyebrows arched in approval, a
silent acknowledgment that the plan was moving forward seamlessly. With a
subtle wink, he signaled to Tarzan that it was time to set their scheme in
motion.
For a moment, Tarzan had been uncertain about Kessler's intentions, but the
wink reassured him. He watched Kessler's confident stride and felt a
newfound surge of courage welling within him. It was clear that Kessler's
presence commanded respect, and Tarzan was ready to play his part.
Kessler turned to the eager crowd, his voice carrying
effortlessly. "Wouldn't you all like a closer look at this specimen?" His
question elicited an enthusiastic chorus of agreement.
"Up on the stage, Tarzan," Kessler commanded, using the switch to encourage
him. Tarzan complied, managing to remember to address Kessler as Master
just in time, avoiding the sting of the switch.
"Good boy," Kessler praised, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his
lips. The amused crowd responded with a mixture of cheers and jeers.
"Now, Tarzan, show them your strength," Kessler directed, using the switch
to tap Tarzan's biceps. Tarzan flexed his muscles, the crowd responding
with a mix of awe and amusement.
As Kessler continued to dictate Tarzan's poses, he praised the jungle
hero's strength and power. It was time, he decided, to showcase Tarzan's
obedience.
Turning to face Tarzan, Kessler locked eyes with him. Initially, there was
a shared understanding of their secret plan, but gradually, Kessler's gaze
took on a steely intensity. He used that commanding presence to compel
Tarzan, and as the jungle hero obediently sank to his knees, the crowd
erupted in cheers.
Kessler turned back to face the spectators, his chest puffed out with
pride. Here, before them all, was the mighty Tarzan, brought to heel by
Kessler's dominant authority. The plan was working perfectly.
END OF CHAPTER Seven -----------------------------------------------
I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you have any feedback or
input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-17 | Date: Thu, 7 Dec 2023 21:15:36 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 17 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. (Note: I've previously mistakenly used the name "Hastings" for the character "Harrington." These are one and the same person. Sorry for any confusion.) Chapter 17: Tarzan in The Dome's Den -- Servitude and Spectacle -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com * * * * * Chapter 17: Tarzan in the Dom's Den -- Servitude and Spectacle As the night descended upon Mr. Blackwood's club, The Dom's Den, Tarzan found himself confined within a cage that offered little to no semblance of dignity. Patrons of the establishment, drawn by curiosity and morbid fascination, gathered around to gawk at the once-mighty king of the jungle, now reduced to a captive spectacle. With fingers pointed and voices raised, they taunted Tarzan, poking and prodding at him, their insults cutting deeper than any physical pain. The indomitable spirit within him refused to be extinguished, but the humiliation he endured was a bitter pill to swallow. Mr. Blackwood, relishing the perverse theater that unfolded before him, approached Tarzan's cage, leash in hand. He had a plan, and the club's patrons eagerly awaited the next act of this grotesque performance. "Watch closely, ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Blackwood announced, his voice dripping with a malevolent delight. "Tarzan, the once-mighty, shall now demonstrate his obedience." With a firm tug of the leash, he led Tarzan out of the cage, the crowd's anticipation palpable. They shouted suggestions, their desires echoing in the dimly lit club. "Exercise for us, Tarzan!" one patron called out, eager to see the mighty physique in action. "An exotic dance!" another chimed in, his intentions clear. Tarzan, bound by the chains of his servitude, performed each task with a grim determination. Under Mr. Blackwood's direction, he displayed his strength through exercises, moved with an exotic grace that belied his predicament, and even responded to the whims of the crowd by performing tricks. However, the most anticipated act of the evening was yet to come. A hulking figure, veiled in shadows, emerged, leading a giant ape. The crowd erupted in excitement as they witnessed the spectacle that had been promised. With a signal from Mr. Blackwood, Tarzan and the giant ape faced each other in an arena set up for their confrontation. The tension in the air was palpable, the outcome of this battle uncertain. Tarzan, his body taut with adrenaline, fought for his life against the formidable ape. The struggle was fierce, their primal strength pitted against each other. Tarzan, despite his weakened state, refused to yield, his determination burning bright. It was a battle that raged on, the audience gripped by the spectacle unfolding before them. Tarzan and the ape locked in a fierce struggle, each refusing to give in to the other. As the climax of the battle neared, Tarzan's strength and wits were put to the ultimate test. He fought with every ounce of energy and cunning he possessed, his very survival hanging in the balance. * * * * * As the battle with the giant ape reached its climax, Tarzan summoned the last reserves of his strength, a primal roar echoing through the arena. With a final surge of power, he emerged victorious, pounding his chest in a display of raw, untamed triumph. The patrons erupted in cheers, their excitement uncontainable. They hailed Tarzan's victory, their jubilation filling the air like a tempest of sound and emotion. They celebrated the spectacle, their eyes gleaming with a savage satisfaction. In the midst of the chaotic celebration, Mr. Blackwood seized his opportunity. He approached Tarzan from behind, a syringe filled with a potent tranquilizer in his hand. With a swift and calculated motion, he jabbed it into Tarzan's rear, the effects swift and unforgiving. Tarzan's vision blurred, his limbs growing heavy as he succumbed to the tranquilizer's power. His consciousness waned, and he was left vulnerable to the will of those who sought to control him. Mr. Blackwood's men quickly bound the savage to the outside of his cage and hosed the drugged stud down, the water cascading over his powerful physique. It was a stark reminder of his captivity, the cleansing ritual a dehumanizing act that stripped away his dignity. One by one, the patrons approached Tarzan, their intentions clear. They "congratulated" him, their hands lingering on his chest, his arms, his loincloth. They teased and taunted, their amusement mingling with an air of superiority. Meanwhile, Mr. Blackwood entertained offers from individuals eager to claim Tarzan for their own pleasure. The prospect of a night with the captive king held an irresistible allure, and offers of payment flowed freely. As the night wore on, Mr. Blackwood considered his options, weighing the potential gains against the risks. His partnership with Lord Harrington loomed large in his calculations, and the fate of Tarzan hung in the balance. In the midst of the debauchery and decadence, Tarzan's consciousness began to return, his senses slowly reawakening. He surveyed the scene, his acceptance of his role forged through the crucible of captivity. He was the captive king, providing sport and entertainment for those who considered themselves superior. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER SEVENTEEN------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Thu, 7 Dec 2023 21:15:36 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 17
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
(Note: I've previously mistakenly used the name "Hastings" for the
character "Harrington." These are one and the same person. Sorry for any
confusion.)
Chapter 17: Tarzan in The Dome's Den -- Servitude and Spectacle
--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
Chapter 17: Tarzan in the Dom's Den -- Servitude and Spectacle
As the night descended upon Mr. Blackwood's club, The Dom's Den, Tarzan
found himself confined within a cage that offered little to no semblance of
dignity. Patrons of the establishment, drawn by curiosity and morbid
fascination, gathered around to gawk at the once-mighty king of the jungle,
now reduced to a captive spectacle.
With fingers pointed and voices raised, they taunted Tarzan, poking and
prodding at him, their insults cutting deeper than any physical pain. The
indomitable spirit within him refused to be extinguished, but the
humiliation he endured was a bitter pill to swallow.
Mr. Blackwood, relishing the perverse theater that unfolded before him,
approached Tarzan's cage, leash in hand. He had a plan, and the club's
patrons eagerly awaited the next act of this grotesque performance.
"Watch closely, ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Blackwood announced, his voice
dripping with a malevolent delight. "Tarzan, the once-mighty, shall now
demonstrate his obedience."
With a firm tug of the leash, he led Tarzan out of the cage, the crowd's
anticipation palpable. They shouted suggestions, their desires echoing in
the dimly lit club.
"Exercise for us, Tarzan!" one patron called out, eager to see the mighty
physique in action.
"An exotic dance!" another chimed in, his intentions clear.
Tarzan, bound by the chains of his servitude, performed each task with a
grim determination. Under Mr. Blackwood's direction, he displayed his
strength through exercises, moved with an exotic grace that belied his
predicament, and even responded to the whims of the crowd by performing
tricks.
However, the most anticipated act of the evening was yet to come. A hulking
figure, veiled in shadows, emerged, leading a giant ape. The crowd erupted
in excitement as they witnessed the spectacle that had been promised.
With a signal from Mr. Blackwood, Tarzan and the giant ape faced each other
in an arena set up for their confrontation. The tension in the air was
palpable, the outcome of this battle uncertain.
Tarzan, his body taut with adrenaline, fought for his life against the
formidable ape. The struggle was fierce, their primal strength pitted
against each other. Tarzan, despite his weakened state, refused to yield,
his determination burning bright.
It was a battle that raged on, the audience gripped by the spectacle
unfolding before them. Tarzan and the ape locked in a fierce struggle, each
refusing to give in to the other.
As the climax of the battle neared, Tarzan's strength and wits were put to
the ultimate test. He fought with every ounce of energy and cunning he
possessed, his very survival hanging in the balance.
* * * * *
As the battle with the giant ape reached its climax, Tarzan summoned the
last reserves of his strength, a primal roar echoing through the
arena. With a final surge of power, he emerged victorious, pounding his
chest in a display of raw, untamed triumph.
The patrons erupted in cheers, their excitement uncontainable. They hailed
Tarzan's victory, their jubilation filling the air like a tempest of sound
and emotion. They celebrated the spectacle, their eyes gleaming with a
savage satisfaction.
In the midst of the chaotic celebration, Mr. Blackwood seized his
opportunity. He approached Tarzan from behind, a syringe filled with a
potent tranquilizer in his hand. With a swift and calculated motion, he
jabbed it into Tarzan's rear, the effects swift and unforgiving.
Tarzan's vision blurred, his limbs growing heavy as he succumbed to the
tranquilizer's power. His consciousness waned, and he was left vulnerable
to the will of those who sought to control him.
Mr. Blackwood's men quickly bound the savage to the outside of his cage and
hosed the drugged stud down, the water cascading over his powerful
physique. It was a stark reminder of his captivity, the cleansing ritual a
dehumanizing act that stripped away his dignity.
One by one, the patrons approached Tarzan, their intentions clear. They
"congratulated" him, their hands lingering on his chest, his arms, his
loincloth. They teased and taunted, their amusement mingling with an air of
superiority.
Meanwhile, Mr. Blackwood entertained offers from individuals eager to claim
Tarzan for their own pleasure. The prospect of a night with the captive
king held an irresistible allure, and offers of payment flowed freely.
As the night wore on, Mr. Blackwood considered his options, weighing the
potential gains against the risks. His partnership with Lord Harrington
loomed large in his calculations, and the fate of Tarzan hung in the
balance.
In the midst of the debauchery and decadence, Tarzan's consciousness began
to return, his senses slowly reawakening. He surveyed the scene, his
acceptance of his role forged through the crucible of captivity. He was the
captive king, providing sport and entertainment for those who considered
themselves superior.
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER SEVENTEEN-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/anal-things | Date: Sat, 9 Mar 2024 00:57:00 +0000 From: PCW Tosh Subject: Anal Things Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence that this actually happened, but we can all dream. Stay healthy and practice safe sex! Happy reading. Anal Things Finn Wolfhard woke and looked down into his arms with a smile. Noah Schnapp's soft brown hair was right in his face, and he couldn't help but give it a smell as their naked, smelly young bodies lay wrapped together. After their threesome last night with Dylan the pair were exhausted but they only had a short amount of time together before Noah would be heading back home. Noah and Finn weren't a couple, but they had become so close at times it felt like they were. Inhaling Noah's scent, Finn beamed, this was a moment he would remember forever no matter where their lives took them. Another 15 minutes passed, Noah snoozing gently while Finn watched quietly. Murmuring incoherently, Noah began to stir and released a soft fart bringing a smile to Finn's face. "What are you smiling at?" Noah croaked, peeking up at Finn through half an open eye. "Nothing, farty fart-a-son." Finn chuckled, stroking Noah's cute head. "Hmmm." Noah purred, nuzzling into Finn's smooth chest. The American's hand clutched at the smooth skin of Finn's skinny torso, holding his co-star's large left nipple and appreciating Finn's skinny legs wrapped around his own. Tilting his head up, Noah reached for Finn and with a little help from the older boy he found the Canadian's beautiful red lips engaging them in a tender, sleepy kiss. The stickiness of their dry mouths was an unavoidable consequence of their laziness, but it didn't matter. To add to the smell of their stale, sweaty bodies, morning breath was just another funky odour to add to the list, a list that neither of them cared about right there and then. With a subtle drop of his bottom lip, Finn allowed Noah's tongue to enter his mouth engaging them in the dankest of morning kisses. Between their smooth, slender bodies, two horny cocks rapidly hardened, ready to shoot whatever contents their nuts had managed to regenerate overnight. Gradually as the kiss progressed Noah's hands began to wander. Every movement and gyration of his lips woke his body a little more, shaking away the cobwebs of his deep sleep wrapped in the arms of the cutest Canadian ever. Noah's soft fingertips stroked at Finn's smoother, softer skin, feeling how sexy Finn's skinny body was to touch. A soft exhale from Finn's large nostrils blowing hot air across Noah's mouth was the review Noah craved for his handy work and duly received. Both boys were stroking each other's torsos sensually as Finn joined Noah, using his fingers to trace his way down the American's sexy body. Unlike Finn's skinny body, Noah's had begun to fill out aided by a strategic health regime. Plenty of time at the gym and a protein filled diet had filled out his muscles and more importantly to the American, added mass to his horny arse. Massaging Noah's juicy arse in a rotary fashion, Finn felt the amazing warmth of the teenager's perfect orbs. Finn edged his fingers closer together as he massaged Noah's arse and reaching a point where they were close to touching on each pass, Finn had Noah right where he wanted him. After a few more circles Finn paused and using his thumbs to hold Noah's juicy cheeks apart, the older twink used the fingers of his right hand to slide over Noah's magical opening. A deep exhale of pleasure greeted Finn's wandering fingers as he moved back and forth over Noah's crack, inspecting the damage Dylan had done to him, nothing Finn hadn't done before and from previous experience that meant Noah was ready for round 2. Repositioning his free hand, Finn reached back around to Noah's front and while his fingers traced across the American's enticing arse hole, Finn held Noah's abs, appreciating the gentle toning that Noah had achieved on his smooth stomach. Matching Finn's curiosity, Noah's hands were also inspecting the Canadian's wonderful body and since Finn had gone straight for his arse hole, Noah decided the best place to head to on Finn's body was his lovable cock. Closing his hand around the indie kid's hard cock, Noah could feel Finn was already hard and getting harder by the second. The American didn't need to do much work, just a couple of strokes had Finn's head raging down below them, desperate to get itself deep within Noah's sweet cunt. "I don't think he wants to wait." Noah breathed, pulling away from the Canadian and blowing another gust of morning breath into his pointy nose. Finn had no words to respond with, beaming back at Noah just happy to look at how cute his friend had become. It wasn't only Finn's cock that had become impatient, Noah's arse was begging for some penetration too. They had two options, Noah could crawl to the end of the bed and find the lube, or he could smear as much spit on Finn's head as he could and stuff himself semi-raw, no contest! Remaining on their sides, Noah moved so that his arse was lined up with Finn's cock and once the Canadian had placed his tip against Noah's opening, the top pushed forward while the bottom pushed back, determined to unify like the horny young lovers they were. The walls of Noah's hole parted gratefully at the pressure of Finn's spit slickened, 6.5-inch cock pressing against his entrance. The American barely needed an intake of breath just closing his eyes and relaxing his hole obediently. Following the deep probing of Dylan's hard cock last night, Finn's raging head found no resistance in Noah's hole which folded nice and calmly around his advancing cock. Piercing Noah's ring and marching straight towards the hilt, Finn could hear Noah's breathing grow a little longer and louder as the anticipation grew rapidly. Easier than slicing a hot knife through butter, Finn's crotch came to rest against Noah's firm, round arse. The bottom turned back, reaching under Finn's smooth chin and breathed, "God, I love you and your perfect body." Before pulling Finn in for a deep French kiss. With their lips clasped and their tongues duelling frantically, Finn pulled his cock halfway out of Noah's hole and drilling it back in until his crotch smashed into Noah's arse, the top made his intent fully known, this morning's fuck would be raw, deep and hard! After each shot the meat of Noah's firm arse rippled from the indie top's deliberate force. Finn's skinny hips were usually full of energy but adding his morning horn and Noah's available arse to the mix, the cute twink was positively bouncing. After Dylan had stretched Noah out last night, the sweet American's hole had tightened back up nicely to the point where Finn could slide in with less resistance, but everything was still tight enough to squeeze around Finn's bare shaft as it ploughed deep into his belly. There was just enough time for Finn to get into a new position with the bottom's slim legs moving up onto his shoulders as Finn continued to thrust. Taking things up a notch, Finn broke the kiss and pushed Noah away from him slightly, increasing the frequency of his thrusts as the skinny top pounded Noah's sexy arse. "Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah..." Noah groaned with happiness as Finn hammered away on his hungry belly. "You're...so...hot." Finn grunted hastily between shots to compliment Noah's rhythmic groans. Finn's skinny body was at the perfect angle for the top to use a little gravity to his momentum as his skinny legs slammed his sweaty crotch into the bottom's sweaty arse. Kissing Finn was always so incredible that whenever the Canadian pulled away, a part of Noah's heart broke. This time however, Finn had pushed Noah the perfect distance away that the bottom could look at his top and admire his handsome face. In the moment, Noah didn't need Finn to kiss him, those smooth pale features, his cute pointy nose and those near invisible freckles you could only see when you were this close to Finn were doing the same job kissing him did. "I...love...you...and...I...love...your...cock." Noah bleated back to Finn who grinned proudly. All Noah had to do was lay there and take it, something which Finn had taught him to do so well. Every shot of Finn's skinny hips shook Noah's entire body, feeding the horny young gay with his favourite breakfast sausage. The sound of slapping and squelching grew louder as Finn's churning nuts egged him on. The Canadian just did what felt natural, sliding is cock back and forth 5 inches at a time. Every stroke felt like pure magic, the friction of Noah's sweet hole causing life's greatest chemical reaction to begin working away inside Finn's sweaty balls. The top wasn't close to cumming just yet, even with the deep hard shots of his horny cock, Noah's widened chute and Finn's twice drained balls had a little more slack. Another 30 seconds of hard, horny pounding were just what they both needed before Finn rammed himself to the hilt and held himself there. The young couple continued to kiss for a few moments longer before Noah pulled away and smiled. Looking at Finn's beautiful face, Noah felt so calm and happy, marvelling in the feeling of his hole, full of his favourite friend, nothing was better than this. "Wanna change it up?" Finn smiled. "Uh huh." Noah nodded. The Canadian reversed carefully until his cock popped free of Noah's hole. "Oh God." Noah cooed. Finn stood up and reversed a step away from the bed with his hard, cut, 6.5-inch cock pointing out in front of him. Noah's eyes studied his sexy top, the paleness of his skinny torso, his large nipples, the patches of crusted cum in areas across his body down to his inny belly button then the trail which led down to his dark, curly pubes and from within them, the beautiful cock Noah needed back inside him. The bottom found the strength to spring up from the bed and placing his feet a little wider apart than his shoulders, Noah bent over at the waist and rested his hands on the bed. ["Good morning Finn."] The Canadian beamed to himself, giving Noah's rear end the once over appreciating the bottom in all his naked beauty. Sinking to his knees, Finn took hold of the American's plump arse cheeks and opened them wide. Leaning into Noah's hole the Canadian placed his tongue at the base of his bottom's hole and sliding up, Finn tasted the work of his hard cock. Noah's hole felt nicely tenderised, weakened by the force of the Canadian's horny boner. Exhaling his morning breath into Noah's meaty cheeks, Finn enjoyed the blow back, the smell of his own morning funk on Noah's dank arse hole. This was the best time to be alive, that moment first thing in the morning when everything was raw and vulnerable. Pushing his tongue as far into Noah's hole as the sweet bottom would allow, Finn pressed his pale cheeks against Noah's meaty, warm globes that were his bestie's sensational arse. The sweetness of Noah's hole just inside the ring tasted amazing, a soft tenderness which his pulsing cock needed to get back inside. "Your tongue feels so good." Noah cooed warmly. Finn couldn't form a verbal response, so he grunted into Noah's arse what sounded like an affirmative sound. The Canadian certainly knew what he was doing, rolling his tongue across the abused insides with soothing swishes of his wet muscle. The bottom felt so happy to enjoy every passing second of Finn's tongue inside him, teasing nerves where the senses were on high alert following the previous invasion of his cock. "Ahhh, eat my yummy hole." Noah giggled. Once again Noah's adorable cuteness made Finn laugh into the American's juicy arse while his cock throbbed with anticipation. Noah was such a sexy little gay but so lighthearted and sweet that Finn found him irresistible. They weren't together but it was at times like this that Finn thought they probably should be. The Canadian's fingers tightened around Noah's glorious arse cheeks again and squeezing them tight, Finn pushed his tongue in as far as he could reach, wriggling it around as aggressively as he could. After a couple of minutes enjoying the tasty bottom Finn's tongue popped free of Noah's hole and the Canadian stood up behind his co-star. Placing his tip against Noah's moistened hole, the top leaned forward and instantly breached Noah's ring. "Ahhh yeah!" They sang in unison as Finn's head popped inside the American and advanced, quickly returning to its usual place deep within Noah's warm cunt. Now it was time for something a little different and Finn couldn't wait to see how it felt. "Lean on your hands." He instructed and as he felt his co-star's weight shift forward, Finn took hold of Noah's modestly hairy legs at the thigh and lifted him on both sides. "Ahh shit, yes!" Noah chortled, excited that Finn had decided to try something a little different, a little crazy and a little demeaning. "Wheelbarrow me!" He added happily. Finn hadn't expected dissent, but the enthusiastic green light was music to his ears. Pulling his cock back the full six inches he could spare, Finn threw his entire body forward into Noah's using the bottom's firm arse to cushion his weight. The thrusts were deep, violent and full of passion as Finn made the experience memorable for the pair of them. "AH, AH, AH, YEAH, YEAH, FUCK, YEAH!" Noah agreed with every shot as Finn's bare cock drilled deep within him. Unlike the aesthetic flavour of the times, Finn wasn't a muscular boy preferring to maintain his skinny, indie image. The top knew he didn't look like someone with the ability to physically dominate someone but with Noah's sexy body there wrapped around his cock and begging him for everything he had, Finn was as strong as any Dom/top could be, holding Noah's meaty thighs aloft and pounding his skinny body deep into Noah's sexy cunt. The sound of his pale crotch rapping against Noah's firm, juicy buttocks escalated rapidly as Finn quickly found his rhythm, punishing his cute co-star for being so incredibly sexy. The top's eyes were focused on the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing from inside Noah's hungry hole as he drove himself deep and hard into the American's sexy body. In his peripherals, Finn could see how Noah's shoulder blades tensed as they held up the bottom's upper body weight while bracing for every impact of Finn's horny body. "Hmmm, yeah." Noah groaned, the pressure growing in his head as his muscles strained to keep his body up and level while Finn pounded his tight hole. The bottom's cut, 7.5-inch cock stood hard in appreciation of Finn's work, pulsing each time the skinny Canadian piled his bare cock so deep inside Noah that his twinky frame clattered into the bottom's peachy arse cheeks. The rising pressure in his mind heightened the pleasure of those pulses, giving Noah even more satisfaction from Finn than he usually experienced. "You feel so fucking good." Noah cheered on merrily. The vocal encouragement from Noah was so typical of the sweet bottom and Finn responded the only way he knew how, to do exactly what Noah was saying and even more. "Yeahhh, fuck me deep." Noah cooed. Finn pulled his cock back 6 inches and threw his entire body weight forward impaling 6.5 inches of his bare, Canadian meat within Noah's slick insides, giving them both a chance to shudder as the friction of Finn's bare cock sliding along the inside of Noah's bare chute simultaneously fulfilled both of their sexual desires. "I love your hard dick." Noah grunted in response to the increasing volume coming from the smashing of Finn's bony pelvis against his tailbone. Straining to raise his head up, Noah turned behind to view Finn in full form as the Canadian destroyed him as the sexy wheelbarrow he had become. The Canadian looked so sweet and gentle on the eyes but this was proof he was anything but. Finn's skinny pecs had a modest level of muscle toning but right now they were clearly as tense as they could be. The other clear sign that Finn was giving it his all came from his tensed biceps. Usually thin and dormant, they were flexed enough to show a little muscle as the top drove his dick deep and hard into Noah's sexy arse. "You look so hot when you fucking pound my hole!!!" Noah exclaimed happily. This was the position that was going to end it and Finn already knew it. Noah's words of encouragement had the desired effect on the top who couldn't resist, fucking harder and deeper in desperation of achieving the best climax possible. There was no need for Finn to warn Noah of his impending orgasm, just from the sound of Finn's deeper breaths and stronger grunts there was only one outcome. The Canadian's grip of his tense thighs tightened as Finn drilled Noah deep and hard. "Yeah...I'm pretty close!" Finn declared. "God yeah, I can't wait for you to fill me up with your sexy cum." Noah replied emphatically. "Fuck, shit, yeah, you want it? You want it?!!!" Finn huffed, jabbing harder still. The bass in Finn's throat grew stronger as his deep thrusts grew longer. Noah saw the moment Finn's smooth, skinny pecs seemed to tense and throwing his head back the top groaned to the heavens. Focusing all of his attention to the nerves inside his arse hole, Noah felt the moment Finn's hot cum began to fill his tight chute. "God, I love it, I love your hot cum in me!" Noah cried to the delight of his top. "Yeah baby, take it, take my cum!" Finn replied, stuffing Noah with another deep shot of his firing cock. Bare skin moving long bare skin milked Finn's creamy nuts of everything they had to offer. The Canadian jabbed and stabbed as hard as he could, using as much momentum to help him maintain his form as the draining of his nuts continued in explosive fashion. The thrusts had reduced from 6 inches to 3 with all of them resulting in a powerful slap against Noah's round cheeks to bury his load down at the deepest point Finn could reach within the American. There was something about this helplessness that made the orgasm extra special for Noah. Feeling super submissive to Finn's grip suspending him in the air, every shot of thin, Canadian cream into his tender hole felt magical. Noah's prostate felt shot after shot of warm cum flooding his chute, sending tingles through the areas the bottom in Noah enjoyed the most. The delightful sensation continued for Noah, but he could feel Finn's power waning. Finn's stabs had become unpredictable with the orgasming top moving an inch or so back then forward every few seconds while his moans softened. The strength of his orgasm had forced Finn's eyes shut but slowly they reopened as the top rolled back and forth again, his shaft pulsing to squeeze out the last drops of his seed into Noah's tight depository. The orgasm cloud cleared from Finn's mind and moving forward, the top took some of the pressure off Noah's rock steady hands. Pulling his cock from Noah's chute, Finn placed his cute bottom on the mattress then sank to his knees. The Canadian sucked in as much oxygen as his nostrils could and watched on as Noah swung his legs around to face him. The fine, thin trees covered in a light growth of curly brown hairs that Noah called legs were placed either side of Finn's face, but they barely registered with the Canadian as Noah's hard cock pointed straight at his face, leering angrily at Finn as the American began to jerk. The boy that had fucked Noah so perfectly knelt below him, Finn's adorably beautiful face looked up at the American with his long dark hair a shaggy mess and those deep, brown eyes looking up at Noah while he waited. Stroking his sensitive shaft and watching it throb, Noah moved to the verge of his orgasm while looking straight through his cock at Finn's lovable face. Studying every endearing freckle on Finn's large nose, Noah could feel the effect of the Canadian's beauty of his heavy nuts and with an escalating sigh the eruption had begun. The pressure in Noah's nuts had reached boiling point and that sweet release felt so good as his hot sperm surged up his shaft, squirting out of Finn's smooth, gentle features. The American's cum was thinner and more translucent than normal given he too had cum as recently as the early hours of the same morning. "Oh Goddd!" Noah squealed, watching his head swell to squirt another helping of his cream across Finn's tightly shut eyelids. Just closing his eyes and smiling, Finn enjoyed one of the best things life had treated him to, a fresh load of Noah's tasty cream. The cute indie just knelt obediently as the warm sticky mess spread from his bottom lip and streaked all the way up to his forehead. "I love your hot cum." Finn breathed with just enough bass to be heard as Noah sent another helping across those beautiful ruby lips. Finn's words were perfect and the response from Noah was to send another load of warm, white cream across Finn's smooth face. The throbs of Noah's cock weakened to pulses as his sweaty nuts became increasingly lighter. Running his hand along his shaft several more times, Noah stroked the remainder of his shaft out onto Finn's lips then gave that final long sigh to confirm he too was empty. Upon hearing Noah's closing sigh Finn swept his tongue across his lips and fed himself the ropes of the American's cum he could reach. Noah's hands pressed against the sides of Finn's cum splattered face and held him steady while the American forced his tongue into Finn's mouth. With the typical level of intense passion, the pair kissed with Noah's eyes fixed on Finn's adorably messy face with the Canadian pictured every part of his beautiful friend behind his eyelids as they enjoyed the final few hours of this particular holiday. "Let me get you a wet towel." Noah whispered after they finally parted lips a minute later. "Thanks." Finn replied softly. The Canadian could hear the sound of Noah sliding into his pyjama bottoms, the opening and closing of his door then 15 seconds later the reopening and closing of his door. The cool feel of a damp flannel against his sticky face felt wonderful. After Noah had spent a few seconds on each eye, Finn opened them simultaneously to be greeted by the beautiful sight of Noah's caring face deep in concentration as he cleaned Finn's face. "There, all clean." Noah beamed. "All clean?" Finn smirked. "Ok, mostly clean." Noah giggled. "Hehe, I'll go shower in a bit." "Can I come?" "How else will I know my face is clean?" Finn winked. They climbed aboard Finn's bed and lay there to relax in each other's company a little longer before the packing for the journey home began. Finn smiled at Noah and the American smiled back at him appreciating this moment of happy bliss. There was something Noah needed to tell Finn though and he knew he needed to do it soon. "Finny, I have something to tell you and I hope you'll understand." Noah began timidly. "What's up bro?" Finn replied, pushing himself up to show he was listening. "Ok, I've been talking to my family...and my agent...and everyone...and well, I've decided to go public." Noah smiled weakly. "BROOOO!!!! Finn boomed, throwing his hands around Noah and pulling him in for a hug. "You'll be fine, I'm sure." He finished holding Noah close. The American could feel Finn's heart pounding, the warmth of his sentiment and his support was genuine. "Thank you dude." Noah croaked, a quiet tear forming at each of his tear ducts. "Are you not worried people will think you're gay too?" Noah asked innocently. Finn broke their hug and moved back so they could look at each other face to face. "You haven't read many of our fanfics, have you?" Finn smirked. "Even before it was obvious that Will liked Mike, people have been writing about them AND US hooking up," he explained. "And I did just make love to my gay friend, so I'm pan anyway, right? I don't really care what people think, I have so much fun with you these days it's amazing. Who knows what the future will bring." Finn finished. "Nawww, yeah, that's sweet. Still want kids and stuff?" Noah asked sweetly. "Yup, I think so." Finn nodded somewhat regretfully. Noah knew that look and he hated it, Finn felt guilty knowing that Noah wanted their fun to continue maybe forever, but Noah wasn't as certain of kids or marriage. "No, don't give me that look, this is a happy thing." Noah growled. Finn smiled, they really were the best of friends and that could never change. Dragging their lazy arses out of bed, the pair enjoyed their team shower, scrubbing each other clean from head to toe. For breakfast they headed off to Finn's favourite local coffee shop where their picture hung above the counter from their previous visit earlier that same year. After breakfast they killed a couple of hours gaming before it was time to take Noah to the airport. Loading was quick with just a backpack and before they knew it, Finn and Noah were stood face to face at curb side drop-off. "Dude, I had the best time!" Noah beamed, throwing his arms around Finn. "So did I man, I love you so much!!!" Finn grinned back, holding Noah so tight his head nearly popped off. "And thank you for..." "No way don't thank me. I support you 100% and I always will...WILL!" Finn chuckled. Noah had to laugh too and Finn's unnecessary but appreciated humour. "Let me know when you land ok?" Finn added. "Totally." Noah whispered, holding Finn as tight as he could for a few seconds more. They finally parted and Finn watched with growing melancholy as Noah disappeared through the automatic doors. Just before his co-star disappeared, he turned to give one final wave which Finn returned with a broad smile. "Good luck bro." Finn mouthed sweetly. The drive home after taking Noah to the airport was probably Finn's least favourite activity and after Noah's declaration earlier, Finn wondered if he would be doing this for the last time. Next time Noah came to stay, would he be alone, or would he have a hot new boyfriend with him? Once Noah went public, he would become an icon and probably even more popular than Finn himself. But that was only the romantic side, there was a dark side of the world, which also meant that Noah would become a target for haters. Noah would need his friend's support, and Finn would be there to offer all the support he needed. Maybe Finn, too, would need to come out to the world one day, who knew? Right now, that wasn't important and as he pulled into his drive, Finn felt that it was all going to be amazing for his loveable friend. The band aid was off, and Noah was nearly there. Because of his sexual relationship with Finn, Noah had to be sure that his co-star would be OK with him coming out to the world. In a world full of haters, being outed when you weren't fully sure of your sexuality wasn't an easy decision to make and in Finn's case it felt unnecessary. He was still experimenting and that was OK because every experiment they had conducted went very well indeed. Noah smirked at Finn's added reference to Will as they parted. Neither knew what the writers had planned for the Mike/Will relationship, but they were pretty certain they would be sharing an on-screen kiss. The smirk on Noah's face grew wider still as he worked out the message he would post to the world, using Finn's humour it was genius! The plane's wheels hit the runway at LaGuardia Airport, the engines roared as the retros worked as an air brake and they were rolling towards the terminal when Noah and the other passengers came off flight mode. Finn: "<3" Noah: "<3 <3 <3" Finn: "(Smile) (Pray) <3 <3 <3 <3 <3" END Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story. If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on pcwtosh@gmail.com and/or for updates: Instagram - pcwtoshx Twitter - @pcwtosh Here is the rest of my collection: Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy 18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones, The Twins Nextdoor, 13 Goo-uld Reasons Why, Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway, Now You See Cole & Big Apple Aussies. Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer Ripped Roses, Jack's Web, Naughty Neigbours & Devils and Dragons. Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY, Swimnasium & Laugher of the Ice King. Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk & Deep Dipping in Dunkirk. Reese Wilkerson the Heartstopper Stranger Boys: Stranger Mendes, Oral Things, Someone Stranger in the Fuller House & A Stranger Series of Events. Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86 & Riviera Rendezvouz North American Swedes, Fly Eagles Fly & Maple Mashup Tennis series: Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the Bahamas, Bulging Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple Leafs, Made in Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Sleeping Meadows, Team Building in Melbourne Park, Dominic and the Minaur & Rey of the Acropolis. Football series: Lilywhite Hoops, From Paris with Love, The Hero and the Zero, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Return to the Wolfpack, The Tails of Two Nike Stars, Bayern Boys & Barca Buddies. 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Date: Sat, 9 Mar 2024 00:57:00 +0000
From: PCW Tosh <pcwtosh@gmail.com>
Subject: Anal Things
Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence
that this actually happened, but we can all dream.
Stay healthy and practice safe sex!
Happy reading.
Anal Things
Finn Wolfhard woke and looked down into his arms with a smile. Noah
Schnapp's soft brown hair was right in his face, and he couldn't help but
give it a smell as their naked, smelly young bodies lay wrapped
together. After their threesome last night with Dylan the pair were
exhausted but they only had a short amount of time together before Noah
would be heading back home. Noah and Finn weren't a couple, but they had
become so close at times it felt like they were. Inhaling Noah's scent,
Finn beamed, this was a moment he would remember forever no matter where
their lives took them.
Another 15 minutes passed, Noah snoozing gently while Finn watched
quietly. Murmuring incoherently, Noah began to stir and released a soft
fart bringing a smile to Finn's face. "What are you smiling at?" Noah
croaked, peeking up at Finn through half an open eye. "Nothing, farty
fart-a-son." Finn chuckled, stroking Noah's cute head. "Hmmm." Noah purred,
nuzzling into Finn's smooth chest. The American's hand clutched at the
smooth skin of Finn's skinny torso, holding his co-star's large left nipple
and appreciating Finn's skinny legs wrapped around his own.
Tilting his head up, Noah reached for Finn and with a little help from the
older boy he found the Canadian's beautiful red lips engaging them in a
tender, sleepy kiss. The stickiness of their dry mouths was an unavoidable
consequence of their laziness, but it didn't matter. To add to the smell of
their stale, sweaty bodies, morning breath was just another funky odour to
add to the list, a list that neither of them cared about right there and
then. With a subtle drop of his bottom lip, Finn allowed Noah's tongue to
enter his mouth engaging them in the dankest of morning kisses. Between
their smooth, slender bodies, two horny cocks rapidly hardened, ready to
shoot whatever contents their nuts had managed to regenerate overnight.
Gradually as the kiss progressed Noah's hands began to wander. Every
movement and gyration of his lips woke his body a little more, shaking away
the cobwebs of his deep sleep wrapped in the arms of the cutest Canadian
ever. Noah's soft fingertips stroked at Finn's smoother, softer skin,
feeling how sexy Finn's skinny body was to touch. A soft exhale from Finn's
large nostrils blowing hot air across Noah's mouth was the review Noah
craved for his handy work and duly received.
Both boys were stroking each other's torsos sensually as Finn joined Noah,
using his fingers to trace his way down the American's sexy body. Unlike
Finn's skinny body, Noah's had begun to fill out aided by a strategic
health regime. Plenty of time at the gym and a protein filled diet had
filled out his muscles and more importantly to the American, added mass to
his horny arse. Massaging Noah's juicy arse in a rotary fashion, Finn felt
the amazing warmth of the teenager's perfect orbs. Finn edged his fingers
closer together as he massaged Noah's arse and reaching a point where they
were close to touching on each pass, Finn had Noah right where he wanted
him. After a few more circles Finn paused and using his thumbs to hold
Noah's juicy cheeks apart, the older twink used the fingers of his right
hand to slide over Noah's magical opening. A deep exhale of pleasure
greeted Finn's wandering fingers as he moved back and forth over Noah's
crack, inspecting the damage Dylan had done to him, nothing Finn hadn't
done before and from previous experience that meant Noah was ready for
round 2. Repositioning his free hand, Finn reached back around to Noah's
front and while his fingers traced across the American's enticing arse
hole, Finn held Noah's abs, appreciating the gentle toning that Noah had
achieved on his smooth stomach.
Matching Finn's curiosity, Noah's hands were also inspecting the Canadian's
wonderful body and since Finn had gone straight for his arse hole, Noah
decided the best place to head to on Finn's body was his lovable
cock. Closing his hand around the indie kid's hard cock, Noah could feel
Finn was already hard and getting harder by the second. The American didn't
need to do much work, just a couple of strokes had Finn's head raging down
below them, desperate to get itself deep within Noah's sweet cunt. "I don't
think he wants to wait." Noah breathed, pulling away from the Canadian and
blowing another gust of morning breath into his pointy nose. Finn had no
words to respond with, beaming back at Noah just happy to look at how cute
his friend had become.
It wasn't only Finn's cock that had become impatient, Noah's arse was
begging for some penetration too. They had two options, Noah could crawl to
the end of the bed and find the lube, or he could smear as much spit on
Finn's head as he could and stuff himself semi-raw, no contest! Remaining
on their sides, Noah moved so that his arse was lined up with Finn's cock
and once the Canadian had placed his tip against Noah's opening, the top
pushed forward while the bottom pushed back, determined to unify like the
horny young lovers they were.
The walls of Noah's hole parted gratefully at the pressure of Finn's spit
slickened, 6.5-inch cock pressing against his entrance. The American barely
needed an intake of breath just closing his eyes and relaxing his hole
obediently. Following the deep probing of Dylan's hard cock last night,
Finn's raging head found no resistance in Noah's hole which folded nice and
calmly around his advancing cock. Piercing Noah's ring and marching
straight towards the hilt, Finn could hear Noah's breathing grow a little
longer and louder as the anticipation grew rapidly.
Easier than slicing a hot knife through butter, Finn's crotch came to rest
against Noah's firm, round arse. The bottom turned back, reaching under
Finn's smooth chin and breathed, "God, I love you and your perfect body."
Before pulling Finn in for a deep French kiss. With their lips clasped and
their tongues duelling frantically, Finn pulled his cock halfway out of
Noah's hole and drilling it back in until his crotch smashed into Noah's
arse, the top made his intent fully known, this morning's fuck would be
raw, deep and hard!
After each shot the meat of Noah's firm arse rippled from the indie top's
deliberate force. Finn's skinny hips were usually full of energy but adding
his morning horn and Noah's available arse to the mix, the cute twink was
positively bouncing. After Dylan had stretched Noah out last night, the
sweet American's hole had tightened back up nicely to the point where Finn
could slide in with less resistance, but everything was still tight enough
to squeeze around Finn's bare shaft as it ploughed deep into his belly.
There was just enough time for Finn to get into a new position with the
bottom's slim legs moving up onto his shoulders as Finn continued to
thrust. Taking things up a notch, Finn broke the kiss and pushed Noah away
from him slightly, increasing the frequency of his thrusts as the skinny
top pounded Noah's sexy arse. "Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah..." Noah
groaned with happiness as Finn hammered away on his hungry
belly. "You're...so...hot." Finn grunted hastily between shots to
compliment Noah's rhythmic groans. Finn's skinny body was at the perfect
angle for the top to use a little gravity to his momentum as his skinny
legs slammed his sweaty crotch into the bottom's sweaty arse.
Kissing Finn was always so incredible that whenever the Canadian pulled
away, a part of Noah's heart broke. This time however, Finn had pushed Noah
the perfect distance away that the bottom could look at his top and admire
his handsome face. In the moment, Noah didn't need Finn to kiss him, those
smooth pale features, his cute pointy nose and those near invisible
freckles you could only see when you were this close to Finn were doing the
same job kissing him did. "I...love...you...and...I...love...your...cock."
Noah bleated back to Finn who grinned proudly.
All Noah had to do was lay there and take it, something which Finn had
taught him to do so well. Every shot of Finn's skinny hips shook Noah's
entire body, feeding the horny young gay with his favourite breakfast
sausage. The sound of slapping and squelching grew louder as Finn's
churning nuts egged him on. The Canadian just did what felt natural,
sliding is cock back and forth 5 inches at a time. Every stroke felt like
pure magic, the friction of Noah's sweet hole causing life's greatest
chemical reaction to begin working away inside Finn's sweaty balls.
The top wasn't close to cumming just yet, even with the deep hard shots of
his horny cock, Noah's widened chute and Finn's twice drained balls had a
little more slack. Another 30 seconds of hard, horny pounding were just
what they both needed before Finn rammed himself to the hilt and held
himself there. The young couple continued to kiss for a few moments longer
before Noah pulled away and smiled. Looking at Finn's beautiful face, Noah
felt so calm and happy, marvelling in the feeling of his hole, full of his
favourite friend, nothing was better than this.
"Wanna change it up?" Finn smiled. "Uh huh." Noah nodded. The Canadian
reversed carefully until his cock popped free of Noah's hole. "Oh God."
Noah cooed. Finn stood up and reversed a step away from the bed with his
hard, cut, 6.5-inch cock pointing out in front of him. Noah's eyes studied
his sexy top, the paleness of his skinny torso, his large nipples, the
patches of crusted cum in areas across his body down to his inny belly
button then the trail which led down to his dark, curly pubes and from
within them, the beautiful cock Noah needed back inside him. The bottom
found the strength to spring up from the bed and placing his feet a little
wider apart than his shoulders, Noah bent over at the waist and rested his
hands on the bed.
["Good morning Finn."] The Canadian beamed to himself, giving Noah's rear
end the once over appreciating the bottom in all his naked beauty. Sinking
to his knees, Finn took hold of the American's plump arse cheeks and opened
them wide. Leaning into Noah's hole the Canadian placed his tongue at the
base of his bottom's hole and sliding up, Finn tasted the work of his hard
cock. Noah's hole felt nicely tenderised, weakened by the force of the
Canadian's horny boner. Exhaling his morning breath into Noah's meaty
cheeks, Finn enjoyed the blow back, the smell of his own morning funk on
Noah's dank arse hole. This was the best time to be alive, that moment
first thing in the morning when everything was raw and vulnerable. Pushing
his tongue as far into Noah's hole as the sweet bottom would allow, Finn
pressed his pale cheeks against Noah's meaty, warm globes that were his
bestie's sensational arse. The sweetness of Noah's hole just inside the
ring tasted amazing, a soft tenderness which his pulsing cock needed to get
back inside.
"Your tongue feels so good." Noah cooed warmly. Finn couldn't form a verbal
response, so he grunted into Noah's arse what sounded like an affirmative
sound. The Canadian certainly knew what he was doing, rolling his tongue
across the abused insides with soothing swishes of his wet muscle. The
bottom felt so happy to enjoy every passing second of Finn's tongue inside
him, teasing nerves where the senses were on high alert following the
previous invasion of his cock. "Ahhh, eat my yummy hole." Noah giggled.
Once again Noah's adorable cuteness made Finn laugh into the American's
juicy arse while his cock throbbed with anticipation. Noah was such a sexy
little gay but so lighthearted and sweet that Finn found him
irresistible. They weren't together but it was at times like this that Finn
thought they probably should be. The Canadian's fingers tightened around
Noah's glorious arse cheeks again and squeezing them tight, Finn pushed his
tongue in as far as he could reach, wriggling it around as aggressively as
he could.
After a couple of minutes enjoying the tasty bottom Finn's tongue popped
free of Noah's hole and the Canadian stood up behind his co-star. Placing
his tip against Noah's moistened hole, the top leaned forward and instantly
breached Noah's ring. "Ahhh yeah!" They sang in unison as Finn's head
popped inside the American and advanced, quickly returning to its usual
place deep within Noah's warm cunt.
Now it was time for something a little different and Finn couldn't wait to
see how it felt. "Lean on your hands." He instructed and as he felt his
co-star's weight shift forward, Finn took hold of Noah's modestly hairy
legs at the thigh and lifted him on both sides. "Ahh shit, yes!" Noah
chortled, excited that Finn had decided to try something a little
different, a little crazy and a little demeaning. "Wheelbarrow me!" He
added happily. Finn hadn't expected dissent, but the enthusiastic green
light was music to his ears. Pulling his cock back the full six inches he
could spare, Finn threw his entire body forward into Noah's using the
bottom's firm arse to cushion his weight. The thrusts were deep, violent
and full of passion as Finn made the experience memorable for the pair of
them. "AH, AH, AH, YEAH, YEAH, FUCK, YEAH!" Noah agreed with every shot as
Finn's bare cock drilled deep within him.
Unlike the aesthetic flavour of the times, Finn wasn't a muscular boy
preferring to maintain his skinny, indie image. The top knew he didn't look
like someone with the ability to physically dominate someone but with
Noah's sexy body there wrapped around his cock and begging him for
everything he had, Finn was as strong as any Dom/top could be, holding
Noah's meaty thighs aloft and pounding his skinny body deep into Noah's
sexy cunt. The sound of his pale crotch rapping against Noah's firm, juicy
buttocks escalated rapidly as Finn quickly found his rhythm, punishing his
cute co-star for being so incredibly sexy. The top's eyes were focused on
the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing from inside Noah's
hungry hole as he drove himself deep and hard into the American's sexy
body. In his peripherals, Finn could see how Noah's shoulder blades tensed
as they held up the bottom's upper body weight while bracing for every
impact of Finn's horny body.
"Hmmm, yeah." Noah groaned, the pressure growing in his head as his muscles
strained to keep his body up and level while Finn pounded his tight
hole. The bottom's cut, 7.5-inch cock stood hard in appreciation of Finn's
work, pulsing each time the skinny Canadian piled his bare cock so deep
inside Noah that his twinky frame clattered into the bottom's peachy arse
cheeks. The rising pressure in his mind heightened the pleasure of those
pulses, giving Noah even more satisfaction from Finn than he usually
experienced. "You feel so fucking good." Noah cheered on merrily.
The vocal encouragement from Noah was so typical of the sweet bottom and
Finn responded the only way he knew how, to do exactly what Noah was saying
and even more. "Yeahhh, fuck me deep." Noah cooed. Finn pulled his cock
back 6 inches and threw his entire body weight forward impaling 6.5 inches
of his bare, Canadian meat within Noah's slick insides, giving them both a
chance to shudder as the friction of Finn's bare cock sliding along the
inside of Noah's bare chute simultaneously fulfilled both of their sexual
desires. "I love your hard dick." Noah grunted in response to the
increasing volume coming from the smashing of Finn's bony pelvis against
his tailbone.
Straining to raise his head up, Noah turned behind to view Finn in full
form as the Canadian destroyed him as the sexy wheelbarrow he had
become. The Canadian looked so sweet and gentle on the eyes but this was
proof he was anything but. Finn's skinny pecs had a modest level of muscle
toning but right now they were clearly as tense as they could be. The other
clear sign that Finn was giving it his all came from his tensed
biceps. Usually thin and dormant, they were flexed enough to show a little
muscle as the top drove his dick deep and hard into Noah's sexy arse. "You
look so hot when you fucking pound my hole!!!" Noah exclaimed happily.
This was the position that was going to end it and Finn already knew
it. Noah's words of encouragement had the desired effect on the top who
couldn't resist, fucking harder and deeper in desperation of achieving the
best climax possible. There was no need for Finn to warn Noah of his
impending orgasm, just from the sound of Finn's deeper breaths and stronger
grunts there was only one outcome. The Canadian's grip of his tense thighs
tightened as Finn drilled Noah deep and hard. "Yeah...I'm pretty close!"
Finn declared. "God yeah, I can't wait for you to fill me up with your sexy
cum." Noah replied emphatically. "Fuck, shit, yeah, you want it? You want
it?!!!" Finn huffed, jabbing harder still.
The bass in Finn's throat grew stronger as his deep thrusts grew
longer. Noah saw the moment Finn's smooth, skinny pecs seemed to tense and
throwing his head back the top groaned to the heavens. Focusing all of his
attention to the nerves inside his arse hole, Noah felt the moment Finn's
hot cum began to fill his tight chute. "God, I love it, I love your hot cum
in me!" Noah cried to the delight of his top. "Yeah baby, take it, take my
cum!" Finn replied, stuffing Noah with another deep shot of his firing
cock.
Bare skin moving long bare skin milked Finn's creamy nuts of everything
they had to offer. The Canadian jabbed and stabbed as hard as he could,
using as much momentum to help him maintain his form as the draining of his
nuts continued in explosive fashion. The thrusts had reduced from 6 inches
to 3 with all of them resulting in a powerful slap against Noah's round
cheeks to bury his load down at the deepest point Finn could reach within
the American. There was something about this helplessness that made the
orgasm extra special for Noah. Feeling super submissive to Finn's grip
suspending him in the air, every shot of thin, Canadian cream into his
tender hole felt magical. Noah's prostate felt shot after shot of warm cum
flooding his chute, sending tingles through the areas the bottom in Noah
enjoyed the most.
The delightful sensation continued for Noah, but he could feel Finn's power
waning. Finn's stabs had become unpredictable with the orgasming top moving
an inch or so back then forward every few seconds while his moans
softened. The strength of his orgasm had forced Finn's eyes shut but slowly
they reopened as the top rolled back and forth again, his shaft pulsing to
squeeze out the last drops of his seed into Noah's tight depository.
The orgasm cloud cleared from Finn's mind and moving forward, the top took
some of the pressure off Noah's rock steady hands. Pulling his cock from
Noah's chute, Finn placed his cute bottom on the mattress then sank to his
knees. The Canadian sucked in as much oxygen as his nostrils could and
watched on as Noah swung his legs around to face him. The fine, thin trees
covered in a light growth of curly brown hairs that Noah called legs were
placed either side of Finn's face, but they barely registered with the
Canadian as Noah's hard cock pointed straight at his face, leering angrily
at Finn as the American began to jerk.
The boy that had fucked Noah so perfectly knelt below him, Finn's adorably
beautiful face looked up at the American with his long dark hair a shaggy
mess and those deep, brown eyes looking up at Noah while he
waited. Stroking his sensitive shaft and watching it throb, Noah moved to
the verge of his orgasm while looking straight through his cock at Finn's
lovable face. Studying every endearing freckle on Finn's large nose, Noah
could feel the effect of the Canadian's beauty of his heavy nuts and with
an escalating sigh the eruption had begun.
The pressure in Noah's nuts had reached boiling point and that sweet
release felt so good as his hot sperm surged up his shaft, squirting out of
Finn's smooth, gentle features. The American's cum was thinner and more
translucent than normal given he too had cum as recently as the early hours
of the same morning. "Oh Goddd!" Noah squealed, watching his head swell to
squirt another helping of his cream across Finn's tightly shut eyelids.
Just closing his eyes and smiling, Finn enjoyed one of the best things life
had treated him to, a fresh load of Noah's tasty cream. The cute indie just
knelt obediently as the warm sticky mess spread from his bottom lip and
streaked all the way up to his forehead. "I love your hot cum." Finn
breathed with just enough bass to be heard as Noah sent another helping
across those beautiful ruby lips. Finn's words were perfect and the
response from Noah was to send another load of warm, white cream across
Finn's smooth face. The throbs of Noah's cock weakened to pulses as his
sweaty nuts became increasingly lighter. Running his hand along his shaft
several more times, Noah stroked the remainder of his shaft out onto Finn's
lips then gave that final long sigh to confirm he too was empty.
Upon hearing Noah's closing sigh Finn swept his tongue across his lips and
fed himself the ropes of the American's cum he could reach. Noah's hands
pressed against the sides of Finn's cum splattered face and held him steady
while the American forced his tongue into Finn's mouth. With the typical
level of intense passion, the pair kissed with Noah's eyes fixed on Finn's
adorably messy face with the Canadian pictured every part of his beautiful
friend behind his eyelids as they enjoyed the final few hours of this
particular holiday.
"Let me get you a wet towel." Noah whispered after they finally parted lips
a minute later. "Thanks." Finn replied softly. The Canadian could hear the
sound of Noah sliding into his pyjama bottoms, the opening and closing of
his door then 15 seconds later the reopening and closing of his door. The
cool feel of a damp flannel against his sticky face felt wonderful. After
Noah had spent a few seconds on each eye, Finn opened them simultaneously
to be greeted by the beautiful sight of Noah's caring face deep in
concentration as he cleaned Finn's face. "There, all clean." Noah beamed.
"All clean?" Finn smirked. "Ok, mostly clean." Noah giggled. "Hehe, I'll go
shower in a bit." "Can I come?" "How else will I know my face is clean?"
Finn winked.
They climbed aboard Finn's bed and lay there to relax in each other's
company a little longer before the packing for the journey home began. Finn
smiled at Noah and the American smiled back at him appreciating this moment
of happy bliss. There was something Noah needed to tell Finn though and he
knew he needed to do it soon.
"Finny, I have something to tell you and I hope you'll understand." Noah
began timidly. "What's up bro?" Finn replied, pushing himself up to show he
was listening. "Ok, I've been talking to my family...and my agent...and
everyone...and well, I've decided to go public." Noah smiled
weakly. "BROOOO!!!! Finn boomed, throwing his hands around Noah and pulling
him in for a hug. "You'll be fine, I'm sure." He finished holding Noah
close. The American could feel Finn's heart pounding, the warmth of his
sentiment and his support was genuine. "Thank you dude." Noah croaked, a
quiet tear forming at each of his tear ducts. "Are you not worried people
will think you're gay too?" Noah asked innocently. Finn broke their hug and
moved back so they could look at each other face to face. "You haven't read
many of our fanfics, have you?" Finn smirked. "Even before it was obvious
that Will liked Mike, people have been writing about them AND US hooking
up," he explained. "And I did just make love to my gay friend, so I'm pan
anyway, right? I don't really care what people think, I have so much fun
with you these days it's amazing. Who knows what the future will bring."
Finn finished. "Nawww, yeah, that's sweet. Still want kids and stuff?" Noah
asked sweetly. "Yup, I think so." Finn nodded somewhat regretfully. Noah
knew that look and he hated it, Finn felt guilty knowing that Noah wanted
their fun to continue maybe forever, but Noah wasn't as certain of kids or
marriage. "No, don't give me that look, this is a happy thing." Noah
growled. Finn smiled, they really were the best of friends and that could
never change.
Dragging their lazy arses out of bed, the pair enjoyed their team shower,
scrubbing each other clean from head to toe. For breakfast they headed off
to Finn's favourite local coffee shop where their picture hung above the
counter from their previous visit earlier that same year. After breakfast
they killed a couple of hours gaming before it was time to take Noah to the
airport. Loading was quick with just a backpack and before they knew it,
Finn and Noah were stood face to face at curb side drop-off.
"Dude, I had the best time!" Noah beamed, throwing his arms around
Finn. "So did I man, I love you so much!!!" Finn grinned back, holding Noah
so tight his head nearly popped off. "And thank you for..." "No way don't
thank me. I support you 100% and I always will...WILL!" Finn chuckled. Noah
had to laugh too and Finn's unnecessary but appreciated humour. "Let me
know when you land ok?" Finn added. "Totally." Noah whispered, holding Finn
as tight as he could for a few seconds more. They finally parted and Finn
watched with growing melancholy as Noah disappeared through the automatic
doors. Just before his co-star disappeared, he turned to give one final
wave which Finn returned with a broad smile. "Good luck bro." Finn mouthed
sweetly.
The drive home after taking Noah to the airport was probably Finn's least
favourite activity and after Noah's declaration earlier, Finn wondered if
he would be doing this for the last time. Next time Noah came to stay,
would he be alone, or would he have a hot new boyfriend with him? Once Noah
went public, he would become an icon and probably even more popular than
Finn himself. But that was only the romantic side, there was a dark side of
the world, which also meant that Noah would become a target for
haters. Noah would need his friend's support, and Finn would be there to
offer all the support he needed. Maybe Finn, too, would need to come out to
the world one day, who knew? Right now, that wasn't important and as he
pulled into his drive, Finn felt that it was all going to be amazing for
his loveable friend.
The band aid was off, and Noah was nearly there. Because of his sexual
relationship with Finn, Noah had to be sure that his co-star would be OK
with him coming out to the world. In a world full of haters, being outed
when you weren't fully sure of your sexuality wasn't an easy decision to
make and in Finn's case it felt unnecessary. He was still experimenting and
that was OK because every experiment they had conducted went very well
indeed. Noah smirked at Finn's added reference to Will as they
parted. Neither knew what the writers had planned for the Mike/Will
relationship, but they were pretty certain they would be sharing an
on-screen kiss. The smirk on Noah's face grew wider still as he worked out
the message he would post to the world, using Finn's humour it was genius!
The plane's wheels hit the runway at LaGuardia Airport, the engines roared
as the retros worked as an air brake and they were rolling towards the
terminal when Noah and the other passengers came off flight mode.
Finn: "<3" Noah: "<3 <3 <3" Finn: "(Smile) (Pray) <3 <3 <3 <3 <3"
END
Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story.
If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on
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Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy
18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The
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Now You See Cole & Big Apple Aussies.
Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer
Ripped Roses, Jack's Web, Naughty Neigbours & Devils and Dragons.
Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY, Swimnasium & Laugher of the Ice King.
Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk &
Deep Dipping in Dunkirk.
Reese Wilkerson the Heartstopper
Stranger Boys: Stranger Mendes, Oral Things, Someone Stranger in the Fuller
House & A Stranger Series of Events.
Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY
No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86 & Riviera Rendezvouz
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Tennis series: Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the
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Leafs, Made in Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea,
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Rey of the Acropolis.
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BoysPlay Mansion Series
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/erics-rage | Date: Sun, 4 Aug 2024 21:01:11 +0000 From: Sven Benters Subject: Eric's Rage This is a fanfiction story with the characters Eric Brady (Greg Vaughan) and Johnny Dimera (Carson Boatman). This story says nothing about the actors' sexual references; it's just fiction. Copyrights © PEACOCKE DAYS OF OUR LIVES ********************************* Eric storms into the Dimera Mansion. He's furious at EJ for not filing in his divorce from Sloan and how he continues making Nicole's life difficult. "Where are you EJ?" Eric says out loud. "Uncle Eric, what are you going here?" Johnny asks coming down from the stairs. "Where is your father Johnny, I need to set something straight with him." Eric explains. "What has he done this time?" Johnny questions. "I'm not going to ask again Johnny, so tell me where he is." Eric says with a deep tone. "I think you first need to calm down." Johnny says standing halfway the stairs. "Boy, you better tell me now!" Eric's tone starts to get really dark. "I'm going to my bedroom and you can better leave." Johnny says and turns around to walk the stairs up. "Don't turn your back towards me just like your father!" Eric yells and runs the stairs up after Johnny. Johnny who arrives at his bedroom gets followed by his uncle. Eric slams the door and Johnny turns around, surprised his uncle Eric followed him, noticing the angry face Eric is having. "You're becoming more and more like your father!" Eric points out. "Please uncle Eric, just calm down." Johnny tries to reason with Eric. Eric walks over to Johnny, he grabs his nephew by his chin. "I think I need to teach you a lesson, something I intended to do to your father but since he isn't here." "Please uncle Eric, think about what you're doing." Johnny pleads with Eric. "The Dimera's have always been bad and it seems you are getting the same stripes like your evil father." "What are you going to do?" Johnny asks scared. Eric eyes Johnny up and down and then suddenly rips Johnny's shirt open. "Something I had to do a long time ago!" Eric pulls the shirt off of Johnny's shoulders, revealing Johnny's masculine upper body. Johnny gets scared of his uncle, he has never seen him like this. "Please uncle Eric, stop, don't do this." Johnny begs Eric. Eric suddenly slaps Johnny in the face. "Shut up slut!" Johnny is shocked, he can't believe his uncle slapped him and calls him a slut. He looks at his uncle and notices Eric is looking kinda hazy out of his eyes. "You are drunk!" Johnny says. "So what? It doesn't change I'm going to fuck you!" "Please, you will regret this in the morning." Johnny pleads. Eric gets his hand in front of Johnny. Johnny is scared to be hit in his face again and ducks away. "If you don't want to be hit, then remove your jeans and get butt naked!" Johnny freezes and looks at Eric. "Do it boy or else!" Eric threatens with his face again. Johnny starts to undo his jeans, dropping it to the floor and steps out of it. "That's a good slut!" Johnny looks at his uncle, understanding he cannot get through to his uncle and there is also no way to stop him. When Johnny hesitates to pull his underwear down Eric grabs Johnny by his hair. "I said butt naked boy, you really have to learn a lot!" Eric throws Johnny on the bed and roughly pulls Johnny's underwear off while Johnny lays on his back and his soft dick is being revealed. "Start stroking boy, that's your first lesson!" Eric commands. Johnny looks at his uncle. `He can't be serious' Johnny thinks to himself. Eric grabs hold of Johnny's dick and pulls at it. Johnny yelps. "You better stroke it yourself or I will keep pulling at it!" Eric threatens and let's go of Johnny's dick. Johnny grabs hold of his own dick and starts to stroke it. Eric steps away and looks at his nephew stroking. He gets horny to the sight of Johnny stroking and he starts to strip himself down. Johnny looks up at his uncle and sees his uncle's hairy upper body being revealed. Eric undoes his pants and the rest until he stands in his underwear in front of his nephew. "I'm gonna fuck you boy!" Johnny has stopped stroking his dick and looks at his uncle, shocked to see his uncle half naked. Eric comes closer to Johnny and pulls at Johnny's hair to look up at him. "Who said you could stop jerking that dick?" Eric says angry. "You're turning into those Dimera's too much, I will bring you a pack down from that, now fucking stroke your dick!" Johnny feels his head hurting from the pull. He grabs hold of his dick and starts to stroke it. "That's better." Eric says and pulls down his underwear to reveal his big veiny cock. Johnny's eyes widens, he now realizes why his uncle is such a lady's man that all those women want him. Eric strokes his dick and looks at his nephew with a devilish grin. Knowing he's going to fuck that boy good. "Please uncle Eric, don't do this." Johnny begs again. "Shut up you little slut!" Eric shouts at his nephew. "You need to be taught a lesson before you completely turn into your father and become just like the rest of those Dimera bastards." Johnny knows his uncle would never act like this sober, but now all drunk he is scared of what Eric might do. "What will my mom or grandma Marlena think of you?" Johnny tries to reason. "Shut the hell up boy!" Eric says with his eyes full of rage. Eric jumps on top of Johnny, pressing his nephew down on the bed with him positioned to pin Johnny down on the bed. "It's time you learn you cannot always have your way like a Dimera, that ass will be fucked hard and rough!" Johnny looks up all scared at his uncle, looking down, seeing Eric's dick already hard. Eric gets to sit on top of Johnny's chest and pulls at Johnny's hair. "Open up boy and use that fulgar mouth of yours to suck my dick!" Johnny is forced to open his mouth and gets his uncle's dick shoved up inside his mouth, deep inside his throat, making Johnny gag. Eric holds Johnny's head with both hands now. "Don't you dare pull back boy, you will suck my entire dick!" Johnny gags and coughs while his uncle's dick is deep in his throat. Tears stand inside Johnny's eyes. Eric fucks Johnny's throat and his eyes roll back in pleasure as his listens to his nephew choking and gagging on his dick. "Fucking take it boy!" Eric moans out. Johnny his hands are free and he tries to fight his uncle off of him. Eric opens his eyes and looks angry. Johnny realizes he should not have done that. Eric slaps Johnny in the face while keeping his dick inside Johnny's throat. "I told you what you should do and you still don't listen, just like that dad of yours, always doing what he wants." Eric says while he continues to slap Johnny in the face. "I'm gonna fuck that out of you today!" "I'm sorry uncle Eric, I'm sorry." Johnny says with tears in his eyes from the slapping and the choking. "I will make sure you will be sorry when my dick will be up your ass!" Johnny is terrified seeing the rage in Eric's angry eyes, he knows his uncle is out of control and there is no limit of what he might do. Johnny's face is red from the slaps Eric gave him. Eric notices Johnny looking afraid of him. "That's right boy, you better be afraid. I'm gonna fuck that Dimera attitude right out of you. When I'm done you're gonna know how a respectful young boy should act. You Dimera's think you can do whatever you want. I'm gonna show you different boy." Eric takes his dick out of Johnny's mouth, it's throbbing hard and covered in saliva from Johnny's mouth. "Now let me see that ass boy!" Eric says, getting up from Johnny and rolling his nephew over on his stomach. Johnny's peach formed ass is laying ready for Eric to take. He leans in and gives a teasing bite in it. "That ass is going to learn to take cock!" Johnny looks over his shoulder at his uncle, seeing Eric's big throbbing dick, ready to fuck him. Eric gets on the bed and spreads those ass cheeks, exposing that pink rosebutt. "A nice tight hole for some intrusion." Eric says before he spits at Johnny's rosebutt. Shivers run over Johnny's back, knowing his uncle is really going to fuck him any moment. Eric Slaps Johnny's ass. "I'm gonna fuck that Dimera ass in submission and make you a more submissive piece of shit!" Eric announces and sticks a finger in his mouth and then right up inside Johnny's hole. "Aaaarrghhh" Johnny yelps, feeling that rough intrusion of his uncle's finger. "Lay still!" Eric says and slaps Johnny's ass so hard that it leaves a red handmark on it. Johnny grabs his pillow and bites it while his uncle roughly finger fucks his ass. "Take another boy!" Eric says, sticking a second finger inside. Johnny is now just crying in his pillow and yelps. Eric notices Johnny's face in the pillow and lifts Johnny's head up by pulling at his hair. "Ah are you crying boy, when my dick is inside you then you will have a reason to cry!" Eric taunts and adds a third finger. Tears flow out of Johnny's eyes, feeling how his uncle roughly finger fucks him. "Are you hard boy?" Eric asks and pulls Johnny's dick between his legs backwards to see how hard it is. "You like being taken roughly don't you?" Johnny looks over his shoulder. "No, I hate this, I don't want this." Eric gets angry and stops finger fucking Johnny, he just starts to slap that ass over and over again. "You fucking shit, you better be happy I won't shove my fist up that ass of yours." Eric angry says while pushing his fist at Johnny's hole to make his nephew freak out. "No, no please don't uncle Eric." Johnny wimpers. "Don't you worry, that fist I will save for your daddy!" Eric says. Johnny can't believe how bad his uncle can be and even thinks of fisting his father. Eric pulls Johnny at his hair and twists it in his hand. "Tell me you want it boy!" Johnny screams in pain. "Tell me you want Uncle Eric or I'm going to pull even harder." "Please stop." Johnny cries. "you're Dimera's are all the same, you act though, but can't take the heat when it comes right down to it." Eric says. "Well you're gonna take it boy!" He adds. "Get yourself on your hands and knees boy!" Eric guides Johnny up by pulling at his nephew's hair. Johnny gets up, all presented to his uncle to be fucked. Eric lets go of Johnny's hair and runs his dick at Johnny's asscrack. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard!" Eric says all lustful. While looking at Johnny's ass Eric licks his lips. "Damn those are some great muffins and I'm gonna fill it up with my cream!" Eric teases and slaps Johnny's asscheeks. Eric then slams his dick almost entirely inside Johnny. Johnny bends forward with his face in the pillow and screams loudly, feeling his ass being ripped apart by his uncle's dick. Eric lifts Johnny up, seeing the tears flowing over Johnny's cheeks. "Get up boy, I want to hear you when I fuck you." Johnny catches his breath but Eric doesn't give him a lot of time and starts to fuck him right away. "Fuck what a sweet tight ass you got!" Eric says and grabs hold of Johnny's shoulders to pound the Dimera stud. Johnny cries and wimpers. "Take it boy, fucking take my dick!" Eric says while he pounds his nephew. Johnny feels that dick hitting his inside, a lot of feelings go through Johnny's mind but the most surprise for Johnny is the pleasure he suddenly starts to feel out of the fucking. "This fucking was ment for your dad but you are a great substitute." Eric admits while he has a lot of fun fucking Johnny's tight ass. "Damn boy, I came her to fuck that son of a bitch father of yours but your ass is so damn good and I'm kinda glad I found you instead of that father of yours." Eric says. Johnny's body is covered in sweat from the rough fucking he has to take from his uncle. Eric's hips slamming hard against Johnny's ass. Like a wild beast Eric keeps on fucking his nephew. Grunts are heard in Johnny's ear by his uncle while feeling that dick destroying his inside. Eric's body starts to become sweaty too, drops of sweat hanging in Eric's chest hair while he keeps thrusting inside Johnny. The hitting against his prostate makes Johnny escape several moans eventually. "I hear you're starting to like it to become a fuck bitch!" Eric taunts. Eric reaches his hand out and feels Johnny's dick being still hard. "I feel you're still hard as well." Johnny gasps, feeling his uncle's manly hand around his dick, starting to stroke him. "You like that boy?" Johnny can only moan, feeling his dick being stroked while he gets fucked. "Your dad tried to take my son away form me, now it almost seems poetic for me to fuck his son and take your virginity away." Eric says. Then suddenly Eric takes his dick out of Johnny and turns the stud over, spreads Johnny's legs and shoves his dick back inside. "FUUUUCCCKKKKK!" Johnny screams. "Oh yeah boy, I'm gonna fuck you alright, really hard and rough, making you eventually scream for more." Eric says. Johnny looks up at his uncle, staring in Eric's eyes, the man that is fucking him, his own uncle. Eric's hairy chest pressed against Johnny' smooth pecs, giving a sexual friction that keeps Johnny so hard. Johnny's dick is getting friction between his and his uncle's abs. "Fuck me uncle Eric." Johnny says out of surprise. Eric starts to smile, he lays a hand on Johnny's throat and squeezes it. "Have you learned your lesson boy and not be a snobby Dimera?" Johnny looks with glancing eyes up at his uncle and nods yes. Eric squeezes a little harder. "What's that boy?" "Yes uncle Eric, you can do whatever you want to me, fuck me, disgrace me, I'm yours." Eric smiles. "That's what I wanted to hear boy." While Johnny looks up at his uncle Eric he feels the fucking increasing until Eric is plowing hard. "Fuck me, yeah fuck me, FUCK ME" Johnny repeats. How forcefully it all started, now Johnny cannot get enough of his uncle's dick he eventually wraps his arms and legs around his uncle, wanting to be taken. Both nephew and uncle getting what they want, both moaning loudly. "I'm gonna fill you up boy!" Eric announces. "Yes, do it uncle, give it to me." Johnny replies. Johnny feels he's close too, feeling the friction of his dick between their masculine bodies and without touching it, he cums. Just when Johnny cums, Eric cums as well, filling Johnny's inside. "FUUUUUCK YEAH!" Both scream at the same time. Eric collapses next to Johnny catching his breath. Johnny wants to hug his uncle but Eric pushes him off. "You better not say a word to your dad, he will get his punishment as well!" Johnny realizes his uncle is serious. Eric grabs his clothes, gets dressed and leaves Johnny's bedroom. Johnny lays on his bed, wrapping his mind around what just happened to him. ********************************* If you enjoyed the story or have a request please send me a message For more stories from me, visit https://www.facebook.com/groups/480903845719867 Please donate to Nifty for support to let this great site and its archive stay free. | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Sun, 4 Aug 2024 21:01:11 +0000
From: Sven Benters <daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com>
Subject: Eric's Rage
This is a fanfiction story with the characters Eric Brady (Greg Vaughan)
and Johnny Dimera (Carson Boatman).
This story says nothing about the actors' sexual references; it's just
fiction.
Copyrights © PEACOCKE DAYS OF OUR LIVES
*********************************
Eric storms into the Dimera Mansion. He's furious at EJ for not filing in
his divorce from Sloan and how he continues making Nicole's life difficult.
"Where are you EJ?" Eric says out loud.
"Uncle Eric, what are you going here?" Johnny asks coming down from the
stairs.
"Where is your father Johnny, I need to set something straight with him."
Eric explains.
"What has he done this time?" Johnny questions.
"I'm not going to ask again Johnny, so tell me where he is." Eric says with
a deep tone.
"I think you first need to calm down." Johnny says standing halfway the
stairs.
"Boy, you better tell me now!" Eric's tone starts to get really dark.
"I'm going to my bedroom and you can better leave." Johnny says and turns
around to walk the stairs up.
"Don't turn your back towards me just like your father!" Eric yells and
runs the stairs up after Johnny.
Johnny who arrives at his bedroom gets followed by his uncle.
Eric slams the door and Johnny turns around, surprised his uncle Eric
followed him, noticing the angry face Eric is having.
"You're becoming more and more like your father!" Eric points out.
"Please uncle Eric, just calm down." Johnny tries to reason with Eric.
Eric walks over to Johnny, he grabs his nephew by his chin. "I think I need
to teach you a lesson, something I intended to do to your father but since
he isn't here."
"Please uncle Eric, think about what you're doing." Johnny pleads with
Eric.
"The Dimera's have always been bad and it seems you are getting the same
stripes like your evil father."
"What are you going to do?" Johnny asks scared.
Eric eyes Johnny up and down and then suddenly rips Johnny's shirt
open. "Something I had to do a long time ago!"
Eric pulls the shirt off of Johnny's shoulders, revealing Johnny's
masculine upper body.
Johnny gets scared of his uncle, he has never seen him like this.
"Please uncle Eric, stop, don't do this." Johnny begs Eric.
Eric suddenly slaps Johnny in the face. "Shut up slut!"
Johnny is shocked, he can't believe his uncle slapped him and calls him a
slut. He looks at his uncle and notices Eric is looking kinda hazy out of
his eyes.
"You are drunk!" Johnny says.
"So what? It doesn't change I'm going to fuck you!"
"Please, you will regret this in the morning." Johnny pleads.
Eric gets his hand in front of Johnny.
Johnny is scared to be hit in his face again and ducks away.
"If you don't want to be hit, then remove your jeans and get butt naked!"
Johnny freezes and looks at Eric.
"Do it boy or else!" Eric threatens with his face again.
Johnny starts to undo his jeans, dropping it to the floor and steps out of
it.
"That's a good slut!"
Johnny looks at his uncle, understanding he cannot get through to his uncle
and there is also no way to stop him.
When Johnny hesitates to pull his underwear down Eric grabs Johnny by his
hair. "I said butt naked boy, you really have to learn a lot!"
Eric throws Johnny on the bed and roughly pulls Johnny's underwear off
while Johnny lays on his back and his soft dick is being revealed.
"Start stroking boy, that's your first lesson!" Eric commands.
Johnny looks at his uncle. `He can't be serious' Johnny thinks to himself.
Eric grabs hold of Johnny's dick and pulls at it.
Johnny yelps.
"You better stroke it yourself or I will keep pulling at it!" Eric
threatens and let's go of Johnny's dick.
Johnny grabs hold of his own dick and starts to stroke it.
Eric steps away and looks at his nephew stroking. He gets horny to the
sight of Johnny stroking and he starts to strip himself down.
Johnny looks up at his uncle and sees his uncle's hairy upper body being
revealed.
Eric undoes his pants and the rest until he stands in his underwear in
front of his nephew. "I'm gonna fuck you boy!"
Johnny has stopped stroking his dick and looks at his uncle, shocked to see
his uncle half naked.
Eric comes closer to Johnny and pulls at Johnny's hair to look up at
him. "Who said you could stop jerking that dick?" Eric says angry. "You're
turning into those Dimera's too much, I will bring you a pack down from
that, now fucking stroke your dick!"
Johnny feels his head hurting from the pull. He grabs hold of his dick and
starts to stroke it.
"That's better." Eric says and pulls down his underwear to reveal his big
veiny cock.
Johnny's eyes widens, he now realizes why his uncle is such a lady's man
that all those women want him.
Eric strokes his dick and looks at his nephew with a devilish grin. Knowing
he's going to fuck that boy good.
"Please uncle Eric, don't do this." Johnny begs again.
"Shut up you little slut!" Eric shouts at his nephew. "You need to be
taught a lesson before you completely turn into your father and become just
like the rest of those Dimera bastards."
Johnny knows his uncle would never act like this sober, but now all drunk
he is scared of what Eric might do.
"What will my mom or grandma Marlena think of you?" Johnny tries to reason.
"Shut the hell up boy!" Eric says with his eyes full of rage.
Eric jumps on top of Johnny, pressing his nephew down on the bed with him
positioned to pin Johnny down on the bed.
"It's time you learn you cannot always have your way like a Dimera, that
ass will be fucked hard and rough!"
Johnny looks up all scared at his uncle, looking down, seeing Eric's dick
already hard.
Eric gets to sit on top of Johnny's chest and pulls at Johnny's hair. "Open
up boy and use that fulgar mouth of yours to suck my dick!"
Johnny is forced to open his mouth and gets his uncle's dick shoved up
inside his mouth, deep inside his throat, making Johnny gag.
Eric holds Johnny's head with both hands now. "Don't you dare pull back
boy, you will suck my entire dick!"
Johnny gags and coughs while his uncle's dick is deep in his throat. Tears
stand inside Johnny's eyes.
Eric fucks Johnny's throat and his eyes roll back in pleasure as his
listens to his nephew choking and gagging on his dick. "Fucking take it
boy!" Eric moans out.
Johnny his hands are free and he tries to fight his uncle off of him.
Eric opens his eyes and looks angry.
Johnny realizes he should not have done that.
Eric slaps Johnny in the face while keeping his dick inside Johnny's
throat. "I told you what you should do and you still don't listen, just
like that dad of yours, always doing what he wants." Eric says while he
continues to slap Johnny in the face. "I'm gonna fuck that out of you
today!"
"I'm sorry uncle Eric, I'm sorry." Johnny says with tears in his eyes from
the slapping and the choking.
"I will make sure you will be sorry when my dick will be up your ass!"
Johnny is terrified seeing the rage in Eric's angry eyes, he knows his
uncle is out of control and there is no limit of what he might do.
Johnny's face is red from the slaps Eric gave him. Eric notices Johnny
looking afraid of him.
"That's right boy, you better be afraid. I'm gonna fuck that Dimera
attitude right out of you. When I'm done you're gonna know how a respectful
young boy should act. You Dimera's think you can do whatever you want. I'm
gonna show you different boy."
Eric takes his dick out of Johnny's mouth, it's throbbing hard and covered
in saliva from Johnny's mouth. "Now let me see that ass boy!" Eric says,
getting up from Johnny and rolling his nephew over on his stomach.
Johnny's peach formed ass is laying ready for Eric to take. He leans in and
gives a teasing bite in it. "That ass is going to learn to take cock!"
Johnny looks over his shoulder at his uncle, seeing Eric's big throbbing
dick, ready to fuck him.
Eric gets on the bed and spreads those ass cheeks, exposing that pink
rosebutt.
"A nice tight hole for some intrusion." Eric says before he spits at
Johnny's rosebutt.
Shivers run over Johnny's back, knowing his uncle is really going to fuck
him any moment.
Eric Slaps Johnny's ass. "I'm gonna fuck that Dimera ass in submission and
make you a more submissive piece of shit!" Eric announces and sticks a
finger in his mouth and then right up inside Johnny's hole.
"Aaaarrghhh" Johnny yelps, feeling that rough intrusion of his uncle's
finger.
"Lay still!" Eric says and slaps Johnny's ass so hard that it leaves a red
handmark on it.
Johnny grabs his pillow and bites it while his uncle roughly finger fucks
his ass.
"Take another boy!" Eric says, sticking a second finger inside.
Johnny is now just crying in his pillow and yelps.
Eric notices Johnny's face in the pillow and lifts Johnny's head up by
pulling at his hair. "Ah are you crying boy, when my dick is inside you
then you will have a reason to cry!" Eric taunts and adds a third finger.
Tears flow out of Johnny's eyes, feeling how his uncle roughly finger fucks
him.
"Are you hard boy?" Eric asks and pulls Johnny's dick between his legs
backwards to see how hard it is. "You like being taken roughly don't you?"
Johnny looks over his shoulder. "No, I hate this, I don't want this."
Eric gets angry and stops finger fucking Johnny, he just starts to slap
that ass over and over again. "You fucking shit, you better be happy I
won't shove my fist up that ass of yours." Eric angry says while pushing
his fist at Johnny's hole to make his nephew freak out.
"No, no please don't uncle Eric." Johnny wimpers.
"Don't you worry, that fist I will save for your daddy!" Eric says.
Johnny can't believe how bad his uncle can be and even thinks of fisting
his father.
Eric pulls Johnny at his hair and twists it in his hand. "Tell me you want
it boy!"
Johnny screams in pain.
"Tell me you want Uncle Eric or I'm going to pull even harder."
"Please stop." Johnny cries.
"you're Dimera's are all the same, you act though, but can't take the heat
when it comes right down to it." Eric says. "Well you're gonna take it
boy!" He adds.
"Get yourself on your hands and knees boy!" Eric guides Johnny up by
pulling at his nephew's hair.
Johnny gets up, all presented to his uncle to be fucked.
Eric lets go of Johnny's hair and runs his dick at Johnny's asscrack. "I'm
gonna fuck you so hard!" Eric says all lustful.
While looking at Johnny's ass Eric licks his lips. "Damn those are some
great muffins and I'm gonna fill it up with my cream!" Eric teases and
slaps Johnny's asscheeks.
Eric then slams his dick almost entirely inside Johnny.
Johnny bends forward with his face in the pillow and screams loudly,
feeling his ass being ripped apart by his uncle's dick.
Eric lifts Johnny up, seeing the tears flowing over Johnny's cheeks. "Get
up boy, I want to hear you when I fuck you."
Johnny catches his breath but Eric doesn't give him a lot of time and
starts to fuck him right away.
"Fuck what a sweet tight ass you got!" Eric says and grabs hold of Johnny's
shoulders to pound the Dimera stud.
Johnny cries and wimpers.
"Take it boy, fucking take my dick!" Eric says while he pounds his nephew.
Johnny feels that dick hitting his inside, a lot of feelings go through
Johnny's mind but the most surprise for Johnny is the pleasure he suddenly
starts to feel out of the fucking.
"This fucking was ment for your dad but you are a great substitute." Eric
admits while he has a lot of fun fucking Johnny's tight ass.
"Damn boy, I came her to fuck that son of a bitch father of yours but your
ass is so damn good and I'm kinda glad I found you instead of that father
of yours." Eric says.
Johnny's body is covered in sweat from the rough fucking he has to take
from his uncle.
Eric's hips slamming hard against Johnny's ass.
Like a wild beast Eric keeps on fucking his nephew.
Grunts are heard in Johnny's ear by his uncle while feeling that dick
destroying his inside.
Eric's body starts to become sweaty too, drops of sweat hanging in Eric's
chest hair while he keeps thrusting inside Johnny.
The hitting against his prostate makes Johnny escape several moans
eventually.
"I hear you're starting to like it to become a fuck bitch!" Eric taunts.
Eric reaches his hand out and feels Johnny's dick being still hard. "I feel
you're still hard as well."
Johnny gasps, feeling his uncle's manly hand around his dick, starting to
stroke him.
"You like that boy?"
Johnny can only moan, feeling his dick being stroked while he gets fucked.
"Your dad tried to take my son away form me, now it almost seems poetic for
me to fuck his son and take your virginity away." Eric says.
Then suddenly Eric takes his dick out of Johnny and turns the stud over,
spreads Johnny's legs and shoves his dick back inside.
"FUUUUCCCKKKKK!" Johnny screams.
"Oh yeah boy, I'm gonna fuck you alright, really hard and rough, making you
eventually scream for more." Eric says.
Johnny looks up at his uncle, staring in Eric's eyes, the man that is
fucking him, his own uncle.
Eric's hairy chest pressed against Johnny' smooth pecs, giving a sexual
friction that keeps Johnny so hard.
Johnny's dick is getting friction between his and his uncle's abs.
"Fuck me uncle Eric." Johnny says out of surprise.
Eric starts to smile, he lays a hand on Johnny's throat and squeezes
it. "Have you learned your lesson boy and not be a snobby Dimera?"
Johnny looks with glancing eyes up at his uncle and nods yes.
Eric squeezes a little harder. "What's that boy?"
"Yes uncle Eric, you can do whatever you want to me, fuck me, disgrace me,
I'm yours."
Eric smiles. "That's what I wanted to hear boy."
While Johnny looks up at his uncle Eric he feels the fucking increasing
until Eric is plowing hard. "Fuck me, yeah fuck me, FUCK ME" Johnny
repeats.
How forcefully it all started, now Johnny cannot get enough of his uncle's
dick he eventually wraps his arms and legs around his uncle, wanting to be
taken.
Both nephew and uncle getting what they want, both moaning loudly.
"I'm gonna fill you up boy!" Eric announces.
"Yes, do it uncle, give it to me." Johnny replies.
Johnny feels he's close too, feeling the friction of his dick between their
masculine bodies and without touching it, he cums.
Just when Johnny cums, Eric cums as well, filling Johnny's inside.
"FUUUUUCK YEAH!" Both scream at the same time.
Eric collapses next to Johnny catching his breath.
Johnny wants to hug his uncle but Eric pushes him off. "You better not say
a word to your dad, he will get his punishment as well!"
Johnny realizes his uncle is serious.
Eric grabs his clothes, gets dressed and leaves Johnny's bedroom.
Johnny lays on his bed, wrapping his mind around what just happened to him.
*********************************
If you enjoyed the story or have a request please send me a message
<daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com>
For more stories from me, visit https://www.facebook.com/groups/480903845719867
Please donate to Nifty for support to let this great site and its archive
stay free.</daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com></daytimemenhotness@hotmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-11 | Date: Thu, 23 Nov 2023 19:57:05 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 11, The Seed of Conquest
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 11: The Seed of Conquest --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
The crowd was anxious for the chance to bid on the mighty stud of the
jungle, or at least to watch the better situated, superior menbers of the
crowd demonstrate their dominance in claiming the heroic savage as their
property. The auctioneer had one final pitch to make in an effort to boost
the bids even higher than expected.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a truly exceptional specimen before us," the
auctioneer continued as tarzan came back to earth from his reverie. "This
man, strong and untamed, possesses qualities that are quite rare indeed. He
hails from the wilds, where he honed his survival instincts, and his
physique is nothing short of extraordinary."
He gestured toward Tarzan, who stood tall and defiant, his muscles rippling
beneath his bronzed skin. The crowd observed him with a mixture of awe and
calculating interest.
"Now, when we consider the potential for breeding, we must acknowledge that
this man carries within him the raw strength and vitality of the untamed
wilderness," the auctioneer continued, slapping his pointer square in the
heart of tarzan's bulging loincloth as he drew the crowd's attention to
tarzan's manhood, showing its strength as it grew to defend itself from the
merciless cane the auctioneer used as a pointer. "Such qualities are not
easily come by, and they hold tremendous value."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle among the
bidders. They exchanged knowing glances, well aware of the potential
profits that could be reaped from Tarzan's unique genetic heritage.
"Imagine," the auctioneer continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial
tone as he gripped tarzan's manhood through his loincloth, trapping it in
his fist and shaking the leather bulge at the crowd to drive his point
home, "the offspring of this man. They would inherit his strength, his
resilience, his instincts for survival. They would be a new breed
altogether, capable of feats beyond ordinary men."
The bidders leaned in, their imaginations sparked by the
possibilities. They envisioned a new generation, forged from the untamed
spirit of Tarzan, a generation that could be molded to serve their every
whim.
"This man," the auctioneer declared, his tone resolute, "is not just a
specimen for labor. He is a potential progenitor of a new lineage, a
lineage that could shape the very course of history."
The auctioneer yanked his fistgful of tarzan's manhood up, bringing tarzan
to his toes as his reproductive prowess was highlighted and displayed while
still trapped in the leather loincloth. Tarzan winced, but he kept his
expression hard and unyielding, his eyes glinting with a fierce
determination. He understood the implications of the auctioneer's words,
the commodification of his very essence. Yet, beneath it all, he clung to
the knowledge that his spirit could never truly be bound.
As the bidding neared, the value of Tarzan's breeding potential became a
focal point of the auction. The crowd deliberated, their calculations
driven by visions of a future shaped by the untamed legacy he carried
within him.
* * * * *
As the auctioneer's words settled, a hushed murmur of anticipation rippled
through the crowd. Those with particular interest in Tarzan's breeding
potential stepped forward, their eyes sharp and appraising.
The first to approach was a man of affluence and privilege, his polished
demeanor a stark contrast to Tarzan's primal presence. He circled the bound
figure, his gaze lingering on the mighty muscles, the untamed vigor that
seemed to radiate from the slave.
"He's robust," the man mused aloud, his voice carrying the weight of
authority. "The offspring could indeed possess remarkable physicality."
Another bidder, a woman of influence, joined the assessment. She
scrutinized Tarzan's features, her keen eyes assessing every contour and
line.
"And the bone structure," she remarked, lightly pounding on his chest, "it
suggests a resilience that is quite promising."
A third evaluator, a scientist by the look of him, was engrossed in the
examination of Tarzan's hands.
"Remarkable dexterity," he noted, "a trait that could be invaluable in
generations to come."
The assessments continued, each potential buyer offering their insights and
appraisals. Tarzan stood stoically, his gaze distant, his mind distant, a
storm of conflicting emotions. He was acutely aware that his destiny was
slipping further from his grasp, that he was being reduced to a mere vessel
for the ambitions of others.
The crowd's deliberations grew more fervent, their calculations becoming
increasingly complex. They spoke of lineages and legacies, of the potential
to shape the very course of human evolution.
Unseen by those who assessed him, Tarzan's fists clenched and
unclenched. His spirit remained unbroken, but it was a spirit confined,
constrained by the cold calculations of those who sought to possess him.
And so, the evaluations continued, the potential buyers engrossed in their
assessments, the weight of Tarzan's destiny hanging in the balance.
* * * * *
The crowd parted as a woman of discerning tastes and unyielding demeanor
stepped forward. Her eyes, sharp as cut diamonds, bore into Tarzan,
assessing him with an air of skepticism. She circled him slowly, her
presence demanding attention.
"You're the one they speak of, I presume," she remarked, her voice a
symphony of authority.
Tarzan met her gaze, his own expression wading through unfamiliarity with
formal language.
"Is Tarzan!" he replied, his English tinged with the cadence of his native
tongue.
"The silks," she continued, a note of doubt tainting her words. "I've heard
tales of your proficiency. Are they exaggerated, I wonder?"
Tarzan hesitated, then offered a halting
response. "Tarzan... strong. Silks... easy." His words were simple, the
essence of his experiences with the silks.
But his words seemed to fall on skeptical ears. The woman produced her own
slender pointer, its tip poised to probe the contours of Tarzan's
physique. With calculated precision, she prodded his muscles, testing their
solidity. Each touch was deliberate, an exploration of the untamed power
that resided within him.
Her attention shifted to his loincloth, a garment that seemed to defy the
refined sensibilities of the gathering. She tapped it with her pointer, her
gestures a silent interrogation.
"And this... attire," she mused, her tone laced with a mixture of disdain
and intrigue. "One wonders what woman would have use for a savage so
determined to resemble a slave."
Her scrutinizing gaze lingered on the loincloth, dissecting every tear,
every puncture, every stain. Each imperfection told a story, a narrative of
trials and tribulations endured.
"And what have we here," she taunted, using her pointer to further separate
a torn piece of leather revealing a mighty bush that wouldn't be contained.
"What...?" Tarzan responded, looking at the torn leather, his voice
earnest, though his English faltered. "From... fight. Jungle."
She arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, the gesture conveying both
skepticism and a begrudging respect.
"A symbol, then," she mused, "of your... resilience."
Her inquisition pressed on, her questions probing the depths of Tarzan's
existence. She sought to unravel the enigma before her, to discern the true
value that lay beneath the surface.
"What of this puncture?" she inquired, indicating a small hole in the
fabric, using her pointer to poke through the puncture, inadvertently
jabbing at his fully alert manhood. "A feral creature, perhaps? Or a
misjudged swing of a blade?"
"Thorn... bush," Tarzan gasped from the impact of the pointer, his words a
mosaic of broken English. "Hunt."
She nodded, absorbing his response with a newfound understanding. Her gaze
then settled on a stain, dark and faded, its origin a mystery to all but
Tarzan himself.
"Blood, perhaps?" she mused aloud, her voice laden with speculation. "A
wound earned in the pursuit of survival? The stain of tarzan's spilled
seed? Or the residue of a stronger foe, man or beast, leaving his escence
to mark tarzan as the riughtful property of his superiors?"
"Jaguar," Tarzan clarified, a solemnity in his tone. "Kill... protect."
As the exchange continued, the woman's probing questions unearthed
fragments of Tarzan's history, painting a portrait of a man forged in the
crucible of the wild. Her scrutiny was relentless, her assessments
calculated.
Ultimately, her inquisition satisfied her as she withdrew, a satisfied
glint in her eyes. She departed to strategize, her mind already at work on
the intricate dance of the impending auction.
END OF CHAPTER ELEVEN -----------------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you
have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
<pre>Date: Thu, 23 Nov 2023 19:57:05 -0700
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 11, The Seed of Conquest
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please
support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform
for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 11: The Seed of Conquest --------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
* * * * *
The crowd was anxious for the chance to bid on the mighty stud of the
jungle, or at least to watch the better situated, superior menbers of the
crowd demonstrate their dominance in claiming the heroic savage as their
property. The auctioneer had one final pitch to make in an effort to boost
the bids even higher than expected.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a truly exceptional specimen before us," the
auctioneer continued as tarzan came back to earth from his reverie. "This
man, strong and untamed, possesses qualities that are quite rare indeed. He
hails from the wilds, where he honed his survival instincts, and his
physique is nothing short of extraordinary."
He gestured toward Tarzan, who stood tall and defiant, his muscles rippling
beneath his bronzed skin. The crowd observed him with a mixture of awe and
calculating interest.
"Now, when we consider the potential for breeding, we must acknowledge that
this man carries within him the raw strength and vitality of the untamed
wilderness," the auctioneer continued, slapping his pointer square in the
heart of tarzan's bulging loincloth as he drew the crowd's attention to
tarzan's manhood, showing its strength as it grew to defend itself from the
merciless cane the auctioneer used as a pointer. "Such qualities are not
easily come by, and they hold tremendous value."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle among the
bidders. They exchanged knowing glances, well aware of the potential
profits that could be reaped from Tarzan's unique genetic heritage.
"Imagine," the auctioneer continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial
tone as he gripped tarzan's manhood through his loincloth, trapping it in
his fist and shaking the leather bulge at the crowd to drive his point
home, "the offspring of this man. They would inherit his strength, his
resilience, his instincts for survival. They would be a new breed
altogether, capable of feats beyond ordinary men."
The bidders leaned in, their imaginations sparked by the
possibilities. They envisioned a new generation, forged from the untamed
spirit of Tarzan, a generation that could be molded to serve their every
whim.
"This man," the auctioneer declared, his tone resolute, "is not just a
specimen for labor. He is a potential progenitor of a new lineage, a
lineage that could shape the very course of history."
The auctioneer yanked his fistgful of tarzan's manhood up, bringing tarzan
to his toes as his reproductive prowess was highlighted and displayed while
still trapped in the leather loincloth. Tarzan winced, but he kept his
expression hard and unyielding, his eyes glinting with a fierce
determination. He understood the implications of the auctioneer's words,
the commodification of his very essence. Yet, beneath it all, he clung to
the knowledge that his spirit could never truly be bound.
As the bidding neared, the value of Tarzan's breeding potential became a
focal point of the auction. The crowd deliberated, their calculations
driven by visions of a future shaped by the untamed legacy he carried
within him.
* * * * *
As the auctioneer's words settled, a hushed murmur of anticipation rippled
through the crowd. Those with particular interest in Tarzan's breeding
potential stepped forward, their eyes sharp and appraising.
The first to approach was a man of affluence and privilege, his polished
demeanor a stark contrast to Tarzan's primal presence. He circled the bound
figure, his gaze lingering on the mighty muscles, the untamed vigor that
seemed to radiate from the slave.
"He's robust," the man mused aloud, his voice carrying the weight of
authority. "The offspring could indeed possess remarkable physicality."
Another bidder, a woman of influence, joined the assessment. She
scrutinized Tarzan's features, her keen eyes assessing every contour and
line.
"And the bone structure," she remarked, lightly pounding on his chest, "it
suggests a resilience that is quite promising."
A third evaluator, a scientist by the look of him, was engrossed in the
examination of Tarzan's hands.
"Remarkable dexterity," he noted, "a trait that could be invaluable in
generations to come."
The assessments continued, each potential buyer offering their insights and
appraisals. Tarzan stood stoically, his gaze distant, his mind distant, a
storm of conflicting emotions. He was acutely aware that his destiny was
slipping further from his grasp, that he was being reduced to a mere vessel
for the ambitions of others.
The crowd's deliberations grew more fervent, their calculations becoming
increasingly complex. They spoke of lineages and legacies, of the potential
to shape the very course of human evolution.
Unseen by those who assessed him, Tarzan's fists clenched and
unclenched. His spirit remained unbroken, but it was a spirit confined,
constrained by the cold calculations of those who sought to possess him.
And so, the evaluations continued, the potential buyers engrossed in their
assessments, the weight of Tarzan's destiny hanging in the balance.
* * * * *
The crowd parted as a woman of discerning tastes and unyielding demeanor
stepped forward. Her eyes, sharp as cut diamonds, bore into Tarzan,
assessing him with an air of skepticism. She circled him slowly, her
presence demanding attention.
"You're the one they speak of, I presume," she remarked, her voice a
symphony of authority.
Tarzan met her gaze, his own expression wading through unfamiliarity with
formal language.
"Is Tarzan!" he replied, his English tinged with the cadence of his native
tongue.
"The silks," she continued, a note of doubt tainting her words. "I've heard
tales of your proficiency. Are they exaggerated, I wonder?"
Tarzan hesitated, then offered a halting
response. "Tarzan... strong. Silks... easy." His words were simple, the
essence of his experiences with the silks.
But his words seemed to fall on skeptical ears. The woman produced her own
slender pointer, its tip poised to probe the contours of Tarzan's
physique. With calculated precision, she prodded his muscles, testing their
solidity. Each touch was deliberate, an exploration of the untamed power
that resided within him.
Her attention shifted to his loincloth, a garment that seemed to defy the
refined sensibilities of the gathering. She tapped it with her pointer, her
gestures a silent interrogation.
"And this... attire," she mused, her tone laced with a mixture of disdain
and intrigue. "One wonders what woman would have use for a savage so
determined to resemble a slave."
Her scrutinizing gaze lingered on the loincloth, dissecting every tear,
every puncture, every stain. Each imperfection told a story, a narrative of
trials and tribulations endured.
"And what have we here," she taunted, using her pointer to further separate
a torn piece of leather revealing a mighty bush that wouldn't be contained.
"What...?" Tarzan responded, looking at the torn leather, his voice
earnest, though his English faltered. "From... fight. Jungle."
She arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, the gesture conveying both
skepticism and a begrudging respect.
"A symbol, then," she mused, "of your... resilience."
Her inquisition pressed on, her questions probing the depths of Tarzan's
existence. She sought to unravel the enigma before her, to discern the true
value that lay beneath the surface.
"What of this puncture?" she inquired, indicating a small hole in the
fabric, using her pointer to poke through the puncture, inadvertently
jabbing at his fully alert manhood. "A feral creature, perhaps? Or a
misjudged swing of a blade?"
"Thorn... bush," Tarzan gasped from the impact of the pointer, his words a
mosaic of broken English. "Hunt."
She nodded, absorbing his response with a newfound understanding. Her gaze
then settled on a stain, dark and faded, its origin a mystery to all but
Tarzan himself.
"Blood, perhaps?" she mused aloud, her voice laden with speculation. "A
wound earned in the pursuit of survival? The stain of tarzan's spilled
seed? Or the residue of a stronger foe, man or beast, leaving his escence
to mark tarzan as the riughtful property of his superiors?"
"Jaguar," Tarzan clarified, a solemnity in his tone. "Kill... protect."
As the exchange continued, the woman's probing questions unearthed
fragments of Tarzan's history, painting a portrait of a man forged in the
crucible of the wild. Her scrutiny was relentless, her assessments
calculated.
Ultimately, her inquisition satisfied her as she withdrew, a satisfied
glint in her eyes. She departed to strategize, her mind already at work on
the intricate dance of the impending auction.
END OF CHAPTER ELEVEN -----------------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you
have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</pre>
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/nicholas-and-noah | Date: Wed, 31 Jul 2024 00:28:00 +0100 From: PCW Tosh Subject: Nicholas & Noah Feel Appy Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence that this actually happened, but we can all dream. Stay healthy and practice safe sex! Happy reading. Nicholas & Noah Feel Appy Feeling abandoned by his friend Finn Wolfhard who was away filming for his new movie, Noah Schnapp felt like he owed himself a bit of fun, but where would he get it from? Noah's screen brother Charlie Heaton had suggested he try out an app that helped hook celebs up, celebrity-tindr Noah beamed to himself wondering what the fuck he was about to get himself into. The teenager downloaded the app and after logging in with his details he was free to start browsing. The array of profiles was very intriguing indeed, young-old, little-large, light-dark, the choice was surprisingly endless, this is of course if he was to get a match. The innocently sweet and truthful side in Noah had declared he was just looking for a bit of slutty fun and within minutes, the matches started flooding in. Casting his net nice and wide Noah matched with a few types; some older bears, a bit of muscle, a leather fetish could be fun, but his favourite profile was a young athletic looking torso of a boy in his early 20s. An Aussie in New York sounded very interesting to Noah who typed away nervously asking a couple of questions to get a conversation going. The Aussie was an actor and a singer, a couple of years older than him and he was already out to the world. [Comfortable in his own skin.] He would be staying in New York for a few more months but would probably return to Australia while looking for more work. [Could lead to a follow up if all goes well.] Noah beamed excitedly. "Do you wanna come over for a drink?" The Aussie asked. "I'm too young, I don't want to get you deported!" Noah replied. "Fair play, how about a movie?" ['Fair play' how cute is that?!] Noah beamed to himself excitedly. "Sounds great." Noah beamed as he swiped to reveal his identity. Now he had to wait, would the Aussie reveal himself or would he become a ghost and leave Noah feeling rejected, embarrassed and unattractive. It took a few moments, but Noah's phone pinged and there it was, the Aussie was revealed, thankfully, and my goodness he was hot, he's Nicholas Hamilton! Noah rejoiced. } "Hey!" Nicholas beamed, opening his apartment door to be greeted by the gorgeous teenager. "Hi." Noah smiled sweetly, stepping inside. "How was your ride?" Nicholas asked politely. "Quick and easy." Noah replied. "Like me." Nicholas winked causing Noah to giggle. "Shall we?" Nicholas asked, pointing towards the living room. Noah led the way over to the couch, but Nicholas took a detour through the open plan kitchen grabbing two cans of cola from the fridge and placing them down on the table. "Thank you." Noah smiled opening the can and taking a sip. Nicholas picked up the remote and found Ghostbusters: Afterlife. "I guess you've seen this already?" he asked. "Yes, but I can watch it again, I love watching Finn." Noah beamed. "Are you two very close?" Nicholas replied. "Yeah, he's the best and he's such a good actor." Noah nodded. "You both are from what I've seen." Nicholas added smoothly. Noah didn't reply, but a sweet blushing of his cheeks was enough of an answer to show the Aussie his compliment had been well received. Nicholas hit play and the film began. "Are you warm or shall I get a blanket?" Nicholas asked conscientiously. "Oooh, can I get the blanket please?" Noah nodded thoughtfully. The Aussie was gone and back within 30 seconds carrying a thin double blanket which he handed to Noah. "Thank you." Noah smiled politely, placing it to the side. Nicholas settled back down and put his arm around the teenager. "Would you like to be my big spoon?" Noah asked boldly. "Sure." Nicholas beamed, glad that Noah was feeling confident enough to be so forward. The Aussie however couldn't help but gape as the Stranger Things star stood up and whipped off his shirt and jeans, then jumped onto his side wearing nothing but a pair of white socks and tight, white CK boxer shorts which clearly defined the roundness of the teenager's arse before it disappeared under the blanket. Without a word, Nicholas rose to his feet and dropped his jeans then pulled off his shirt before carefully climbing in behind Noah and under the blanket. The strip show was Noah's opportunity to scan Nicholas' slender body for real. Skinny but toned from his efforts at the gym, the Aussie's pale skin looked absolutely irresistible. Noah noticed where Nicholas shaved his chest between his pecs and the gloriously tight nipples, standing erect on each of his thin but toned pecs. The Aussie's thin torso curved in as it descended to his stomach and protecting his organs, Nicholas had produced a magnificent griddle of abs. From his belly button which sank in and poked out, Nicholas owned an enticing trail which Noah couldn't wait to follow like a map and locate the treasure beneath the surface. That surface was a pair of red and yellow Knobby boxers which led down to a pair of strong looking, fluffy legs and the brunette's bulge had Noah very excited indeed. The instant Nicholas' body had settled itself behind Noah, the twink edged himself back slightly and raising his head, Noah allowed Nicholas to slide his arm under and embrace Noah in a nice warm spooning. The film rolled on in the distance but neither boy could concentrate on the screen with the current level of skin-on-skin contact. Noah could feel the Aussie's perfect body pressed up against his, that warm, toned stomach against his back and it felt so intriguingly good. The touch of Nicholas' skin felt sensational, but it was the bulge in the Aussie boxers, pressing against his crack that had the bulk of Noah's attention. Inhaling Noah's sweet scent, Nicholas felt the aroma tickle his nostrils. The young American was intoxicating, Nicholas could feel his cock hardening from flaccid to semi, gently grazing against Noah's fantastic arse. Nicholas couldn't resist, bringing his hands down the American's front and making sure to drag his fingers along Noah's skin until they rested at the hem of the teenager's boxers. This was always the awkward moment, how aggressive could he be right now, was Noah a timid teen or a bold bottom? Until this point the Stranger Things star had been somewhat brazen and sucking in his tummy ever so slightly to make a path into his boxers, Noah gave his green light to proceed. Nicholas took advantage by sliding his fingernails under the hem, followed by the rest of his soft hands and travelling over what felt like a shaven crotch, the Aussie found Noah's cock which began to thicken in response to their presence. The bottom in Noah instantly made himself known to Nicholas by backing his arse up into the Aussie's throbbing crotch. Not to be intimidated by the twink's hungry arse, the top in Nicholas responded by pushing forward directly for the American's hole. Where the 22-year-old's boxers were tented they pushed suggestively between the slight gap in Noah's boxers that represented the teenager's arse crack and stroked at the enticing groove. The sound of breathing had increased from both boys, the inhaling and exhaling of each other's scent to enhance their body contact. Slowly jerking Noah in phases, Nicholas gradually teased the excitement out of the teenager's horny body. Starting with long, slow strokes along Noah's 7.5-inch, hard, cut shaft. Then moving up to the head, Nicholas massaged the sensitive, swollen skin which throbbed at his deliberately focused attention. The inside of Nicholas' palm circled Noah's head sending sparks of arousal through the youngster's sexy body then continued back down Noah's solid shaft. The feeling of Nicholas' slightly more mature body pressed against his back was the most arousing thing Noah had experienced since Finn's last visit and to gain maximum enjoyment out of it, there was no time like the present. After edging his arse up and down suggestively against Nicholas' shaft, Noah then pulled his arse away from the Aussie's bugle while remaining tightly enclosed within Nicholas' grip, keeping their naked torso connected at practically every other point. Nichoals edged his horny cock forward again, but Noah's hand had slipped into the gap between them and blocking Nicholas' path, the American teased Nicholas briefly, circling the 22-year-old's cute belly button which poked out in a concealed bump and then followed the trail of light brown hairs down his slender frame. Gradually working his way south, Noah reached the Aussie's waistband and turning his fingertips inward, the teenager found a gap in which to slide his soft hands. The nasal tone of Nicholas' breathing changed as the Stranger Things star's hand moved across his smooth crotch and came to a stop when he found what he was looking for. Nicholas froze, not moving his lips, his hands or any part of his body. The American's grip closed around the smooth base of his shaft and with a light grip, pulled the thin outer skin of the hard meat in his hand up and down by an inch or so. Exhaling like a whistling kettle that had reached boiling point, Nicholas released his pent-up anticipation and pleasure into Noah's smooth neck then resumed kissing at the cute teenager's sweet skin while his hand resumed stroking the American's hard cock. Using his toes to caress the underside of Noah's foot, Nicholas made sure he was making tender, intimate contact with the cute American from head to toe. The attention was delightful, it had been at least a year since Finn had cuddled Noah like this, now they just fucked like the horny little rabbits they were and that was great, but that animal passion between them made this tenderness all the more appreciated. The feeling of Nicholas' smooth, toned body pressed up against him felt just as good to Noah as it looked. The slender Aussie had an alluring, lean muscle tone clear for all to see, but the 22-year-old remained deliciously skinny, and Noah loved it. The soon-to-be-bottom wasn't that large himself, in fact his slender torso was the exact reason why the whole world had noticed the results of Noah's recent gym visits when he had posted his progress on social media. Nicholas too had seen Noah's expanding curvature on TV and social media and now that his hands could get down there and experience it for himself, he felt truly impressed. Noah's bulbous glutes felt just as good as it looked; warm and meaty, with plenty of cushion for Nicholas to utilise if the teenager would let him. The Aussie felt his cock throb excitedly at the idea of splitting Noah's firm arse in two to bury his 6.5-inch bone and potentially his seed inside the young cutey. "Hmm, I wanna rim this ass so bad." Nicholas sighed into Noah's neck. "Haha, I think you should put your hard cock in it first, open it up nice and wide for you to eat." Noah responded, turning them both on at the thought of filling his words. "Fucking hell, you're hottt!" Nicholas grinned, taking hold of his shaft and stroking it a few times with a gleeful smile stretched across his beautiful face. Peeling his Knobby boxers over his hips, Nicholas exposed his own cock then reached forward to slide Noah's Calvin Klien's down. Noah lifted his hip to allow his boxers to slide down, leaving the pair of them naked with their boxers around their thighs. The tip of the Aussie's shaft pressed itself against the lips of Noah's sweet arsehole. "Yeah, put it in raw." Noah agreed, taking a deep breath and pushing his ring out. Nicholas felt Noah's ring resting against his head and began to push back in the opposite direction. "Oh." Noah breathed as his willing ring did everything it could to open for the advancing Aussie. "Ahhh, my God!" Nicholas sighed, as his tip slipped between the open lips of Noah's hole and slowly began to dig its way inside the cute bottom. It quickly became obvious that Noah had experience with raw entry. The bottom seemed just as committed to the cause, slowly but smoothly reversing while Nicholas carefully pushed in the opposite direction. The Aussie's sensitive head was in a new world of pleasure, feeling every movement of the warm, tight bottom. Even Nicholas' pounding heartbeat transmitted through his raw shaft as their bare bodies united. Nicholas felt compelled to kiss the American and show Noah the appreciation he currently felt from the bottom's sexy body as it accepted his hard cock. Pressing his lips against Noah's neck, the Aussie kissed Noah tenderly while feeding his hole more shaft. "Yeahhh." Noah breathed, enjoying the addition of more pleasure to his body and responded by reaching back for the top's head to press Nicholas' lips in a little tighter. Applying more pressure, Nicholas tried to find a happy medium between firm suction and the desire to keep Noah's skin mark free, but the Amercian didn't seem as concerned. The teenager pulled tighter still until Nicholas was pulling so hard he had a fold of Noah's smooth skin between his lips. The effect of Noah's desire to be kissed harder by Nicholas was for the Aussie top to find himself pushing his hips forward with extra force as well. Nicholas' hips were now energised to match the bottom's intensity and with extra force on Noah's ring it took just a few more seconds for the sexy top to push his cock so far within Noah's body that Nicholas' skinny crotch was pressed up against Noah's large, firm arse cheeks and his 6.5-inch boner embedded deep within the American's sweet cunt. This was exactly what Noah had wanted the moment he'd laid eyes upon Nicholas. The cute Aussie looked as though he packed plenty of energy and now that he seemed confident of Noah's ability to take him, Nicholas' crotch began to ping against the American's meaty, twink cheeks. The mental image of Nicholas' tight abs, tense as they threw Nicholas' delightful cock inside him thickened Noah's boner with happiness. "Think you can go harder if I lay on my front?" Noah asked, more as a suggestion for Nicholas to go both harder and deeper. The top's blue eyes shone with a mixture of happiness and pure animal lust as he caught Noah's suggestion and the implications of it. Nicholas didn't respond with words, the Aussie pushed the throw to the floor and pulled Noah's face in for a kiss then pushing his cock in until he pressed his crotch flat against the bottom's peachy cheeks, Nicholas rotated Noah's slim body the 90° he needed to lay on top. The pair continued to kiss as Nicholas set his lips either side of Noah's and then clenching his own skinny arse nice and tight, the top pulled his boner back 5 inches then slammed his entire shaft down into Noah's hungry cunt. "Oh God, yes!" Noah squealed, his lips driven away from Nicholas as the power of the toned top matched Noah's slutty needs and opened his hole up with loud, arse shattering slams of his energetic body. From this position the Stranger Things star felt he could properly appreciate Nicholas' sexual skills and just as he had been in the build-up, Noah was very happy at the findings. Looking at their two bodies in the gap between Nicholas' handsome face and his own plump arse cheeks, Noah watched as Nicholas' tight, erect nipples moved up and down with increasing speed while the Aussie's tightly scrunched abs did the same, showing his sixpac in all its toned glory and that skinny crotch which similar to Finn's shook his entire body when it smashed into the bottom's peachy arse cheeks. Trapped beneath Noah his hard cock pulsed as the weight of two increasingly sweaty bodies slid his cut shaft along the soft fabric of Nicholas' sofa. The bottom could've reached down to stroke his cock but there was no need. The force of Nicholas' horny body pushing his cock deep inside Noah's twinky hole was more than enough to edge the bottom back and forth enough to stimulate Noah's 7.5-inch pole and to show his appreciation the Stranger Things star gave a nice, deep growl of pleasure to egg Nicholas on. Panting heavily, Nicholas had ascended rapidly through the gears resulting in ringing smacks of his crotch on Noah's meaty arse cheeks. Now Nicholas felt hornier than ever! Below him, Noah's beautiful face moaned and groaned up at the Aussie in direct relation to the speed with which Nicholas fucked him. The top drilled hard and deep, sliding his cut 6.5-inch into the teenager until his progress was stopped by Noah's firm, muscular cheeks. Every thrust had been even better than Nicholas could've imagined Noah would feel. The energetic top drove deep and hard, stroking his bare cock inside the slender insides of Noah's addictive cunt. Each time Nicholas' tense arse cheeks pulled him out the Aussie drove himself straight back in, sliding 6 inches each way within Noah's tight rectum. The teenager could only grunt and groan in response to each shot of Nicholas' skinny hips, the top smiled happily at the noises Noah was making, the noises his horny body was forcing out of this adorable young bottom. It also hadn't gone unnoticed the way that Noah's arse braced for each impact. Nicholas could feel that once he had settled into a predictable rhythm, Noah was ready to push back, giving Nicholas' body a firm crash pad on which to follow through. "My Goddddd, dudeee, this feels so fucking good!!!" Nicholas exclaimed happily. "Yeah bro, pound my little, gay hole." Noah replied. The bottom's compliance made it all even hotter, so hot in fact, Nicholas was sure he was only a few more slams away from shooting his load deep into Noah's bare cunt. Pulling back, Nicholas threw one more thrust from tip to base, then one more to make sure Noah felt every inch of his prime Aussie meat. After those two glute smacking thrusts, Nicholas pulled back so far, his boner popped completely free of Noah's pink ring. "Ughhh." Noah whined as his hole sealed itself, although from Nicholas' angle, the top could see a clear gap where his cock had previously lived within the beautiful pinkness of Noah's stretched ring. Sliding his fingers across the opening, Nicholas tickled a coo from the adorable bottom. The sweet Aussie used his fingers to circle the bottom's stretched hole, listening to Noah groan and moan ever so softly. Nicholas was light and tender, tracing across the flattened hairs lining Noah's entrance, teasing the lovable American with every rotation. If Nicholas' fingers weren't enough for Noah, the Aussie reversed his body to lower his face into Noah's young hole. Blue eyes looked upon their prey and then closing in, Nicholas placed a kiss against the bud resulting in another audible moan from Noah. Placing his thin, pink lips at the roof and base of Noah's hole, Nicholas kissed tenderly then inserting his tongue into the widened gap he sucked at the teenager's marrow. "Oh God!" Noah cried, jubilant at the insertion of the Aussie's wet tongue. Lapping and swirling within the widened gap, Nicholas paid special attention to the tender skin and with it gave Noah the most satisfying mid-fuck recess he'd ever encountered. Pressing his smooth cheeks up against Noah's juicy arse, Nicholas fed the American all of his tongue, licking the bottom's damaged insides. Swiping his tongue up and down within Noah's cavity, Nicholas drank the bottom's arousing essence. The warmth of Noah's big, round arse against his face made the Aussie want it more and more. Every swish tasted divine, filling Nicholas' hard cock with the desire to get back into the game. Not yet though, he had to be strong for everyone's sake. Getting the chance to fuck Noah Schnapp wasn't something to be rushed. The twink's smooth body felt so soft and ready for more action, the perfect home to reinsert his hard cock. The Aussie's hands squeezed the smooth, warm skin of Noah's meaty arse cheeks and smiled happily. "Oh, I love your tongue, your tongue feels so good." Noah purred, pushing his hole back into Nicholas' handsome face. Giving the Aussie as much access to his chute as he possibly could, Noah marvelled in the soothing touch of Nicholas' tongue. The sexually intelligent Aussie exhaled a breath up Noah's tender chute which the teenager could feel sweep straight up inside him. The sensitivity of the damaged skin inside his abused hole had reached a new height for Noah who whined hard after each stroke of that slippery tongue. The problem was Noah's constant moaning filled Nicholas with the overwhelming desire to re-enter the cute American's addictive body. The arousing cycle continued with tantalising flicks of Nicholas' tongue and in reply more groans of deep satisfaction. "God, I love you inside me." Noah cooed again. ["Ugh, that fucking does it!!!] Nicholas screamed inside. The Aussie pushed his face as far into Noah's gigantic arse as he could, stretching the cheeks out as far apart as his fingers could spread them and reaching as far inside as his tongue could extend to stroke the delightful pinkness of his soft insides then with one quick withdrawal Nicholas popped free. There wasn't another second to lose. Nicholas grabbed Noah's left arm and leg simultaneously, lifting the American to spin him over, then lowered the bottom down to the wooden floor. Noah aided Nicholas by making himself as light as possible, allowing the horny top to spin him onto his back and place Noah's body on the fallen throw. Arms spread to reveal the light fluff under his cute armpits, Noah's legs also fell wide apart to expose his gaping, twink hole. The pink entrance called to Nicholas, begging him to be refilled, a look which Noah's adorable face shared. Those big brown eyes screamed "fuck me please!" Shuffling forward rapidly, Nicholas closed the gap placing a hand over Noah's shoulder to balance his weight then placing his tip at the bottom's entrance, Nicholas looked down into the American's eyes and advanced. Minimal force was required to re-penetrate Noah's hole, confirmed by the unified noise of two boys moaning with erotic pleasure. Nicholas' bare meat slid within the molten cavern of Noah's addictive hole, marvelling in the irresistible sensation of the American's tenderised body sliding back around his bare shaft. In one continuous motion, Nicholas pushed his cock into the American's body only stopping once his crotch was pressed up against Noah's warm arse cheeks. Lowering his face down onto Noah's, Nicholas kissed the bottom and with their smooth chests pressed together, the top began to move his lower body. The instant Nicholas found motion the timer was ticking as Noah's gloriously tight arse hole sucked hard on his raging cock. The stretching of their initial fuck meant that Nicholas had no problem maxing his length and to the audible pleasure of them both, the Aussie thumped Noah's plump arse. "Dangggg!" Noah breathed happily as the 6.5 inches of Nicholas' cut cock slammed into his horny body, encouraging his balls to churn rapidly. The warm friction of Nicholas' bare cock was nearly instant in its ability to make Noah cum and taking hold of his solid 7.5-inch mast, the bottom knew glory was just around the corner. The feel of Nicholas' slender hips rebounding up off his milky arse cheeks only to return again a second later with similar interest made Noah smile and sigh happily, his cock was harder than ever, and the feel of the Aussie buried within him made this experience incredible. Noah strummed himself rapidly to Nicholas' beat, using the thrust of wonderfully hard meat within his sensitive hole to edge him closer to a spectacular finish. The bottom had to hold Nicholas steady as the Aussie gave him the deep pounding, he had been yearning all day and taking Nicholas' skinny right arse cheek, Noah felt the muscle tense and contract as it filled his body with bare, hard, Australian meat. "I'm getting close dude." Nicholas panted. "Hmmm yeah, gimme that cream!" Noah beamed, stroking himself even faster safe in the knowledge he too was only a few strokes away from exploding. Noah stroked half a beat faster than his sexy top, feeling his cock expand as the pressure in his balls reached critical mass. Nicholas' crotch pumped into Noah's cunt hard and fast at nearly two beats per second whilst the pair groaned along happily. The Aussie's bare cock slid free and fast inside Noah's chute, stroking the American's tender membrane to the delight of both boys. "Yeah...it's cumming...I'm cumming. OH FUCK!!!" Nicholas cried as he slammed his horny crotch up against Noah's sweaty, peachy cheeks, allowing the bottom's tight, sexy body to relieve his swollen balls. "GOD YEAH, that's so hot I'm gonna shoot too!" Noah cried, accelerating his words and his fist as he spoke. The teenager had barely finished his sentence when his slit launched a rope of his cum across his smooth, pale chest. "Fuck you're so hot!!!" Nicholas exclaimed as his cock managed to grow larger still as it exploded inside Noah's beautiful body. Even though he was mid orgasm, Nicholas was unable to stop ploughing his hard cock into Noah's gorgeous body. The way Noah's mouth hung to allow the bottom to groan endlessly with delight while Nicholas' cock fired ropes of Australian spunk deep inside Noah's smooth belly inspired the top to continue moving, making sure Noah looked like that for as long as he could manage. Midway through his orgasm Noah dropped his firing cock without warning and grabbed hold of Nicholas' skinny arse cheeks. "Good God, you're so hot!!!" Nicholas cried with delight, ramming himself into Noah's delightful arse just to watch the chain reaction of cum squirting from the bottom's free squirting boner. The response from Noah was indirect but unmistakable, constant and consistent groaning to commentate the journey of his cum being squeezed by the muscles of his spasming cock to ejaculate out over his twinky chest. Still, Noah's hands orchestrated Nicholas' body, pulling the Australian not just to fill his hole but to destroy it. And each time he pulled Nicholas forward, the top's body crashed hard into his peachy arse cheeks which had nowhere to go with a hard floor preventing any shock absorption. This was the feeling Noah adored, the feeling of a velvety load quenching the thirst of his horny, young hole. First to explode, Nicholas enjoyed every moment of his orgasm, filling Noah's pie with copious amounts of Australian cream. The slender top loved the feel of Noah's slim body around his cock as the bottom's bare hole drank his nuts dry. The crowning moment came when mid-orgasm Noah's soft hands took a firm grasp of his sweaty arse cheeks and pulled Nicholas in for more. The Aussie top counted what felt like a dozen squirts of his seed, emptying the contents of his heavy nuts into Noah's smooth belly. The pressure had left his balls giving Nicholas a sense of sweet relief although Noah kept pulling him. Inside Noah's chute, Nicholas' cock continued to tense and fidget but the top knew he was done and from the look of Noah's cock the bottom was in the same place. Gradually slowing down to stop, Nicholas locked eyes with the bottom and exchanged grins. Noah's grip of his skinny arse weakened until the Stranger Things star released Nicholas completely and lay there empty but impaled on the cute Aussie's softening boner. There was another 30 seconds to scan Noah's beautiful body, allowing Nicholas to make a mental image of the smooth, pale skin across Noah's adorable torso, splashed with streaks of white marbly spunk stretching from his belly button to his collarbone. There was only one way to end their union which Nicholas initiated by lowering his face down to kiss his beautiful bottom in a tender embrace. The moment Nicholas' lips hit him for a post sex embrace Noah knew the Aussie was the kind of guy he could remain friends with. Who knew what that meant for the future; was it a one-night stand, would they become friends with benefits or could they maybe even date someday? Right now, it was impossible to say but that didn't take anything away from this magical moment. The pair sighed in unison when Nicholas' cock finally fell from Noah's chute although the bottom's sound effect had more bass and volume. Noah's reaction convinced the top to break their kiss. "Are you OK?" Nicholas asked sweetly. "I feel great!" Noah beamed happily. "Ahhh...you look great." Nicholas smiled, scanning the bottom's lovable, naked body. "Thank you, you look incredible too." Noah replied, 1-upping his host. "Nawww, you think?" Nicholas blushed. "Yuh-huh." Noah nodded. "That's sweet. Let me grab your arse some tissues." Nicholas grinned. Together they mopped the spunk, streaked up the front of Noah's smooth belly after Nick had plucked the tissue box from the table. Combined they made light work of the mess and with it came the question, what were they going to do next? As the host Nicholas felt it was his duty to continue making Noah feel as welcome as he possibly could. "Hey dude, do you have somewhere to be or do you wanna hang out and finish the film?" Nicholas asked. Both options were on the table, but the Aussie climbed back onto the couch as he mentioned it, as if he were trying to communicate through his movements too. "I can hang out if you don't mind me being here." Noah replied. The American couldn't think of anything better than staying with his handsome top and climbed back up onto the couch to join Nicholas. The Aussie slid back under the throw lying on his side then moving right to the back of the couch giving Noah plenty of space to resume being the little spoon. Once Noah was settled, Nicholas hit the remote to continue playing the movie. Wrapped in each other's slim, sticky, naked bodies the two young actors felt extremely satisfied with the world right now. END Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story. If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on pcwtosh@gmail.com and/or for updates: Instagram - pcwtoshx Twitter - @pcwtosh Here is the rest of my collection: Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy 18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones, 13 Goo-uld Reasons Why, Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway, Now You See Cole, Big Apple Aussies, Cole el Elite & The Power of My Name. Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer. Ripped Roses, Jack's Web, Naughty Neigbours & Devils and Dragons. Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY, Swimnasium & Laugher of the Ice King. 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Date: Wed, 31 Jul 2024 00:28:00 +0100
From: PCW Tosh <pcwtosh@gmail.com>
Subject: Nicholas & Noah Feel Appy
Disclaimer: Hey folks, this story is just a fantasy and I have no evidence
that this actually happened, but we can all dream.
Stay healthy and practice safe sex!
Happy reading.
Nicholas & Noah Feel Appy
Feeling abandoned by his friend Finn Wolfhard who was away filming for his
new movie, Noah Schnapp felt like he owed himself a bit of fun, but where
would he get it from? Noah's screen brother Charlie Heaton had suggested he
try out an app that helped hook celebs up, celebrity-tindr Noah beamed to
himself wondering what the fuck he was about to get himself into.
The teenager downloaded the app and after logging in with his details he
was free to start browsing. The array of profiles was very intriguing
indeed, young-old, little-large, light-dark, the choice was surprisingly
endless, this is of course if he was to get a match. The innocently sweet
and truthful side in Noah had declared he was just looking for a bit of
slutty fun and within minutes, the matches started flooding in.
Casting his net nice and wide Noah matched with a few types; some older
bears, a bit of muscle, a leather fetish could be fun, but his favourite
profile was a young athletic looking torso of a boy in his early 20s. An
Aussie in New York sounded very interesting to Noah who typed away
nervously asking a couple of questions to get a conversation going. The
Aussie was an actor and a singer, a couple of years older than him and he
was already out to the world. [Comfortable in his own skin.] He would be
staying in New York for a few more months but would probably return to
Australia while looking for more work. [Could lead to a follow up if all
goes well.] Noah beamed excitedly. "Do you wanna come over for a drink?"
The Aussie asked. "I'm too young, I don't want to get you deported!" Noah
replied. "Fair play, how about a movie?" ['Fair play' how cute is that?!]
Noah beamed to himself excitedly. "Sounds great." Noah beamed as he swiped
to reveal his identity. Now he had to wait, would the Aussie reveal himself
or would he become a ghost and leave Noah feeling rejected, embarrassed and
unattractive. It took a few moments, but Noah's phone pinged and there it
was, the Aussie was revealed, thankfully, and my goodness he was hot, he's
Nicholas Hamilton! Noah rejoiced.
}
"Hey!" Nicholas beamed, opening his apartment door to be greeted by the
gorgeous teenager. "Hi." Noah smiled sweetly, stepping inside. "How was
your ride?" Nicholas asked politely. "Quick and easy." Noah replied. "Like
me." Nicholas winked causing Noah to giggle. "Shall we?" Nicholas asked,
pointing towards the living room. Noah led the way over to the couch, but
Nicholas took a detour through the open plan kitchen grabbing two cans of
cola from the fridge and placing them down on the table. "Thank you." Noah
smiled opening the can and taking a sip. Nicholas picked up the remote and
found Ghostbusters: Afterlife. "I guess you've seen this already?" he
asked. "Yes, but I can watch it again, I love watching Finn." Noah
beamed. "Are you two very close?" Nicholas replied. "Yeah, he's the best
and he's such a good actor." Noah nodded. "You both are from what I've
seen." Nicholas added smoothly. Noah didn't reply, but a sweet blushing of
his cheeks was enough of an answer to show the Aussie his compliment had
been well received.
Nicholas hit play and the film began. "Are you warm or shall I get a
blanket?" Nicholas asked conscientiously. "Oooh, can I get the blanket
please?" Noah nodded thoughtfully. The Aussie was gone and back within 30
seconds carrying a thin double blanket which he handed to Noah. "Thank
you." Noah smiled politely, placing it to the side. Nicholas settled back
down and put his arm around the teenager. "Would you like to be my big
spoon?" Noah asked boldly. "Sure." Nicholas beamed, glad that Noah was
feeling confident enough to be so forward. The Aussie however couldn't help
but gape as the Stranger Things star stood up and whipped off his shirt and
jeans, then jumped onto his side wearing nothing but a pair of white socks
and tight, white CK boxer shorts which clearly defined the roundness of the
teenager's arse before it disappeared under the blanket. Without a word,
Nicholas rose to his feet and dropped his jeans then pulled off his shirt
before carefully climbing in behind Noah and under the blanket.
The strip show was Noah's opportunity to scan Nicholas' slender body for
real. Skinny but toned from his efforts at the gym, the Aussie's pale skin
looked absolutely irresistible. Noah noticed where Nicholas shaved his
chest between his pecs and the gloriously tight nipples, standing erect on
each of his thin but toned pecs. The Aussie's thin torso curved in as it
descended to his stomach and protecting his organs, Nicholas had produced a
magnificent griddle of abs. From his belly button which sank in and poked
out, Nicholas owned an enticing trail which Noah couldn't wait to follow
like a map and locate the treasure beneath the surface. That surface was a
pair of red and yellow Knobby boxers which led down to a pair of strong
looking, fluffy legs and the brunette's bulge had Noah very excited indeed.
The instant Nicholas' body had settled itself behind Noah, the twink edged
himself back slightly and raising his head, Noah allowed Nicholas to slide
his arm under and embrace Noah in a nice warm spooning. The film rolled on
in the distance but neither boy could concentrate on the screen with the
current level of skin-on-skin contact. Noah could feel the Aussie's perfect
body pressed up against his, that warm, toned stomach against his back and
it felt so intriguingly good. The touch of Nicholas' skin felt sensational,
but it was the bulge in the Aussie boxers, pressing against his crack that
had the bulk of Noah's attention.
Inhaling Noah's sweet scent, Nicholas felt the aroma tickle his
nostrils. The young American was intoxicating, Nicholas could feel his cock
hardening from flaccid to semi, gently grazing against Noah's fantastic
arse. Nicholas couldn't resist, bringing his hands down the American's
front and making sure to drag his fingers along Noah's skin until they
rested at the hem of the teenager's boxers. This was always the awkward
moment, how aggressive could he be right now, was Noah a timid teen or a
bold bottom? Until this point the Stranger Things star had been somewhat
brazen and sucking in his tummy ever so slightly to make a path into his
boxers, Noah gave his green light to proceed. Nicholas took advantage by
sliding his fingernails under the hem, followed by the rest of his soft
hands and travelling over what felt like a shaven crotch, the Aussie found
Noah's cock which began to thicken in response to their presence.
The bottom in Noah instantly made himself known to Nicholas by backing his
arse up into the Aussie's throbbing crotch. Not to be intimidated by the
twink's hungry arse, the top in Nicholas responded by pushing forward
directly for the American's hole. Where the 22-year-old's boxers were
tented they pushed suggestively between the slight gap in Noah's boxers
that represented the teenager's arse crack and stroked at the enticing
groove. The sound of breathing had increased from both boys, the inhaling
and exhaling of each other's scent to enhance their body contact.
Slowly jerking Noah in phases, Nicholas gradually teased the excitement out
of the teenager's horny body. Starting with long, slow strokes along Noah's
7.5-inch, hard, cut shaft. Then moving up to the head, Nicholas massaged
the sensitive, swollen skin which throbbed at his deliberately focused
attention. The inside of Nicholas' palm circled Noah's head sending sparks
of arousal through the youngster's sexy body then continued back down
Noah's solid shaft.
The feeling of Nicholas' slightly more mature body pressed against his back
was the most arousing thing Noah had experienced since Finn's last visit
and to gain maximum enjoyment out of it, there was no time like the
present. After edging his arse up and down suggestively against Nicholas'
shaft, Noah then pulled his arse away from the Aussie's bugle while
remaining tightly enclosed within Nicholas' grip, keeping their naked torso
connected at practically every other point. Nichoals edged his horny cock
forward again, but Noah's hand had slipped into the gap between them and
blocking Nicholas' path, the American teased Nicholas briefly, circling the
22-year-old's cute belly button which poked out in a concealed bump and
then followed the trail of light brown hairs down his slender frame.
Gradually working his way south, Noah reached the Aussie's waistband and
turning his fingertips inward, the teenager found a gap in which to slide
his soft hands. The nasal tone of Nicholas' breathing changed as the
Stranger Things star's hand moved across his smooth crotch and came to a
stop when he found what he was looking for. Nicholas froze, not moving his
lips, his hands or any part of his body. The American's grip closed around
the smooth base of his shaft and with a light grip, pulled the thin outer
skin of the hard meat in his hand up and down by an inch or so.
Exhaling like a whistling kettle that had reached boiling point, Nicholas
released his pent-up anticipation and pleasure into Noah's smooth neck then
resumed kissing at the cute teenager's sweet skin while his hand resumed
stroking the American's hard cock. Using his toes to caress the underside
of Noah's foot, Nicholas made sure he was making tender, intimate contact
with the cute American from head to toe. The attention was delightful, it
had been at least a year since Finn had cuddled Noah like this, now they
just fucked like the horny little rabbits they were and that was great, but
that animal passion between them made this tenderness all the more
appreciated.
The feeling of Nicholas' smooth, toned body pressed up against him felt
just as good to Noah as it looked. The slender Aussie had an alluring, lean
muscle tone clear for all to see, but the 22-year-old remained deliciously
skinny, and Noah loved it. The soon-to-be-bottom wasn't that large himself,
in fact his slender torso was the exact reason why the whole world had
noticed the results of Noah's recent gym visits when he had posted his
progress on social media. Nicholas too had seen Noah's expanding curvature
on TV and social media and now that his hands could get down there and
experience it for himself, he felt truly impressed. Noah's bulbous glutes
felt just as good as it looked; warm and meaty, with plenty of cushion for
Nicholas to utilise if the teenager would let him. The Aussie felt his cock
throb excitedly at the idea of splitting Noah's firm arse in two to bury
his 6.5-inch bone and potentially his seed inside the young cutey.
"Hmm, I wanna rim this ass so bad." Nicholas sighed into Noah's
neck. "Haha, I think you should put your hard cock in it first, open it up
nice and wide for you to eat." Noah responded, turning them both on at the
thought of filling his words. "Fucking hell, you're hottt!" Nicholas
grinned, taking hold of his shaft and stroking it a few times with a
gleeful smile stretched across his beautiful face. Peeling his Knobby
boxers over his hips, Nicholas exposed his own cock then reached forward to
slide Noah's Calvin Klien's down. Noah lifted his hip to allow his boxers
to slide down, leaving the pair of them naked with their boxers around
their thighs.
The tip of the Aussie's shaft pressed itself against the lips of Noah's
sweet arsehole. "Yeah, put it in raw." Noah agreed, taking a deep breath
and pushing his ring out. Nicholas felt Noah's ring resting against his
head and began to push back in the opposite direction. "Oh." Noah breathed
as his willing ring did everything it could to open for the advancing
Aussie. "Ahhh, my God!" Nicholas sighed, as his tip slipped between the
open lips of Noah's hole and slowly began to dig its way inside the cute
bottom.
It quickly became obvious that Noah had experience with raw entry. The
bottom seemed just as committed to the cause, slowly but smoothly reversing
while Nicholas carefully pushed in the opposite direction. The Aussie's
sensitive head was in a new world of pleasure, feeling every movement of
the warm, tight bottom. Even Nicholas' pounding heartbeat transmitted
through his raw shaft as their bare bodies united. Nicholas felt compelled
to kiss the American and show Noah the appreciation he currently felt from
the bottom's sexy body as it accepted his hard cock. Pressing his lips
against Noah's neck, the Aussie kissed Noah tenderly while feeding his hole
more shaft. "Yeahhh." Noah breathed, enjoying the addition of more pleasure
to his body and responded by reaching back for the top's head to press
Nicholas' lips in a little tighter. Applying more pressure, Nicholas tried
to find a happy medium between firm suction and the desire to keep Noah's
skin mark free, but the Amercian didn't seem as concerned. The teenager
pulled tighter still until Nicholas was pulling so hard he had a fold of
Noah's smooth skin between his lips.
The effect of Noah's desire to be kissed harder by Nicholas was for the
Aussie top to find himself pushing his hips forward with extra force as
well. Nicholas' hips were now energised to match the bottom's intensity and
with extra force on Noah's ring it took just a few more seconds for the
sexy top to push his cock so far within Noah's body that Nicholas' skinny
crotch was pressed up against Noah's large, firm arse cheeks and his
6.5-inch boner embedded deep within the American's sweet cunt. This was
exactly what Noah had wanted the moment he'd laid eyes upon Nicholas. The
cute Aussie looked as though he packed plenty of energy and now that he
seemed confident of Noah's ability to take him, Nicholas' crotch began to
ping against the American's meaty, twink cheeks. The mental image of
Nicholas' tight abs, tense as they threw Nicholas' delightful cock inside
him thickened Noah's boner with happiness.
"Think you can go harder if I lay on my front?" Noah asked, more as a
suggestion for Nicholas to go both harder and deeper. The top's blue eyes
shone with a mixture of happiness and pure animal lust as he caught Noah's
suggestion and the implications of it. Nicholas didn't respond with words,
the Aussie pushed the throw to the floor and pulled Noah's face in for a
kiss then pushing his cock in until he pressed his crotch flat against the
bottom's peachy cheeks, Nicholas rotated Noah's slim body the 90° he
needed to lay on top. The pair continued to kiss as Nicholas set his lips
either side of Noah's and then clenching his own skinny arse nice and
tight, the top pulled his boner back 5 inches then slammed his entire shaft
down into Noah's hungry cunt.
"Oh God, yes!" Noah squealed, his lips driven away from Nicholas as the
power of the toned top matched Noah's slutty needs and opened his hole up
with loud, arse shattering slams of his energetic body. From this position
the Stranger Things star felt he could properly appreciate Nicholas' sexual
skills and just as he had been in the build-up, Noah was very happy at the
findings. Looking at their two bodies in the gap between Nicholas' handsome
face and his own plump arse cheeks, Noah watched as Nicholas' tight, erect
nipples moved up and down with increasing speed while the Aussie's tightly
scrunched abs did the same, showing his sixpac in all its toned glory and
that skinny crotch which similar to Finn's shook his entire body when it
smashed into the bottom's peachy arse cheeks.
Trapped beneath Noah his hard cock pulsed as the weight of two increasingly
sweaty bodies slid his cut shaft along the soft fabric of Nicholas'
sofa. The bottom could've reached down to stroke his cock but there was no
need. The force of Nicholas' horny body pushing his cock deep inside Noah's
twinky hole was more than enough to edge the bottom back and forth enough
to stimulate Noah's 7.5-inch pole and to show his appreciation the Stranger
Things star gave a nice, deep growl of pleasure to egg Nicholas on.
Panting heavily, Nicholas had ascended rapidly through the gears resulting
in ringing smacks of his crotch on Noah's meaty arse cheeks. Now Nicholas
felt hornier than ever! Below him, Noah's beautiful face moaned and groaned
up at the Aussie in direct relation to the speed with which Nicholas fucked
him. The top drilled hard and deep, sliding his cut 6.5-inch into the
teenager until his progress was stopped by Noah's firm, muscular cheeks.
Every thrust had been even better than Nicholas could've imagined Noah
would feel. The energetic top drove deep and hard, stroking his bare cock
inside the slender insides of Noah's addictive cunt. Each time Nicholas'
tense arse cheeks pulled him out the Aussie drove himself straight back in,
sliding 6 inches each way within Noah's tight rectum. The teenager could
only grunt and groan in response to each shot of Nicholas' skinny hips, the
top smiled happily at the noises Noah was making, the noises his horny body
was forcing out of this adorable young bottom. It also hadn't gone
unnoticed the way that Noah's arse braced for each impact. Nicholas could
feel that once he had settled into a predictable rhythm, Noah was ready to
push back, giving Nicholas' body a firm crash pad on which to follow
through.
"My Goddddd, dudeee, this feels so fucking good!!!" Nicholas exclaimed
happily. "Yeah bro, pound my little, gay hole." Noah replied. The bottom's
compliance made it all even hotter, so hot in fact, Nicholas was sure he
was only a few more slams away from shooting his load deep into Noah's bare
cunt. Pulling back, Nicholas threw one more thrust from tip to base, then
one more to make sure Noah felt every inch of his prime Aussie meat. After
those two glute smacking thrusts, Nicholas pulled back so far, his boner
popped completely free of Noah's pink ring.
"Ughhh." Noah whined as his hole sealed itself, although from Nicholas'
angle, the top could see a clear gap where his cock had previously lived
within the beautiful pinkness of Noah's stretched ring. Sliding his fingers
across the opening, Nicholas tickled a coo from the adorable bottom. The
sweet Aussie used his fingers to circle the bottom's stretched hole,
listening to Noah groan and moan ever so softly. Nicholas was light and
tender, tracing across the flattened hairs lining Noah's entrance, teasing
the lovable American with every rotation.
If Nicholas' fingers weren't enough for Noah, the Aussie reversed his body
to lower his face into Noah's young hole. Blue eyes looked upon their prey
and then closing in, Nicholas placed a kiss against the bud resulting in
another audible moan from Noah. Placing his thin, pink lips at the roof and
base of Noah's hole, Nicholas kissed tenderly then inserting his tongue
into the widened gap he sucked at the teenager's marrow.
"Oh God!" Noah cried, jubilant at the insertion of the Aussie's wet
tongue. Lapping and swirling within the widened gap, Nicholas paid special
attention to the tender skin and with it gave Noah the most satisfying
mid-fuck recess he'd ever encountered. Pressing his smooth cheeks up
against Noah's juicy arse, Nicholas fed the American all of his tongue,
licking the bottom's damaged insides.
Swiping his tongue up and down within Noah's cavity, Nicholas drank the
bottom's arousing essence. The warmth of Noah's big, round arse against his
face made the Aussie want it more and more. Every swish tasted divine,
filling Nicholas' hard cock with the desire to get back into the game. Not
yet though, he had to be strong for everyone's sake. Getting the chance to
fuck Noah Schnapp wasn't something to be rushed. The twink's smooth body
felt so soft and ready for more action, the perfect home to reinsert his
hard cock. The Aussie's hands squeezed the smooth, warm skin of Noah's
meaty arse cheeks and smiled happily.
"Oh, I love your tongue, your tongue feels so good." Noah purred, pushing
his hole back into Nicholas' handsome face. Giving the Aussie as much
access to his chute as he possibly could, Noah marvelled in the soothing
touch of Nicholas' tongue. The sexually intelligent Aussie exhaled a breath
up Noah's tender chute which the teenager could feel sweep straight up
inside him. The sensitivity of the damaged skin inside his abused hole had
reached a new height for Noah who whined hard after each stroke of that
slippery tongue.
The problem was Noah's constant moaning filled Nicholas with the
overwhelming desire to re-enter the cute American's addictive body. The
arousing cycle continued with tantalising flicks of Nicholas' tongue and in
reply more groans of deep satisfaction. "God, I love you inside me." Noah
cooed again. ["Ugh, that fucking does it!!!] Nicholas screamed inside. The
Aussie pushed his face as far into Noah's gigantic arse as he could,
stretching the cheeks out as far apart as his fingers could spread them and
reaching as far inside as his tongue could extend to stroke the delightful
pinkness of his soft insides then with one quick withdrawal Nicholas popped
free.
There wasn't another second to lose. Nicholas grabbed Noah's left arm and
leg simultaneously, lifting the American to spin him over, then lowered the
bottom down to the wooden floor. Noah aided Nicholas by making himself as
light as possible, allowing the horny top to spin him onto his back and
place Noah's body on the fallen throw. Arms spread to reveal the light
fluff under his cute armpits, Noah's legs also fell wide apart to expose
his gaping, twink hole. The pink entrance called to Nicholas, begging him
to be refilled, a look which Noah's adorable face shared. Those big brown
eyes screamed "fuck me please!" Shuffling forward rapidly, Nicholas closed
the gap placing a hand over Noah's shoulder to balance his weight then
placing his tip at the bottom's entrance, Nicholas looked down into the
American's eyes and advanced.
Minimal force was required to re-penetrate Noah's hole, confirmed by the
unified noise of two boys moaning with erotic pleasure. Nicholas' bare meat
slid within the molten cavern of Noah's addictive hole, marvelling in the
irresistible sensation of the American's tenderised body sliding back
around his bare shaft. In one continuous motion, Nicholas pushed his cock
into the American's body only stopping once his crotch was pressed up
against Noah's warm arse cheeks. Lowering his face down onto Noah's,
Nicholas kissed the bottom and with their smooth chests pressed together,
the top began to move his lower body.
The instant Nicholas found motion the timer was ticking as Noah's
gloriously tight arse hole sucked hard on his raging cock. The stretching
of their initial fuck meant that Nicholas had no problem maxing his length
and to the audible pleasure of them both, the Aussie thumped Noah's plump
arse.
"Dangggg!" Noah breathed happily as the 6.5 inches of Nicholas' cut cock
slammed into his horny body, encouraging his balls to churn rapidly. The
warm friction of Nicholas' bare cock was nearly instant in its ability to
make Noah cum and taking hold of his solid 7.5-inch mast, the bottom knew
glory was just around the corner.
The feel of Nicholas' slender hips rebounding up off his milky arse cheeks
only to return again a second later with similar interest made Noah smile
and sigh happily, his cock was harder than ever, and the feel of the Aussie
buried within him made this experience incredible. Noah strummed himself
rapidly to Nicholas' beat, using the thrust of wonderfully hard meat within
his sensitive hole to edge him closer to a spectacular finish. The bottom
had to hold Nicholas steady as the Aussie gave him the deep pounding, he
had been yearning all day and taking Nicholas' skinny right arse cheek,
Noah felt the muscle tense and contract as it filled his body with bare,
hard, Australian meat.
"I'm getting close dude." Nicholas panted. "Hmmm yeah, gimme that cream!"
Noah beamed, stroking himself even faster safe in the knowledge he too was
only a few strokes away from exploding. Noah stroked half a beat faster
than his sexy top, feeling his cock expand as the pressure in his balls
reached critical mass. Nicholas' crotch pumped into Noah's cunt hard and
fast at nearly two beats per second whilst the pair groaned along
happily. The Aussie's bare cock slid free and fast inside Noah's chute,
stroking the American's tender membrane to the delight of both boys.
"Yeah...it's cumming...I'm cumming. OH FUCK!!!" Nicholas cried as he
slammed his horny crotch up against Noah's sweaty, peachy cheeks, allowing
the bottom's tight, sexy body to relieve his swollen balls. "GOD YEAH,
that's so hot I'm gonna shoot too!" Noah cried, accelerating his words and
his fist as he spoke. The teenager had barely finished his sentence when
his slit launched a rope of his cum across his smooth, pale chest. "Fuck
you're so hot!!!" Nicholas exclaimed as his cock managed to grow larger
still as it exploded inside Noah's beautiful body.
Even though he was mid orgasm, Nicholas was unable to stop ploughing his
hard cock into Noah's gorgeous body. The way Noah's mouth hung to allow the
bottom to groan endlessly with delight while Nicholas' cock fired ropes of
Australian spunk deep inside Noah's smooth belly inspired the top to
continue moving, making sure Noah looked like that for as long as he could
manage.
Midway through his orgasm Noah dropped his firing cock without warning and
grabbed hold of Nicholas' skinny arse cheeks. "Good God, you're so hot!!!"
Nicholas cried with delight, ramming himself into Noah's delightful arse
just to watch the chain reaction of cum squirting from the bottom's free
squirting boner. The response from Noah was indirect but unmistakable,
constant and consistent groaning to commentate the journey of his cum being
squeezed by the muscles of his spasming cock to ejaculate out over his
twinky chest. Still, Noah's hands orchestrated Nicholas' body, pulling the
Australian not just to fill his hole but to destroy it. And each time he
pulled Nicholas forward, the top's body crashed hard into his peachy arse
cheeks which had nowhere to go with a hard floor preventing any shock
absorption. This was the feeling Noah adored, the feeling of a velvety load
quenching the thirst of his horny, young hole.
First to explode, Nicholas enjoyed every moment of his orgasm, filling
Noah's pie with copious amounts of Australian cream. The slender top loved
the feel of Noah's slim body around his cock as the bottom's bare hole
drank his nuts dry. The crowning moment came when mid-orgasm Noah's soft
hands took a firm grasp of his sweaty arse cheeks and pulled Nicholas in
for more. The Aussie top counted what felt like a dozen squirts of his
seed, emptying the contents of his heavy nuts into Noah's smooth belly. The
pressure had left his balls giving Nicholas a sense of sweet relief
although Noah kept pulling him.
Inside Noah's chute, Nicholas' cock continued to tense and fidget but the
top knew he was done and from the look of Noah's cock the bottom was in the
same place. Gradually slowing down to stop, Nicholas locked eyes with the
bottom and exchanged grins. Noah's grip of his skinny arse weakened until
the Stranger Things star released Nicholas completely and lay there empty
but impaled on the cute Aussie's softening boner. There was another 30
seconds to scan Noah's beautiful body, allowing Nicholas to make a mental
image of the smooth, pale skin across Noah's adorable torso, splashed with
streaks of white marbly spunk stretching from his belly button to his
collarbone. There was only one way to end their union which Nicholas
initiated by lowering his face down to kiss his beautiful bottom in a
tender embrace.
The moment Nicholas' lips hit him for a post sex embrace Noah knew the
Aussie was the kind of guy he could remain friends with. Who knew what that
meant for the future; was it a one-night stand, would they become friends
with benefits or could they maybe even date someday? Right now, it was
impossible to say but that didn't take anything away from this magical
moment.
The pair sighed in unison when Nicholas' cock finally fell from Noah's
chute although the bottom's sound effect had more bass and volume. Noah's
reaction convinced the top to break their kiss. "Are you OK?" Nicholas
asked sweetly. "I feel great!" Noah beamed happily. "Ahhh...you look
great." Nicholas smiled, scanning the bottom's lovable, naked body. "Thank
you, you look incredible too." Noah replied, 1-upping his host. "Nawww, you
think?" Nicholas blushed. "Yuh-huh." Noah nodded. "That's sweet. Let me
grab your arse some tissues." Nicholas grinned.
Together they mopped the spunk, streaked up the front of Noah's smooth
belly after Nick had plucked the tissue box from the table. Combined they
made light work of the mess and with it came the question, what were they
going to do next? As the host Nicholas felt it was his duty to continue
making Noah feel as welcome as he possibly could.
"Hey dude, do you have somewhere to be or do you wanna hang out and finish
the film?" Nicholas asked. Both options were on the table, but the Aussie
climbed back onto the couch as he mentioned it, as if he were trying to
communicate through his movements too. "I can hang out if you don't mind me
being here." Noah replied. The American couldn't think of anything better
than staying with his handsome top and climbed back up onto the couch to
join Nicholas. The Aussie slid back under the throw lying on his side then
moving right to the back of the couch giving Noah plenty of space to resume
being the little spoon. Once Noah was settled, Nicholas hit the remote to
continue playing the movie. Wrapped in each other's slim, sticky, naked
bodies the two young actors felt extremely satisfied with the world right
now.
END
Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed the story.
If you like what you've read, please let me know by emailing me on
pcwtosh@gmail.com and/or for updates: Instagram - pcwtoshx Twitter -
@pcwtosh
Here is the rest of my collection:
Sticky Blinders, After party at the OSCARs, Cole Me By Your Name, Happy
18th Bro, Coffee for John, An Audition to Remember, Breakfast Boot, The
Queen's English, Brooklyn Learns a Lesson, Bad Panther, Bad to the Bones,
13 Goo-uld Reasons Why, Gallaghers' Indian Takeaway, Now You See Cole, Big
Apple Aussies, Cole el Elite & The Power of My Name.
Gymnastics Fantastics 1, 2, Celtic Bond & Coach Crammer.
Ripped Roses, Jack's Web, Naughty Neigbours & Devils and Dragons.
Raging Scott, Swim Team, HRVY PTY, Swimnasium & Laugher of the Ice King.
Vamp-ing, Vamp-ing 2, Strictly Come Vamp-ing, One Direction to Dunkirk &
Deep Dipping in Dunkirk.
Reese Wilkerson the Heartstopper.
Stranger Boys: Stranger Mendes, Oral Things, Someone Stranger in the Fuller
House, A Stranger Series of Events & Anal Things.
Welcome to Beckingham Palace & HRVY-RM-TRLGY.
No Dunes in Miami, Just Devil 86 & Riviera Rendezvouz.
North American Swedes, Fly Eagles Fly, Maple Mashup & Seeding the Swede.
Tennis series: Touring with the Next-Gen, Double Fault, A Break in the
Bahamas, Bulging Bulgarian, Winner Takes All, Tennis' Masochistic Maple
Leafs, Made in Russia, Revenge is Sweet, Austria v Germany in Chelsea,
Sleeping Meadows, Team Building in Melbourne Park, Dominic and the Minaur &
Rey of the Acropolis.
Football series: Lilywhite Hoops, From Paris with Love, The Hero and the
Zero, Austria v Germany in Chelsea, Return to the Wolfpack, The Tails of
Two Nike Stars, Bayern Boys, Barca Buddies & Not so Mellow in Yellow.
Premier League Football Series
F1 World Series
Scrum Down - Rugby Series
On Ice - Hockey Series
England Cricket Boys Series
Diving Squad Series
Formula Football Series
BoysPlay Mansion Series
Twins Next Door Series
You can show your appreciation for all the guys at Nifty by donating here,
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</pcwtosh@gmail.com>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance/tarzan-and-the-dance-of-dominance-54 | Date: Sat, 10 Aug 2024 16:01:55 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 54
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 54: The False Hero--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 54 -- The False Hero
As the Baron delved deeper into the recesses of his memory, he unearthed a
trove of infuriating tales, each one glorifying the insufferable meddler
known as Tarzan. These stories had spread like wildfire, painting Tarzan as
some kind of jungle savior, when in truth, he was nothing more than a thorn
in the side of true alpha dominance.
One particularly infuriating account told of Tarzan's intervention in a
territorial dispute between two rival tribes. The fools cheered him on,
blissfully ignorant of the natural order that dictated such conflicts. In
the Baron's eyes, Tarzan's interference was a blatant affront to the very
essence of dominance.
Then there was the tale of Tarzan rescuing a damsel in distress from a
rampaging beast. The crowd's adulation was deafening, their misguided
applause drowning out the harsh reality--the beast was a magnificent
specimen, a prime example of untamed power. Tarzan's interference was an
insult to the circle of life itself.
The Baron's blood boiled at the memory of Tarzan thwarting a carefully
planned hunt. The jungle's balance depended on the culling of weak and
inferior prey, a fact lost on the ignorant masses who hailed Tarzan as a
protector of all creatures. In the Baron's eyes, Tarzan was a misguided
fool, blind to the natural order.
Another tale told of Tarzan taming a ferocious wildcat, transforming it
into a docile companion. The crowds marveled at this supposed triumph,
utterly blind to the raw, primal strength that defined the beast. To the
Baron, Tarzan's act was an act of emasculation, a betrayal of the essence
of true alpha dominance.
And then there was the insufferable incident where Tarzan dared to
challenge a rival alpha male for control of a coveted territory. The
audacity of such an act was beyond comprehension. The rightful alpha was
destined to rule, and yet, the ignorant masses cheered for Tarzan, blind to
the inevitable outcome. In the Baron's eyes, Tarzan's actions were nothing
short of sacrilege.
The final straw came when Tarzan took it upon himself to protect a tribe of
feeble humans from a formidable threat. The tribe should have been left to
fend for themselves, to face the crucible of survival that would have
determined their worthiness. Tarzan's intervention was an affront to the
very principles that governed the jungle.
As the Baron recounted these infuriating stories, a burning determination
ignited within him. He had dedicated his life to righting the wrongs
perpetrated by this self-proclaimed hero. It was time to strip away the
false veneer and reveal Tarzan for the meddlesome nuisance he truly was.
To be continued...
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com . | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
<pre>Date: Sat, 10 Aug 2024 16:01:55 -0600
From: tarzan <tarzanstud1@gmail.com>
Subject: Tarzan and The Dance of Dominance - Chapter 54
Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from
sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in
this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas.
Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a
platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate:
http://donate.nifty.org/.
Chapter 54: The False Hero--------------------------------
(c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 54 -- The False Hero
As the Baron delved deeper into the recesses of his memory, he unearthed a
trove of infuriating tales, each one glorifying the insufferable meddler
known as Tarzan. These stories had spread like wildfire, painting Tarzan as
some kind of jungle savior, when in truth, he was nothing more than a thorn
in the side of true alpha dominance.
One particularly infuriating account told of Tarzan's intervention in a
territorial dispute between two rival tribes. The fools cheered him on,
blissfully ignorant of the natural order that dictated such conflicts. In
the Baron's eyes, Tarzan's interference was a blatant affront to the very
essence of dominance.
Then there was the tale of Tarzan rescuing a damsel in distress from a
rampaging beast. The crowd's adulation was deafening, their misguided
applause drowning out the harsh reality--the beast was a magnificent
specimen, a prime example of untamed power. Tarzan's interference was an
insult to the circle of life itself.
The Baron's blood boiled at the memory of Tarzan thwarting a carefully
planned hunt. The jungle's balance depended on the culling of weak and
inferior prey, a fact lost on the ignorant masses who hailed Tarzan as a
protector of all creatures. In the Baron's eyes, Tarzan was a misguided
fool, blind to the natural order.
Another tale told of Tarzan taming a ferocious wildcat, transforming it
into a docile companion. The crowds marveled at this supposed triumph,
utterly blind to the raw, primal strength that defined the beast. To the
Baron, Tarzan's act was an act of emasculation, a betrayal of the essence
of true alpha dominance.
And then there was the insufferable incident where Tarzan dared to
challenge a rival alpha male for control of a coveted territory. The
audacity of such an act was beyond comprehension. The rightful alpha was
destined to rule, and yet, the ignorant masses cheered for Tarzan, blind to
the inevitable outcome. In the Baron's eyes, Tarzan's actions were nothing
short of sacrilege.
The final straw came when Tarzan took it upon himself to protect a tribe of
feeble humans from a formidable threat. The tribe should have been left to
fend for themselves, to face the crucible of survival that would have
determined their worthiness. Tarzan's intervention was an affront to the
very principles that governed the jungle.
As the Baron recounted these infuriating stories, a burning determination
ignited within him. He had dedicated his life to righting the wrongs
perpetrated by this self-proclaimed hero. It was time to strip away the
false veneer and reveal Tarzan for the meddlesome nuisance he truly was.
To be continued...
* * * * *
END OF CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR-------------------------------------
Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions,
including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input,
please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .
</pre>
</div></div> |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/jj-gets-the-info | Date: Thu, 11 Apr 2024 20:55:38 +0000 From: VAlowRider Subject: Criminal Minds Fan Fiction: JJ Gets the Info These stories are only made possible by the amazing team at Nifty.org Nifty needs your donations to provide these wonderful stories. Please consider making a small donation today! (using link https://donate.nifty.org/). This story is fantasy. It is based on imaginary characters. Any resemblance between reality and real persons is purely coincidence. Criminal Minds Fan Fiction Reed sat in the observation room, intently watching Rossi interview the boy. Even with his years of work in the BAU, Rossi seemed to be getting nowhere. He'd reviewed the boy's story and had picked apart the excuses that the kid gave regarding the missing girl- but the boy just wouldn't crack. It looked as if they'd hit another dead end and time was running out. Suddenly, Reed straightened in his chair and clicked the mic to get Rossi's attention. When Rossi signaled that he heard the click, Reed spoke, "Talk about his family, mention his mother first, his father second, his sister third and his little brother last. I want to see his reactions to each person." Rossi looked at the boy and said, "Kid, I'm trying to help you out here. There's no one here in this room except you and me. Your mother isn't here. Where is she? Oh, that's right, she took off for Greece as soon as she thought there might be trouble. How about your dad? Oh, he's gone too- isn't he? I think we're trying to extradite him from France. I guess it's a shame he didn't take you with him... And your older sister- the only person who ever seemed to show you any kindness- she's gone too! What age would she be now, if she was still alive- 26? 28? It's like your entire family turned their backs on you. Even your little brother has gone to live with your Aunt Margaret. He didn't even ask to say good by to you. That must hurt..." The boy sat back in his chair with his arms crossed and glared at Rossi without saying a word. Reed spoke again. "I think I have an idea. Let's give him a few minutes to stew and see if we can get a plan together." Rossi stood up and said to the boy, "I recommend you think about the things we've talked about. You're not helping anyone with your silence. Most of all, you're not helping yourself. I'll give you a few minutes to consider what you want to do." The team had gathered in the ready room down the hall, but before they could begin their discussion, everyone's phone started beeping. When the phones were checked, they all had the same message, "Mr. Scratch possibly spotted in New Orleans. Leave ASAP." Prentiss faced the group and said, "Mr. Scratch is and has been our top priority for over a year now. If there's any chance that we can recapture him, we have to take it. But, we don't need everyone. Reed- Rossi says you have an idea to get into this kid's head. You stay here and work your magic. JJ, you stay here with him. Everyone else- wheels up in 20 minutes. Let's go!" After the rest of the team left the room, Reed and JJ sat at a table at the back of the room. JJ reached across the table and took Reed's hand in hers. "How can I help? What do we need to do to get through to this kid?" "I was watching him when Rossi was doing his interview. Every time his sister was mentioned, his eyes widened just a bit and he would swallow. He also clenched his hands in his lap- not in anger, but like he feels helpless. He wants to help the girl, he just needs the right impetus to break from the family." "And you have an idea of what that impetus might be?" "I do. He was very close to his sister growing up. I've read some of his journals and he developed quite a sexual interest in her. There are entire pages devoted to the things he wanted to do with her. Scenes on his bed, her bed, the couch in the living room, the kitchen table. It almost seems like he wanted to make a porno with her." "Okay, so he has a thing for his sister. How does that help us?" Reed reached into a thick folder and withdrew a picture. It was a young woman with blue eyes and blond hair, she could easily have passed for JJ's younger sister. JJ looked from the picture to Reed's face and said, "What are you suggesting?" "I'm suggesting that we only have five more hours to find the girl. If we haven't found her by then, she'll be dead. I'm willing to do anything I can to see that doesn't happen." "Okay, I agree that we need to move fast. What do you want me to do?" "I want you to sleep with him- as his sister." "Spencer! Are you crazy? It's one thing for you and me to fool around- but to seduce a MINOR? We could BOTH lose our jobs, or even go to jail." "I admit we're taking a chance, BUT- I've checked, the age of consent in this state is sixteen, Daniel is seventeen, AND, he's not a suspect- we just believe he has information that we need. He may not even know that he knows where the girl is- we just have to help him figure out what he knows..." After a few more moments of discussion, they left the room, Reed went to the front desk to begin the paperwork to have the boy released into his and JJ's custody. When he was finished at the desk, he took a cup of water to the interview room. "Rossi had to leave for another case. He left me in charge- You've been in here for quite a while. Do you need a bathroom? Food?" The boy shook his head at the offers of food and a bathroom break, but nodded when Reed slid the cup of water across the table. He grabbed the cup with both hands and drained it dry. "Do you need more?" Reed asked. "No. I'm good." the boy replied. "Okay, I need to go do some paperwork. My partner, JJ will be here in a few minutes. I'm going to be honest with you- I don't think you belong here. I don't think you've done anything to keep you here, so JJ is going to take you out of here so you can get some fresh air. You haven't met JJ yet, but I think you'll like her. She's really a sweet person." With that, Reed returned to the ready room to await JJ's return. It took another 15 minutes before JJ entered the room. Reed, normally in perfect control of his body, felt his cock begin to lengthen and fill as he took in the outfit JJ was wearing. No bra, but a tube top covered by an unbuttoned man's shirt that was tied above her belly button. A SHORT leather skirt with black, thigh high nylons and knee high boots with spike heels completed the ensemble. "Are you ready?" Reed asked. JJ smiled and lifted her leg to place her foot on the chair. Doing so afforded Reed a view up her skirt to where her blonde, curly bush nestled at the vee of her thighs. He playfully slid his hand along the inside of her thigh and she slapped his hand in mock anger. "There's no time for that right now Spencer! We need to get on with this job if we're going to save this girl's life. Do you think the drugs have kicked in yet?" "They should be, I gave him the water with the liquid benadryl about 20 minutes ago. If it hasn't taken effect yet, it should at any time now." Together, they walked back to the interview room and Reed entered alone. The boy was sitting with his head on the table, snoring lightly. Reed signaled to JJ who entered and between the two of them, they got the boy onto his feet and walked him down the hallway to the back door. The team's SUV was parked just outside the door and they slid the boy into the back seat. JJ climbed in with him while Reed drove them back to the hotel. At the hotel, Reed parked just outside of JJ's room. They got the boy inside and undressed him before placing him in the bed. They arranged two of the lamps to shine directly on the bed and left the rest of the room in darkness. Reed took the chair from the desk and sat in the farthest corner with the deepest shadow. When all was ready, JJ sat on the edge of the bed and lightly slapped the boy's cheeks. "Daniel! Daniel! Wake up! Daniel Wake up- I need your help!" The boy opened his eyes and jerked away when he saw the young woman beside him. "Jenna! What are you doing? You can't be here, you died!" Jenna (JJ) laughed softly, "What? No, silly! I'm fine. You were dreaming when I came in- it sounded pretty crazy. You must have just dreamed that I died. BUT, as you can see, I'm right here!." She took his hand a placed it inside the shirt so the boy could feel her nipple through the tube top. He applied light pressure and rubbed gently in a circular motion. "Jenna" inhaled sharply and arched her back, pushing her nipple more firmly against the boy's fingers. "Are you going to HIM again?" "I don't have any choice Buddy, you know how he is- if I say 'no' there's no telling what he might do- to me, to you... or Ryan. I can't take that chance. I wish it was you though- you're the only one who has ever truly loved me. Sometimes I wake up at night and I want you so badly that I ACHE... Check this out!" She cocked her knee and took his other hand, sliding it up her nylon until he was touching her bare flesh. Although she was playing a role, JJ could feel herself getting excited in spite of herself. The boy's fingers were continuing to stimulate her nipple and when he touched her pussy, his finger slipped right in because she was so wet and excited. She gasped with pleasure and reached down to take his penis in her hand. The boy was only seventeen, but he was easily as big as any cock she'd ever fucked. She used her free hand to untie the shirt and push it off her shoulders. Once the shirt was gone, she lifted Daniel's hand for a moment and quickly removed her tube top. Even after two children, her breasts stood out perkily and her nipples swelled in anticipation. She unzipped and shimmied out of the leather skirt then leaned over and kissed the boy on his lips. "Mmmmmm..." he moaned. "You know, I've wanted to do this for the longest time... I've been watching you ever since you started going through puberty. I've loved watching you get hair on your chest, and your underarms. And watching that BULGE in your pants. Sometimes I think I'm going to go crazy if I don't get to taste you..." She leaned down and licked the head of his cock, swirling her tongue behind the rim before taking him as deep into her mouth as possible. The way the boy bucked, she was half afraid he'd cum before she could get what she needed. JJ pulled off of his dick and kissed her way up his stomach and chest to his lips. She straddled him and rubbed her pussy lips on his hard shaft. "Do you like that Daniel? Do you like feeling my pussy rubbing over your cock? Do you want to slide it inside?" She reached behind her to place his dick head against her pussy lips and press down just enough to get the head inside. The boy groaned and tried to thrust upward, but JJ rose along with him, so he couldn't go deeper in. "Oh yes! You do want that, don't you Buddy? I want it too! I'll give it to you in just a minute, but I need to know something first- Where did Dad take the girl?" "I don't know Jenna! Please don't tease me- I love you! Please let me fuck you- I've wanted to since forever...!" "I will Buddy, I will let you fuck me. See, how does this feel?" With that, JJ slowly slid part way down the boy's cock before positioning his dick head back inside her pussy lips. "Tell me Buddy- where do you THINK Dad took the girl?" "I'm not sure, but when he got home, he gave mom some blooms from a mock-orange bush. He said that it was to prove he'd `done the deed'. Mom acted upset, said that if anyone found out, that it would be too easy to trace back to her- but Dad just told her she was being paranoid." "Oh Daniel, that's great! I always knew you were the smartest one in the family. You're such a good boy- you deserve a reward!" JJ once again lowered herself onto the boy's thick cock, sliding all the way down until her pussy lips were grinding into his bush. She rocked there for just a second or two before returning to her original position. "Where do you think he got the mock-orange Buddy?" she whispered as she nibbled on his earlobe. "There's only one place that I know of- on the Varanas property. I remember going there once with Dad and he pointed out a big mock-orange bush next to the barn door." "Oh Buddy! You're so smart! Are you ready to really fuck now? Do you want my pussy?" "Yes Jenna! Please, I've waited so long. I want to feel your pussy all the way down on my cock!" With that, JJ slid down his hard shaft for a third time, but this time, she didn't stop. She took control and fucked him like a two dollar whore. Bottoming out and rubbing her pussy lips on his balls, rocking back and forth, taking him deep- over and over. The boy was so over stimulated that it only took a few minutes before he shot his load. JJ pushed her weight onto him to prevent him from trying to get up. She whispered into his ear "Wow! Buddy, you're such a good lover. Your cock felt wonderful spreading my pussy lips. I'm going to stay here with you all night... Just close your eyes and go to sleep... She stayed in position until his softening dick slipped out of her pussy. Soon, she heard him begin to snore softly. When she was convinced that he was asleep, she rose from the bed and walked over to where Reed was sitting. He had watched JJ's whole performance and he was just as horny as the boy had been. His pants were down around his ankles and his dick was standing tall and proud. "I just texted Garcia- she's checking out property records to see if she can find anything belonging to a Varanas and what, if any, link it could have to this case. You know Penelope, she'll probably be calling us back within the hour." "Well, an hour is plenty of time to enjoy ourselves." She knelt between his legs and began to suck his hard cock. She used her tongue to stimulate the frenulum and to scrub the corona. She deep throated him and licked his balls. Reed took her by the shoulders and raised her to her feet. He slipped his pants completely off and rose from his chair, leading her over to the other bed. They stood kissing for several moments before he gently pushed her down on the bed and lifted her ankles over his shoulders. He knelt and began to kiss the backs and insides of her thighs. He worked his way upward and the closer he got to her pussy, the more he could smell her familiar scent. He could also smell the boy's ejaculate and his own cock throbbed in anticipation. When he got to her pussy, he took his time to lick along the outside of her pussy lips, working up one side of her cunt and back down the other side. He used his tongue to tickle the little man in the boat and JJ groaned out loud. Finally, he slid his tongue as deep into her gash as he could. The taste of her fluid and the boy's cum nearly made him shoot his load then and there. He carefully worked out as much of the boy's juice as he could, savoring the blend of their two juices. JJ had been to intent on getting the information out of Daniel to concentrate on her own orgasm, so she was primed to the gills and it only took a minute of Reed sucking her pussy lips into his mouth while stimulating her clit with his tongue to cause her to buck and jump, while she pushed his head hard against her pussy. Once JJ began to come down from her orgasm, Reed stood up and got on the bed on his knees. His knees were on either side of JJ's ass and he pushed the knob of his meat downward to rub against her pussy lips. He leaned over and began to kiss and suck her beautiful nipples. Once he felt his dickhead rubbing against her pussy lips he thrust deeply and smoothly into her silky smooth hole. He pushed in until his balls were pressed against her ass. He moved his mouth from her tit to her mouth and the two french kissed passionately. "Fuck me Spencer! I need to cum again. I want to feel your cock sliding in and out of my pussy. Make me cum Spencer! Make me cum!" JJ was practically shouting with her need to be fucked. Reed drew back until only the head was still inside, only to quickly slide back in to his balls. He quickly established a rhythm, stroking in and out, in and out... JJ again, began to buck wildly with her second orgasm and the stimulation was about to cause Spencer to shoot his load as well. "I'm about to shoot!" he panted. "Where do you want it?" "In my mouth! I want to taste it!" she responded. Reed quickly pulled out of her dripping pussy and lay down beside her with his head pointing toward her feet. He pushed her legs open and began to lick and suck her pussy for the second time. JJ wasted no time before taking his meat into her hand and sliding it into her mouth. She deep throated him, going all the way to his balls and working her throat to stimulate him as much as possible. Since he was about to cum anyway, it only took a few seconds for his balls to explode and send a cascade of cum into her mouth. Some of the cum went into her airway, causing her to cough violently, but JJ kept her mouth pressed against his pubic hair until she swallowed every drop. Meanwhile, Reed had been working over her pussy like the expert he was. He had her clitoris trapped between his lips while he used his tongue to massage it, licking it from the base to the top, around and around, before licking and sucking at her pussy lips. For the third time in twenty minutes, JJ erupted into her orgasm- this one was much more intense than either of the previous two. Reed moved around again so the two could lay with their arms around each other while they kissed deeply. Spencer's phone buzzed just a few seconds after they had started relaxing together. "Yea Garcia, this is Reed. What did you find?" "Well, Boy Wonder, I owe you and everyone else on the team an apology and I especially owe that poor girl an apology. What I found was a property that used to belong to a `Varanas' family. It's right next door to where Daniel's mother grew up. But there's something weird about the property... it seems that the last member of the family died about twenty years ago. There were no heirs, so no one ever took possession of it, BUT... the taxes have been paid up every year. So SOMEONE has been writing a check every year for the past twenty years... Something seems fishy to me." Garcia said. "When I pulled up copies of the checks used to pay the taxes, they were all signed by a Marjorie Whitman. And before you ask- Yes, I got some aerial photos of the property- I've already sent them to your phone." "Thanks Garcia!" Spencer said as he disconnected and began to pull up the pictures. He scrolled through over a dozen photos before he stopped and began to zoom in on one in particular. "JJ look at this!" He said, holding the phone at an angle so she could see the screen. "What am I supposed to be looking for?" She asked. "See the building on the far right? Well follow that all the way back to the left. Now if you can see the intersection where the shed on the right and the shed on the left seem to merge... There's a bush there, and I'm pretty sure it's a mock-orange." JJ sat up on the bed and said "At least we still have over three hours before the deadline. I'm going to grab a quick shower before we leave. The last thing I want to do is show up at a crime scene and having everyone there think that I smell like sweat and cum. And it wouldn't hurt you to rinse some of the sweat and cum off you too! She laughed. Reed grimaced and took a deep sniff. "Whew! You're right about that..." He followed her into the bathroom and quickly stepped into the shower. He watched JJ as she douched to get out any of the remaining semen from tonight's activities. She was finished by the time he'd washed his pits and privates and he jumped out to get dried off while she took her own speedy shower. After getting dressed, they got Daniel dressed as well. JJ wrinkled her nose at the smell of sweat and cum that emanated from the boy. "I guess if anyone asks about the smell we'll just say that we believe he had a wet dream while we were bringing him to his aunt's house." She said. It had been decided that since he wasn't actually involved in the crime, that he'd be turned over to his aunt's custody once they got the needed information from him. Reed called the woman and told her that they'd be dropping the boy off in about twenty minutes. Once he hung up, they walked the boy out to the SUV and got him into the back seat. Since JJ was no longer playing the part of "Jenna" she got into the front with Reed. Still under the influence of the benadryl, the boy was soon slumped across the seat snoring. Once they dropped off the boy, they made their excuses and left quickly, it took nearly an hour to get to the address provided by Garcia. When they arrived, dawn was breaking and they could see the mock orange bush standing at the corner of one of the buildings. When they got out to look around, JJ saw that the door on that shed was closed tight with a padlock. Reed got a tire iron out of the truck and used it to break the hasp. Inside, they found another door with a padlock and forced that one too. The second door opened into a windowless room about eight feet by eight feet. The girl was laying on a cot with a blindfold and a gag on her face and an IV in her arm. She was tied to the bed with nylon straps. JJ checked her pulse and her breathing and nodded to Reed. "She's alive, call an ambulance!" She stayed with the girl while Reed went outside to call for help. The next day, they were sitting in the bullpen at the BAU when the rest of the team entered dejectedly. At their questioning looks Prentiss responded, "No luck. He was there, but he was long gone by the time we arrived. There were two more victims that fit his MO. The coroner in New Orleans is trying to prove definitively whether it was the work of Mr. Scratch or a copycat. I'm happy to hear that you two were successful. The girl should be back home with her parents, Daniel and Ryan are with their aunt and we'll be expediting their parents as quickly as the red tape allows. How did you do it?" Reed and JJ looked at each other and back to Emily. "Well, Reed figured out that Daniel misses his sister horribly and that she could be the key to breaking down the barriers. It didn't hurt that she and I look enough alike to be twin sisters." Reed butted in, " And JJ is a fantastic actor. Once she got into character, it took her less than ten minutes to get the information we were looking for. I mean, you could almost say that it exploded out of him!" JJ choked on the sip of coffee she'd just taken. Emily looked at her bright red face and asked "Are you okay?" "Yes! Yes... I just got something in the wrong hole- that's all." This time Reed seemed to be choking. "What is going on with those two?" Emily wondered as she walked away. END | <div id="readability-content"><div id="readability-page-1" class="page">
Date: Thu, 11 Apr 2024 20:55:38 +0000
From: VAlowRider <valowrider@proton.me>
Subject: Criminal Minds Fan Fiction: JJ Gets the Info
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This story is fantasy. It is based on imaginary characters. Any
resemblance between reality and real persons is purely coincidence.
Criminal Minds Fan Fiction
Reed sat in the observation room, intently watching Rossi interview the
boy. Even with his years of work in the BAU, Rossi seemed to be getting
nowhere. He'd reviewed the boy's story and had picked apart the excuses
that the kid gave regarding the missing girl- but the boy just wouldn't
crack. It looked as if they'd hit another dead end and time was running
out.
Suddenly, Reed straightened in his chair and clicked the mic to get
Rossi's attention. When Rossi signaled that he heard the click, Reed
spoke, "Talk about his family, mention his mother first, his father
second, his sister third and his little brother last. I want to see his
reactions to each person."
Rossi looked at the boy and said, "Kid, I'm trying to help you out here.
There's no one here in this room except you and me. Your mother isn't
here. Where is she? Oh, that's right, she took off for Greece as soon as
she thought there might be trouble. How about your dad? Oh, he's gone
too- isn't he? I think we're trying to extradite him from France. I guess
it's a shame he didn't take you with him... And your older sister- the
only person who ever seemed to show you any kindness- she's gone too!
What age would she be now, if she was still alive- 26? 28? It's like
your entire family turned their backs on you. Even your little brother
has gone to live with your Aunt Margaret. He didn't even ask to say good
by to you. That must hurt..."
The boy sat back in his chair with his arms crossed and glared at Rossi
without saying a word.
Reed spoke again. "I think I have an idea. Let's give him a few minutes
to stew and see if we can get a plan together."
Rossi stood up and said to the boy, "I recommend you think about the
things we've talked about. You're not helping anyone with your silence.
Most of all, you're not helping yourself. I'll give you a few minutes to
consider what you want to do."
The team had gathered in the ready room down the hall, but before they
could begin their discussion, everyone's phone started beeping. When the
phones were checked, they all had the same message, "Mr. Scratch possibly
spotted in New Orleans. Leave ASAP."
Prentiss faced the group and said, "Mr. Scratch is and has been our top
priority for over a year now. If there's any chance that we can recapture
him, we have to take it.
But, we don't need everyone. Reed- Rossi says you have an idea to get
into this kid's head. You stay here and work your magic. JJ, you stay
here with him. Everyone else- wheels up in 20 minutes. Let's go!"
After the rest of the team left the room, Reed and JJ sat at a table at
the back of the room. JJ reached across the table and took Reed's hand in
hers.
"How can I help? What do we need to do to get through to this kid?"
"I was watching him when Rossi was doing his interview. Every time his
sister was mentioned, his eyes widened just a bit and he would swallow.
He also clenched his hands in his lap- not in anger, but like he feels
helpless. He wants to help the girl, he just needs the right impetus to
break from the family."
"And you have an idea of what that impetus might be?"
"I do. He was very close to his sister growing up. I've read some of his
journals and he developed quite a sexual interest in her. There are
entire pages devoted to the things he wanted to do with her. Scenes on
his bed, her bed, the couch in the living room, the kitchen table. It
almost seems like he wanted to make a porno with her."
"Okay, so he has a thing for his sister. How does that help us?"
Reed reached into a thick folder and withdrew a picture. It was a young
woman with blue eyes and blond hair, she could easily have passed for
JJ's younger sister.
JJ looked from the picture to Reed's face and said, "What are you
suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting that we only have five more hours to find the girl. If we
haven't found her by then, she'll be dead. I'm willing to do anything I
can to see that doesn't happen."
"Okay, I agree that we need to move fast. What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to sleep with him- as his sister."
"Spencer! Are you crazy? It's one thing for you and me to fool around-
but to seduce a MINOR? We could BOTH lose our jobs, or even go to jail."
"I admit we're taking a chance, BUT- I've checked, the age of consent in
this state is sixteen, Daniel is seventeen, AND, he's not a suspect- we
just believe he has information that we need. He may not even know that
he knows where the girl is- we just have to help him figure out what he
knows..."
After a few more moments of discussion, they left the room, Reed went to
the front desk to begin the paperwork to have the boy released into his
and JJ's custody. When he was finished at the desk, he took a cup of
water to the interview room.
"Rossi had to leave for another case. He left me in charge- You've been
in here for quite a while. Do you need a bathroom? Food?" The boy shook
his head at the offers of food and a bathroom break, but nodded when Reed
slid the cup of water across the table.
He grabbed the cup with both hands and drained it dry. "Do you need
more?" Reed asked.
"No. I'm good." the boy replied.
"Okay, I need to go do some paperwork. My partner, JJ will be here in a
few minutes. I'm going to be honest with you- I don't think you belong
here. I don't think you've done anything to keep you here, so JJ is going
to take you out of here so you can get some fresh air.
You haven't met JJ yet, but I think you'll like her. She's really a sweet
person." With that, Reed returned to the ready room to await JJ's return.
It took another 15 minutes before JJ entered the room. Reed, normally in
perfect control of his body, felt his cock begin to lengthen and fill as
he took in the outfit JJ was wearing.
No bra, but a tube top covered by an unbuttoned man's shirt that was tied
above her belly button. A SHORT leather skirt with black, thigh high
nylons and knee high boots with spike heels completed the ensemble.
"Are you ready?" Reed asked.
JJ smiled and lifted her leg to place her foot on the chair. Doing so
afforded Reed a view up her skirt to where her blonde, curly bush nestled
at the vee of her thighs. He playfully slid his hand along the inside of
her thigh and she slapped his hand in mock anger.
"There's no time for that right now Spencer! We need to get on with this
job if we're going to save this girl's life. Do you think the drugs have
kicked in yet?"
"They should be, I gave him the water with the liquid benadryl about 20
minutes ago. If it hasn't taken effect yet, it should at any time now."
Together, they walked back to the interview room and Reed entered alone.
The boy was sitting with his head on the table, snoring lightly. Reed
signaled to JJ who entered and between the two of them, they got the boy
onto his feet and walked him down the hallway to the back door. The
team's SUV was parked just outside the door and they slid the boy into
the back seat. JJ climbed in with him while Reed drove them back to the
hotel.
At the hotel, Reed parked just outside of JJ's room. They got the boy
inside and undressed him before placing him in the bed. They arranged two
of the lamps to shine directly on the bed and left the rest of the room
in darkness. Reed took the chair from the desk and sat in the farthest
corner with the deepest shadow.
When all was ready, JJ sat on the edge of the bed and lightly slapped the
boy's cheeks. "Daniel! Daniel! Wake up! Daniel Wake up- I need your
help!"
The boy opened his eyes and jerked away when he saw the young woman
beside him. "Jenna! What are you doing? You can't be here, you died!"
Jenna (JJ) laughed softly, "What? No, silly! I'm fine. You were dreaming
when I came in- it sounded pretty crazy. You must have just dreamed that
I died. BUT, as you can see, I'm right here!." She took his hand a placed
it inside the shirt so the boy could feel her nipple through the tube
top.
He applied light pressure and rubbed gently in a circular motion. "Jenna"
inhaled sharply and arched her back, pushing her nipple more firmly
against the boy's fingers.
"Are you going to HIM again?"
"I don't have any choice Buddy, you know how he is- if I say 'no' there's
no telling what he might do- to me, to you... or Ryan. I can't take that
chance.
I wish it was you though- you're the only one who has ever truly loved
me. Sometimes I wake up at night and I want you so badly that I ACHE...
Check this out!" She cocked her knee and took his other hand, sliding it
up her nylon until he was touching her bare flesh.
Although she was playing a role, JJ could feel herself getting excited in
spite of herself. The boy's fingers were continuing to stimulate her
nipple and when he touched her pussy, his finger slipped right in because
she was so wet and excited.
She gasped with pleasure and reached down to take his penis in her hand.
The boy was only seventeen, but he was easily as big as any cock she'd
ever fucked. She used her free hand to untie the shirt and push it off
her shoulders. Once the shirt was gone, she lifted Daniel's hand for a
moment and quickly removed her tube top.
Even after two children, her breasts stood out perkily and her nipples
swelled in anticipation. She unzipped and shimmied out of the leather
skirt then leaned over and kissed the boy on his lips.
"Mmmmmm..." he moaned.
"You know, I've wanted to do this for the longest time... I've been
watching you ever since you started going through puberty. I've loved
watching you get hair on your chest, and your underarms. And watching
that BULGE in your pants. Sometimes I think I'm going to go crazy if I
don't get to taste you..."
She leaned down and licked the head of his cock, swirling her tongue
behind the rim before taking him as deep into her mouth as possible. The
way the boy bucked, she was half afraid he'd cum before she could get
what she needed.
JJ pulled off of his dick and kissed her way up his stomach and chest to
his lips. She straddled him and rubbed her pussy lips on his hard shaft.
"Do you like that Daniel? Do you like feeling my pussy rubbing over your
cock? Do you want to slide it inside?" She reached behind her to place
his dick head against her pussy lips and press down just enough to get
the head inside.
The boy groaned and tried to thrust upward, but JJ rose along with him,
so he couldn't go deeper in.
"Oh yes! You do want that, don't you Buddy? I want it too! I'll give
it to you in just a minute, but I need to know something first- Where did
Dad take the girl?"
"I don't know Jenna! Please don't tease me- I love you! Please let me
fuck you- I've wanted to since forever...!"
"I will Buddy, I will let you fuck me. See, how does this feel?" With
that, JJ slowly slid part way down the boy's cock before positioning his
dick head back inside her pussy lips.
"Tell me Buddy- where do you THINK Dad took the girl?"
"I'm not sure, but when he got home, he gave mom some blooms from a
mock-orange bush. He said that it was to prove he'd `done the deed'.
Mom acted upset, said that if anyone found out, that it would be too easy
to trace back to her- but Dad just told her she was being paranoid."
"Oh Daniel, that's great! I always knew you were the smartest one in
the family. You're such a good boy- you deserve a reward!" JJ once
again lowered herself onto the boy's thick cock, sliding all the way
down until her pussy lips were grinding into his bush. She rocked there
for just a second or two before returning to her original position.
"Where do you think he got the mock-orange Buddy?" she whispered as she
nibbled on his earlobe.
"There's only one place that I know of- on the Varanas property. I
remember going there once with Dad and he pointed out a big mock-orange
bush next to the barn door."
"Oh Buddy! You're so smart! Are you ready to really fuck now? Do you
want my pussy?"
"Yes Jenna! Please, I've waited so long. I want to feel your pussy all
the way down on my cock!"
With that, JJ slid down his hard shaft for a third time, but this time,
she didn't stop. She took control and fucked him like a two dollar
whore. Bottoming out and rubbing her pussy lips on his balls, rocking
back and forth, taking him deep- over and over. The boy was so over
stimulated that it only took a few minutes before he shot his load.
JJ pushed her weight onto him to prevent him from trying to get up. She
whispered into his ear "Wow! Buddy, you're such a good lover. Your cock
felt wonderful spreading my pussy lips. I'm going to stay here with you
all night... Just close your eyes and go to sleep... She stayed in position
until his softening dick slipped out of her pussy. Soon, she heard him
begin to snore softly.
When she was convinced that he was asleep, she rose from the bed and
walked over to where Reed was sitting. He had watched JJ's whole
performance and he was just as horny as the boy had been. His pants were
down around his ankles and his dick was standing tall and proud.
"I just texted Garcia- she's checking out property records to see if
she can find anything belonging to a Varanas and what, if any, link it
could have to this case. You know Penelope, she'll probably be calling
us back within the hour."
"Well, an hour is plenty of time to enjoy ourselves." She knelt between
his legs and began to suck his hard cock. She used her tongue to
stimulate the frenulum and to scrub the corona. She deep throated him and
licked his balls.
Reed took her by the shoulders and raised her to her feet. He slipped his
pants completely off and rose from his chair, leading her over to the
other bed. They stood kissing for several moments before he gently pushed
her down on the bed and lifted her ankles over his shoulders.
He knelt and began to kiss the backs and insides of her thighs. He worked
his way upward and the closer he got to her pussy, the more he could
smell her familiar scent. He could also smell the boy's ejaculate and
his own cock throbbed in anticipation.
When he got to her pussy, he took his time to lick along the outside of
her pussy lips, working up one side of her cunt and back down the other
side. He used his tongue to tickle the little man in the boat and JJ
groaned out loud. Finally, he slid his tongue as deep into her gash as he
could. The taste of her fluid and the boy's cum nearly made him shoot
his load then and there. He carefully worked out as much of the boy's
juice as he could, savoring the blend of their two juices.
JJ had been to intent on getting the information out of Daniel to
concentrate on her own orgasm, so she was primed to the gills and it only
took a minute of Reed sucking her pussy lips into his mouth while
stimulating her clit with his tongue to cause her to buck and jump, while
she pushed his head hard against her pussy.
Once JJ began to come down from her orgasm, Reed stood up and got on the
bed on his knees. His knees were on either side of JJ's ass and he
pushed the knob of his meat downward to rub against her pussy lips. He
leaned over and began to kiss and suck her beautiful nipples.
Once he felt his dickhead rubbing against her pussy lips he thrust deeply
and smoothly into her silky smooth hole. He pushed in until his balls
were pressed against her ass. He moved his mouth from her tit to her
mouth and the two french kissed passionately.
"Fuck me Spencer! I need to cum again. I want to feel your cock sliding
in and out of my pussy. Make me cum Spencer! Make me cum!" JJ was
practically shouting with her need to be fucked.
Reed drew back until only the head was still inside, only to quickly
slide back in to his balls. He quickly established a rhythm, stroking in
and out, in and out...
JJ again, began to buck wildly with her second orgasm and the stimulation
was about to cause Spencer to shoot his load as well.
"I'm about to shoot!" he panted. "Where do you want it?"
"In my mouth! I want to taste it!" she responded.
Reed quickly pulled out of her dripping pussy and lay down beside her
with his head pointing toward her feet. He pushed her legs open and began
to lick and suck her pussy for the second time.
JJ wasted no time before taking his meat into her hand and sliding it
into her mouth. She deep throated him, going all the way to his balls and
working her throat to stimulate him as much as possible. Since he was
about to cum anyway, it only took a few seconds for his balls to explode
and send a cascade of cum into her mouth. Some of the cum went into her
airway, causing her to cough violently, but JJ kept her mouth pressed
against his pubic hair until she swallowed every drop.
Meanwhile, Reed had been working over her pussy like the expert he was.
He had her clitoris trapped between his lips while he used his tongue to
massage it, licking it from the base to the top, around and around,
before licking and sucking at her pussy lips. For the third time in
twenty minutes, JJ erupted into her orgasm- this one was much more
intense than either of the previous two.
Reed moved around again so the two could lay with their arms around each
other while they kissed deeply.
Spencer's phone buzzed just a few seconds after they had started
relaxing together.
"Yea Garcia, this is Reed. What did you find?"
"Well, Boy Wonder, I owe you and everyone else on the team an apology
and I especially owe that poor girl an apology. What I found was a
property that used to belong to a `Varanas' family. It's right next
door to where Daniel's mother grew up. But there's something weird
about the property... it seems that the last member of the family died
about twenty years ago. There were no heirs, so no one ever took
possession of it, BUT... the taxes have been paid up every year. So
SOMEONE has been writing a check every year for the past twenty years...
Something seems fishy to me." Garcia said. "When I pulled up copies of
the checks used to pay the taxes, they were all signed by a Marjorie
Whitman.
And before you ask- Yes, I got some aerial photos of the property- I've
already sent them to your phone."
"Thanks Garcia!" Spencer said as he disconnected and began to pull up
the pictures. He scrolled through over a dozen photos before he stopped
and began to zoom in on one in particular.
"JJ look at this!" He said, holding the phone at an angle so she could
see the screen.
"What am I supposed to be looking for?" She asked.
"See the building on the far right? Well follow that all the way back to
the left. Now if you can see the intersection where the shed on the right
and the shed on the left seem to merge... There's a bush there, and I'm
pretty sure it's a mock-orange."
JJ sat up on the bed and said "At least we still have over three hours
before the deadline. I'm going to grab a quick shower before we leave.
The last thing I want to do is show up at a crime scene and having
everyone there think that I smell like sweat and cum. And it wouldn't
hurt you to rinse some of the sweat and cum off you too! She laughed.
Reed grimaced and took a deep sniff. "Whew! You're right about that..."
He followed her into the bathroom and quickly stepped into the shower. He
watched JJ as she douched to get out any of the remaining semen from
tonight's activities. She was finished by the time he'd washed his pits
and privates and he jumped out to get dried off while she took her own
speedy shower.
After getting dressed, they got Daniel dressed as well. JJ wrinkled her
nose at the smell of sweat and cum that emanated from the boy. "I guess
if anyone asks about the smell we'll just say that we believe he had a
wet dream while we were bringing him to his aunt's house." She said.
It had been decided that since he wasn't actually involved in the crime,
that he'd be turned over to his aunt's custody once they got the needed
information from him. Reed called the woman and told her that they'd be
dropping the boy off in about twenty minutes.
Once he hung up, they walked the boy out to the SUV and got him into the
back seat. Since JJ was no longer playing the part of "Jenna" she got
into the front with Reed. Still under the influence of the benadryl, the
boy was soon slumped across the seat snoring.
Once they dropped off the boy, they made their excuses and left quickly,
it took nearly an hour to get to the address provided by Garcia. When
they arrived, dawn was breaking and they could see the mock orange bush
standing at the corner of one of the buildings. When they got out to look
around, JJ saw that the door on that shed was closed tight with a
padlock. Reed got a tire iron out of the truck and used it to break the
hasp.
Inside, they found another door with a padlock and forced that one too.
The second door opened into a windowless room about eight feet by eight
feet. The girl was laying on a cot with a blindfold and a gag on her face
and an IV in her arm. She was tied to the bed with nylon straps.
JJ checked her pulse and her breathing and nodded to Reed. "She's
alive, call an ambulance!" She stayed with the girl while Reed went
outside to call for help.
The next day, they were sitting in the bullpen at the BAU when the rest
of the team entered dejectedly. At their questioning looks Prentiss
responded, "No luck. He was there, but he was long gone by the time we
arrived. There were two more victims that fit his MO. The coroner in New
Orleans is trying to prove definitively whether it was the work of Mr.
Scratch or a copycat.
I'm happy to hear that you two were successful. The girl should be back
home with her parents, Daniel and Ryan are with their aunt and we'll be
expediting their parents as quickly as the red tape allows.
How did you do it?"
Reed and JJ looked at each other and back to Emily. "Well, Reed figured
out that Daniel misses his sister horribly and that she could be the key
to breaking down the barriers. It didn't hurt that she and I look enough
alike to be twin sisters."
Reed butted in, " And JJ is a fantastic actor. Once she got into
character, it took her less than ten minutes to get the information we
were looking for. I mean, you could almost say that it exploded out of
him!"
JJ choked on the sip of coffee she'd just taken.
Emily looked at her bright red face and asked "Are you okay?"
"Yes! Yes... I just got something in the wrong hole- that's all."
This time Reed seemed to be choking.
"What is going on with those two?" Emily wondered as she walked away.
END
</valowrider@proton.me>
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/gary-deals-with-a-bully/ | Nifty Archive: gary-deals-with-a-bully
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<tr><td>52K</td><td>Mar 23 15:09</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/gary-deals-with-a-bully/gary-deals-with-a-bully-4">gary-deals-with-a-bully-4</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td>23K</td><td>Feb 19 19:33</td><td><a href="https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/gary-deals-with-a-bully/gary-deals-with-a-bully-1">gary-deals-with-a-bully-1</a></td></tr>
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