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Bergie14
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Last Stand - Part 1.
Tarzan' s eyes opened when a soft rustling below his tree house woke him. It was stiflingly hot. He crouched, listening carefully.
Tarzan was not a young man anymore. Though to all outward appearances he was in incredible shape, he'd felt himself slowing down in little ways. But, he'd made no concessions to time: his tiny loincloth was still his only covering, and his father his only weapon.
But he clearly has a problem right now. His experienced ears told him that there were multiple individuals quietly, but not silently, rising up the trees around his tree house. He counted at least ten. Who were they? What did they want?
The only way to find out these answers, he quickly decided, would be to wait. He moved to a chair and sat down. Seconds after he did, guests arrived.
Two of them entered his tree house. One spoke: "Hello Tarzan. I'm here to ask for your help."
Tarzan looked at him carefully. "I'm listening."
"My name is Dr. Wesley Martin. Over the past five years, I've been developing a serum to do something that I think you'd be very interested in. The serum is a very potent and very fast-acting combination of substances that greatly reduces recovery time from physical activity. My preliminary tests show that it even restores muscle and heals wounds."
Tarzan nodded. "How can I help you?"
Dr. Martin smiled. "I've tested this on everyone I could, including myself. But no one exerts themself like you do. I want to create a controlled environment where you exert lots of energy, and then give you the serum. If it works, that will prove it.
Will you do it?"
Tarzan, thinking of the passage of time, said "Yes. What do I do?"
Dr. Martin smiled.
Dr. Martin's labs were not far away. While Tarzan had concerns about the number of people who came to invite him-- he counted twelve--he was very motivated to find out if this serum worked. He thought that it might effectively take years of his life.
Once everyone was out of the heat, Tarzan was given a tour of the labs by Dr. Martin himself. The labs were very impressive, with many workers and researchers.
"Well, Tarzan, we've reached the end of the tour except for our areas to create exertion for our trial subjects. Are you ready to begin?"
Tarzan nodded, "Yes, very much so."
"Excellent," and he opened a door for them to walk inside.
Once Tarzan had adjusted his eyes to darker lighting, he stopped walking.
"I know what you're thinking," Dr. Martin interjected. "But we had to make a dungeon if we were going to test the serum on the patients on people most likely to benefit from it--like you. You don't face greater exertion than this. If the serum can overcome the kind of damage done to you in a place like this, it is ready for use."
As Tarzan looked around, he saw a dungeon modeled out of the inquisition, with some 20th century upgrades. Now he had to decide if he still wanted to take part.
"Do you want a tour of our dungeon?"
"That won't be necessary, " the Jungle King replied. Just then, four burly men walked into the dungeon. Each of them had a holstered pistol on their hip.
"My bodyguards," Dr. Martin told Tarzan. "Well, we should get started. Please hand me your knife and sheath. I'll put it on this table to get back when we're done.
Tarzan looked at the "bodyguards" but then nodded and did as he was told.
"Ok, we're obviously going to torture you as realistically as possible. We've gone to great lengths to create a genuine experience. You would be stripped of you experienced this in the "real world". So, even though your loincloth hides so little, please hand it to me and we will begin."
"So Tarzan, just hand me your loincloth and we'll get started," Dr. Martin said. He extended his hand to take it.
Tarzan's loincloth was so small that his hosts noticed his cock stiffening at this request. He felt uneasy about the whole situation, but he remained eager to test the serum that the Doctor had promised. Tarzan untied his loincloth and let it drop to the floor. The bodyguards grabbed his wrists and tied them behind his back. His cock hardened.
"Ok," Dr. Martin said. "Chain his wrists overhead." Tarzan was led about fifteen feet away. His wrists were cuffed to chains that hung from the ceiling. Dr. Martin walked in front of Tarzan, looking him over. "40 lashes." He walked away.
The whip whistled through the air before landing on Tarzan's back. Tarzan stared straight ahead, not reacting, to the first 17 lashes. After that, he grunted quietly, and then more loudly, until the fortieth landed. The skin of his back was red, even with the constant tan that Tarzan sported.
"The strappado is next," Dr. Martin announced to no one in particular. Quickly, Tarzan was released from his chains and moved for his second round of torture.
Tarzan's hands were bound together behind his back by rope that connected to a pulley way up near the ceiling. Even in his nakedness, Tarzan commanded the respect of all in the room. He stood proudly as Dr. Martin spoke.
"I don't know if you've ever been introduced to the strappado, but I think you'll find it challenging. As I pull on this rope, your body will be forced to bend at the waist while your wrists are raised behind your back. Your toes will extend to the floor eventually, and after that you'll just be suspended. Painfully. Let's get started."
Presently, he pulled on the rope, and Tarzan's wrists moved toward the ceiling. He bent at the waist, and quietly grunted as his toes, indeed, barely touched the floor. Soon after that, he was off the floor entirely.
"Ahh," Tarzan quietly grunted. His shoulder and back muscles were serving him well, but it still didn't feel good. He was about four feet off of the floor. Then he was raised another five feet up, and left to hang there for several minutes.
Finally, Dr. Martin said, "Ok Tarzan, let's bring you down." He quickly lowered Tarzan two feet and then held the rope, jerking his body and putting additional force on his shoulder joints.
"Uhhhh," Tarzan groaned.
Then, two feet later, it happened again. Tarzan's muscles, which had served him so well, we're now stretching and pulling.
Then Dr. Martin did it again. Tarzan just vocalized a guttural, nonverbal response. Dr. Martin smiled, feeling that he was making progress. Then he lowered Tarzan to the floor, and they untied him.
Tarzan did not immediately stand.
Dr. Martin said, "Ok, next phase. Bring him over here."
Dr. Martin was standing by what looked like a well-used, and very real, rack. The bodyguards grabbed Tarzan's arms. He didn't resist, until he saw where they were heading. He tried to plant his feet in the floor, but to no avail, because when his name was called and he looked up, he saw two bodyguards with pistols trained on his face. Tarzan froze.
"Tarzan," Dr. Martin cautioned. "Our relationship has been very professional to this point, but make no mistake. You must be strenuously tortured to truly test the serum. And we are so close to that point, your resistance now cannot be tolerated."
Tarzan, his arms still restrained by two men, responded: "The rack is not necessary. You've gone too far."
"Perhaps," he smiled, "but I am the scientist here. And, I have the guns, and you, heh heh, are completely unarmed," he said as he carefully reviewed Tarzan's naked body--including the Jungle King' s erect cock. "Now my men are going to let you go, and you are going to walk to the rack, and lay spread eagled. Then, you will endurr the suffering that--as you know too well--only the rack can bring."
To his bodyguards, Dr. Martin ordered, "now let him go to the rack."
"Tarzan," Dr. Martin reiterated, "I need you to go to the rack so that we can tie you down." Slowly, his eyes never leaving the Dr. Martin's, the naked jungle king strode to the rack. All eyes in the room, and a couple of guns, were trained on him.
He climbed the two steps to get on the platform that held the rack. In an effort to make a point of how he viewed himself in this situation, he held his hands at about shoulder level to keep them very visible. His cock, as it had been since he stripped, remained proudly erect.
Tarzan laid down in the appropriate spot on the rack. Indeed, he knew the rack well, having been tortured on it several times before. His ankles were quickly locked in shackles extending from the roller that would be turned to stretch him. His wrists were likewise shackled to chains that led to well secured spikes that were driven into the rack platform itself. He tested the shackles, but there was no give. He wasn't going anywhere.
"Very good," Dr. Martin praised. "This is a critically important part of our work. Your naked body must be made to suffer, and I promise you, it will." Tarzan frowned, but remained quiet. He'd said all he had to say.
His bodyguards had holstered their guns, but remained attentive to Tarzan's body. They seemed unconvinced that he was truly helpless on the rack. Even unarmed, stripped, and chained, Tarzan's reputation continued to intimidate.
Dr. Martin issued an order to his bodyguards: "Stretch him." With that, the roller turned, the chains clattered, and the jungle king began to stretch.
"I don't know this from experience, of course, but Tarzan it seems to me that struggling only tired you out faster. You are chained to a rack. You aren't going anywhere," Dr. Martin smiled.
To be continued....
Tarzan' s eyes opened when a soft rustling below his tree house woke him. It was stiflingly hot. He crouched, listening carefully.
Tarzan was not a young man anymore. Though to all outward appearances he was in incredible shape, he'd felt himself slowing down in little ways. But, he'd made no concessions to time: his tiny loincloth was still his only covering, and his father his only weapon.
But he clearly has a problem right now. His experienced ears told him that there were multiple individuals quietly, but not silently, rising up the trees around his tree house. He counted at least ten. Who were they? What did they want?
The only way to find out these answers, he quickly decided, would be to wait. He moved to a chair and sat down. Seconds after he did, guests arrived.
Two of them entered his tree house. One spoke: "Hello Tarzan. I'm here to ask for your help."
Tarzan looked at him carefully. "I'm listening."
"My name is Dr. Wesley Martin. Over the past five years, I've been developing a serum to do something that I think you'd be very interested in. The serum is a very potent and very fast-acting combination of substances that greatly reduces recovery time from physical activity. My preliminary tests show that it even restores muscle and heals wounds."
Tarzan nodded. "How can I help you?"
Dr. Martin smiled. "I've tested this on everyone I could, including myself. But no one exerts themself like you do. I want to create a controlled environment where you exert lots of energy, and then give you the serum. If it works, that will prove it.
Will you do it?"
Tarzan, thinking of the passage of time, said "Yes. What do I do?"
Dr. Martin smiled.
Dr. Martin's labs were not far away. While Tarzan had concerns about the number of people who came to invite him-- he counted twelve--he was very motivated to find out if this serum worked. He thought that it might effectively take years of his life.
Once everyone was out of the heat, Tarzan was given a tour of the labs by Dr. Martin himself. The labs were very impressive, with many workers and researchers.
"Well, Tarzan, we've reached the end of the tour except for our areas to create exertion for our trial subjects. Are you ready to begin?"
Tarzan nodded, "Yes, very much so."
"Excellent," and he opened a door for them to walk inside.
Once Tarzan had adjusted his eyes to darker lighting, he stopped walking.
"I know what you're thinking," Dr. Martin interjected. "But we had to make a dungeon if we were going to test the serum on the patients on people most likely to benefit from it--like you. You don't face greater exertion than this. If the serum can overcome the kind of damage done to you in a place like this, it is ready for use."
As Tarzan looked around, he saw a dungeon modeled out of the inquisition, with some 20th century upgrades. Now he had to decide if he still wanted to take part.
"Do you want a tour of our dungeon?"
"That won't be necessary, " the Jungle King replied. Just then, four burly men walked into the dungeon. Each of them had a holstered pistol on their hip.
"My bodyguards," Dr. Martin told Tarzan. "Well, we should get started. Please hand me your knife and sheath. I'll put it on this table to get back when we're done.
Tarzan looked at the "bodyguards" but then nodded and did as he was told.
"Ok, we're obviously going to torture you as realistically as possible. We've gone to great lengths to create a genuine experience. You would be stripped of you experienced this in the "real world". So, even though your loincloth hides so little, please hand it to me and we will begin."
"So Tarzan, just hand me your loincloth and we'll get started," Dr. Martin said. He extended his hand to take it.
Tarzan's loincloth was so small that his hosts noticed his cock stiffening at this request. He felt uneasy about the whole situation, but he remained eager to test the serum that the Doctor had promised. Tarzan untied his loincloth and let it drop to the floor. The bodyguards grabbed his wrists and tied them behind his back. His cock hardened.
"Ok," Dr. Martin said. "Chain his wrists overhead." Tarzan was led about fifteen feet away. His wrists were cuffed to chains that hung from the ceiling. Dr. Martin walked in front of Tarzan, looking him over. "40 lashes." He walked away.
The whip whistled through the air before landing on Tarzan's back. Tarzan stared straight ahead, not reacting, to the first 17 lashes. After that, he grunted quietly, and then more loudly, until the fortieth landed. The skin of his back was red, even with the constant tan that Tarzan sported.
"The strappado is next," Dr. Martin announced to no one in particular. Quickly, Tarzan was released from his chains and moved for his second round of torture.
Tarzan's hands were bound together behind his back by rope that connected to a pulley way up near the ceiling. Even in his nakedness, Tarzan commanded the respect of all in the room. He stood proudly as Dr. Martin spoke.
"I don't know if you've ever been introduced to the strappado, but I think you'll find it challenging. As I pull on this rope, your body will be forced to bend at the waist while your wrists are raised behind your back. Your toes will extend to the floor eventually, and after that you'll just be suspended. Painfully. Let's get started."
Presently, he pulled on the rope, and Tarzan's wrists moved toward the ceiling. He bent at the waist, and quietly grunted as his toes, indeed, barely touched the floor. Soon after that, he was off the floor entirely.
"Ahh," Tarzan quietly grunted. His shoulder and back muscles were serving him well, but it still didn't feel good. He was about four feet off of the floor. Then he was raised another five feet up, and left to hang there for several minutes.
Finally, Dr. Martin said, "Ok Tarzan, let's bring you down." He quickly lowered Tarzan two feet and then held the rope, jerking his body and putting additional force on his shoulder joints.
"Uhhhh," Tarzan groaned.
Then, two feet later, it happened again. Tarzan's muscles, which had served him so well, we're now stretching and pulling.
Then Dr. Martin did it again. Tarzan just vocalized a guttural, nonverbal response. Dr. Martin smiled, feeling that he was making progress. Then he lowered Tarzan to the floor, and they untied him.
Tarzan did not immediately stand.
Dr. Martin said, "Ok, next phase. Bring him over here."
Dr. Martin was standing by what looked like a well-used, and very real, rack. The bodyguards grabbed Tarzan's arms. He didn't resist, until he saw where they were heading. He tried to plant his feet in the floor, but to no avail, because when his name was called and he looked up, he saw two bodyguards with pistols trained on his face. Tarzan froze.
"Tarzan," Dr. Martin cautioned. "Our relationship has been very professional to this point, but make no mistake. You must be strenuously tortured to truly test the serum. And we are so close to that point, your resistance now cannot be tolerated."
Tarzan, his arms still restrained by two men, responded: "The rack is not necessary. You've gone too far."
"Perhaps," he smiled, "but I am the scientist here. And, I have the guns, and you, heh heh, are completely unarmed," he said as he carefully reviewed Tarzan's naked body--including the Jungle King' s erect cock. "Now my men are going to let you go, and you are going to walk to the rack, and lay spread eagled. Then, you will endurr the suffering that--as you know too well--only the rack can bring."
To his bodyguards, Dr. Martin ordered, "now let him go to the rack."
"Tarzan," Dr. Martin reiterated, "I need you to go to the rack so that we can tie you down." Slowly, his eyes never leaving the Dr. Martin's, the naked jungle king strode to the rack. All eyes in the room, and a couple of guns, were trained on him.
He climbed the two steps to get on the platform that held the rack. In an effort to make a point of how he viewed himself in this situation, he held his hands at about shoulder level to keep them very visible. His cock, as it had been since he stripped, remained proudly erect.
Tarzan laid down in the appropriate spot on the rack. Indeed, he knew the rack well, having been tortured on it several times before. His ankles were quickly locked in shackles extending from the roller that would be turned to stretch him. His wrists were likewise shackled to chains that led to well secured spikes that were driven into the rack platform itself. He tested the shackles, but there was no give. He wasn't going anywhere.
"Very good," Dr. Martin praised. "This is a critically important part of our work. Your naked body must be made to suffer, and I promise you, it will." Tarzan frowned, but remained quiet. He'd said all he had to say.
His bodyguards had holstered their guns, but remained attentive to Tarzan's body. They seemed unconvinced that he was truly helpless on the rack. Even unarmed, stripped, and chained, Tarzan's reputation continued to intimidate.
Dr. Martin issued an order to his bodyguards: "Stretch him." With that, the roller turned, the chains clattered, and the jungle king began to stretch.
"I don't know this from experience, of course, but Tarzan it seems to me that struggling only tired you out faster. You are chained to a rack. You aren't going anywhere," Dr. Martin smiled.
To be continued....
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