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Tarzan’s Last Stand

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Bergie14

Assistant executioner
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....
 
Last edited by a moderator:

Bergie14

Assistant executioner
Part 2:

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Tarzan questioned.

"Well, yes, actually, I am. I like looking at your very helpless, very naked body, and thinking of how I can hurt you more so we can have a good test for my serum. Stretch him more." The roller was turned, ever so slightly, and now Tarzan was stretched tightly. Pain wasn't with him yet, but with the next turn, his body would definitely feel the strain. "And wouldn't it be a shame to ignore your hard cock? Those balls of yours need attention also, don't you think?" He nodded at a bodyguard, and body oil was poured on the jungle king' s torso and thighs. Quickly his defenseless groin was receiving the oil, and plenty of merciless teasing. The effect, of course, was that Tarzan's cock grew in length and hardness. His balls also swelled with more of his cum. He could still struggle a little, but it was no use.

"Is this important for the serum also, Doctor?," Tarzan gasped.

"No, this is just because of your resistance earlier. I thought a little humiliation on your part was in order. Don't you agree?"

As Tarzan's cock was stroked and pinched, he bit his lip. When they also cupped his balls, he groaned for the first time--in spite of fighting the urge to do so. In addition, his inner thighs were targeted, and his nipples were gently pinched.

"Ass plug," was the order from Dr. Martin. Tarzan was clearly distracted, but thought he heard that correctly. More oil was produced, this time to lubricate the plug.

"Tarzan, we're going to put an ass plug in you now. Please cooperate." As the work on his groin continued, Tarzan began to feel a strong need to cut. He then felt a foreign object, albeit a soft one, attempting to enter his ass. Hoping that it would distract himself from feeling the need to cut for the amusement of people that he increasingly thought of as captors, he allowed it to be put inside him.

It didn't work.

The plug, and the proximity to his prostate, made resisting his need even more difficult. He groaned again.

"Tarzan, thank you for sharing you precum with us. Very nice. Would you like us to help you cum? If you ask nicely, perhaps we will. We'd love to watch you squirt your load on yourself."

"Stretch him," the Doctor commanded, as his need to cause pain to Tarzan had overcome his interest in sexual torments. He was thoroughly enjoying Tarzan's discomfort. Tarzan's naked body was covered in sweat.

"How do you feel now, Jungle King? Do you have anything to tell me?"

Tarzan had been slow to come around to the notion that the "Doctor" was quite out of his mind, but now there was no doubt. As he suffered on the rack for the entertainment of his captor, he silently cursed himself for handing over his knife and then stripping for this madman.

"What would you like to know?" Tarzan grunted as he dealt with the fire in his joints.

"Well, I'd like to know, as long as you're just laying around, if you mind us taking a sample of your cum for our research? Your cock is so hard perhaps we could take care of the sample right now."

"What if I refuse?" he gasped.

"Oh I'm sorry, that question is in itself a refusal. We'll have to take the sample our way. Gentlemen...." A fleshlight was produced, and oil was poured all over it. Then Tarzan's cock got another coating of oil.

"Uhhh," Tarzan protested as it was slid onto his hard shaft.

"Not too fast, gentlemen," the Doctor cautioned as two men began to slide the object along the Jungle King' s aching rod. "Don't forget to play with his balls. Now work that ass plug."

"You are being humiliated, my good friend. You are going to show us your cum, and we are going to enjoy it. There is nothing you can do to stop it from happening. All you can hope for is that we won't torment you too much longer, so you can finally have the relief that you crave."

"You're insane."

"Perhaps. But you're the one who is pre cumming against his will for the enjoyment of his captor. Yes, I am your captor. By now you must have realized that you aren't going anywhere."

One of his bodyguards spoke. "He can't hold on much longer, Doctor."

"Take off the fleshlight, then," he commanded. "Use your hands. Let's see if we can make Tarzan beg."

Precum drained out of the tip of Tarzan's painfully hard cock. Dr. Martin smiled at his captive's predicament. "Stretch him more," he ordered. "Take away his ability to escape."

"AHHH," Tarzan groaned as his body stretched further.

"You're doing very well, Tarzan. Please continue to suffer. Do you have any requests for how we should torture you next?" He nodded to his bodyguards to continue Tarzan's sexual torment. "Oh, I almost forgot...would you like to cum for my entertainment? All you have to do is beg, and we will provide you with the release that you're craving."

"Uhhh...go...to...hell," Tarzan gasped.

"Don't give him any satisfaction," he ordered. "Ruin his orgasm." Unable to take any more, Tarzan's cum oozed out of his rock-hard shaft. As it did, it was squeezed hard by two of the bodyguards. All that emerged were more unsatisfying dribbles, and a low groan from the captive's throat. He suddenly jerked against the ropes which held him to the rack, but to no avail.

"You didn't think we'd let you really cum, did you? Well, now you know. I think it's time for more interesting activities. Men, bring him outside.

They quickly untied him from the rack. Tarzan rolled onto his right side, trying to get blood flowing back to his extremities. His captors admired his naked form, especially since it was offering no resistance. His eyes scanned the room for his knife, or even his loincloth. He found them both, but not the fight to go get them.

Presently, he was grabbed under his arms by two of the bodyguards. The Doctor led the procession toward the door, and then up the stairs. The sunshine was bright, and they all paused to acclimate their vision.

"I expect you to lay on that cross over there. You will be secured to it," the Doctor informed him. Tarzan looked at each of them as he was allowed to stand. The cross was only a few steps away. His options seemed clear--submit to the crucifixion, or make a run for it. He may not get another chance at freedom.



“Why are you doing this?” Tarzan asked, trying to prolong what seemed inevitable.

“For two reasons, my friend. First of all, I’ve heard so much about your ability to withstand torture and torment. I find that I’m enjoying it very much.”

“And the second reason?”

“Of course, if I can push you to the brink, and my serum can bring you back, think of the implications! We’re talking, in that case, not just about a wonder drug—we’re talking about the fucking fountain of youth. And you wouldn’t have agreed to do any of this if you wouldn’t have wanted access to it. Am I right?”

Tarzan stared at him. He looked at the cross that awaited him with open arms. He stared back at his captor.



Tarzan’s naked body shook a little and he took his first step toward the cross. Closely following were Dr. Martin’s “bodyguards,” carrying rope and some other hardware. He stood before them, confident and appearing strong even though he was naked and, he knew, at their mercy. He determined that he could not escape, now, even though he had an opportunity.

He felt old.

Dr. Martin spoke. “Lay on the cross, Jungle King. We will secure you to it.”

Tarzan turned and did as he was told. He stretched his arms on the crossbeam, and Dr. Martin nodded to indicate that he should be bound now. Each bodyguard began their previously assigned part of the process, tying either a wrist or his ankles—or hammering a small block of wood a few inches below Tarzan’s feet.

“When we out the cross upright, you will begin to suffer after a few minutes. Your muscles will strain and suffer first. Eventually it will become hard to breathe. That engorged cock of yours will surely cum for us to see. Eventually, you may pass out, and then we will bring you down. When you awake, you will be in my lab. Any questions?”

“No,” Tarzan replied icily. “Do it.”

With that, the cross was raised. “Oh, one more thing,” Dr. Martin said. “We’ve nailed a small block of wood below your feet. You can use it. Just put a foot or both feet on it and you’ll find it a little easier to breathe and take some strain off your shoulders. Of course,” he chuckled, “the wood is small and sharp and won’t be comfortable for your feet. Enjoy.”



The cross was lifted, and, as promised, Tarzan certainly began to suffer. If he’d been younger, or if he hadn’t been so thoroughly tortured, he might have been able to put up more resistance—or even have escaped when he saw where the process was heading. But not now.

No, now what he had was to take his suffering, pass out, and hopefully end up in the good doctor’s laboratory as he promised. His hard cock ached, and was being closely watched. Groggy, he felt an orgasm coming but lacked the strength to really fight it. It was hard for him to breathe. He could hear the doctor and the bodyguards talking but the pain he was experiencing was not allowing him to understand their words.

He struggled on the cross. His cock, he was sure, was about to burst, but the bigger problem was that he could not get any air. He exhaled a little as his cum shot from his aching cock.

Then he passed out.



Slowly Tarzan came to consciousness. He’d learned never to immediately open his eyes upon waking, but to let his other senses take in the information. He was flat on his back, perhaps on a table, with restraints securing his wrists and ankles. He was completely naked, but felt warm. Upon internal inspection of his body, and remembering what the doctor and his bodyguards had put him through, he was surprised that he did not feel the awful effects of the tortures he’d experienced. A little tired, to be sure, but he shouldn’t be a LITTLE tired—his joints should be on fire.

He sensed no other presence, heard no voices. He opened his eyes. He was in some kind of a laboratory. He saw his loincloth just a few feet away. Could he break the restraints?

“Grrrrrrr,” was the guttural noise that came from deep inside him as he attempted to do just that. Had he felt them give way? One more attempt and with a loud “CRACK” his wrists were free and the Jungle King was sitting up. In an instant his ankles were free and he was standing to tie his small, but significant, loincloth around his hips.



From behind, Tarzan heard one pair of hands clapping slowly. “Excellent work, Tarzan. You are my star subject. But are you looking for this?” He held up Tarzan’s knife, housed in its sheath.

Tarzan turned to see the professor’s smiling face, and the stern visages of two of the bodyguards—guns holstered but at the ready.

“Yes,” the Jungle King replied. “I need to be going.” He extended his hand.

“I’m afraid that I cannot allow that at this time, for a host of reasons,” the doctor replied. “There is more work to be done, so I must insist that you remain as my...guest.”



“So,” Dr. Martin continued, “let’s make this easy. Slowly raise your hands and keep them up. You need to be searched, stripped, and bound. Then you’ll be taken to your quarters and given some food. In an hour, we will give you another...session.” He paused. “Are we in agreement?”

“And if I refuse?” Tarzan asked.

“Tarzan,” Dr. Martin smiled. “We have guns. We have your knife. What can you do?”

“If you hurt me, I’m less valuable to you as a research subject.”

“That’s a risk that I’m prepared to take. Show us your submission. Slowly lower your hands and remove your little loincloth. Strip.”
To be continued....
 
Last edited by a moderator:

Jollyrei

Angelus Mortis
Staff member
Nice start to the story. It is always good to have new writers contributing.

However, please do not begin a new thread for each section of the story. It is traditional here for all chapters/sections of a story to go in the same thread.
I will move this section and posts related to it to your original Tarzan thread.
 

Bergie14

Assistant executioner
Nice start to the story. It is always good to have new writers contributing.

However, please do not begin a new thread for each section of the story. It is traditional here for all chapters/sections of a story to go in the same thread.
I will move this section and posts related to it to your original Tarzan thread.
Thanks but my character count was limited. How do I avoid that problem?
 

Jollyrei

Angelus Mortis
Staff member
Thanks but my character count was limited. How do I avoid that problem?
Ah, that problem. Unfortunately there is a character maximum for individual posts. As you will notice, I have merged your two threads, and indicated Part 1 and Part 2 of your story so far. There is no way to avoid the character maximum, however. It's a base feature of the forum. It is however limited to individual posts. You can always break a chapter at the maximum, indicate "to be continued" and simply add the rest in the next post in the same thread (as I have done with your sections here).

That way, your entire story is easily found in one place - many members may not be able to read the entire thing at one go, and appreciate being able to find the story again in the same thread.
 

Bergie14

Assistant executioner
Part 2:

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Tarzan questioned.

"Well, yes, actually, I am. I like looking at your very helpless, very naked body, and thinking of how I can hurt you more so we can have a good test for my serum. Stretch him more." The roller was turned, ever so slightly, and now Tarzan was stretched tightly. Pain wasn't with him yet, but with the next turn, his body would definitely feel the strain. "And wouldn't it be a shame to ignore your hard cock? Those balls of yours need attention also, don't you think?" He nodded at a bodyguard, and body oil was poured on the jungle king' s torso and thighs. Quickly his defenseless groin was receiving the oil, and plenty of merciless teasing. The effect, of course, was that Tarzan's cock grew in length and hardness. His balls also swelled with more of his cum. He could still struggle a little, but it was no use.

"Is this important for the serum also, Doctor?," Tarzan gasped.

"No, this is just because of your resistance earlier. I thought a little humiliation on your part was in order. Don't you agree?"

As Tarzan's cock was stroked and pinched, he bit his lip. When they also cupped his balls, he groaned for the first time--in spite of fighting the urge to do so. In addition, his inner thighs were targeted, and his nipples were gently pinched.

"Ass plug," was the order from Dr. Martin. Tarzan was clearly distracted, but thought he heard that correctly. More oil was produced, this time to lubricate the plug.

"Tarzan, we're going to put an ass plug in you now. Please cooperate." As the work on his groin continued, Tarzan began to feel a strong need to cut. He then felt a foreign object, albeit a soft one, attempting to enter his ass. Hoping that it would distract himself from feeling the need to cut for the amusement of people that he increasingly thought of as captors, he allowed it to be put inside him.

It didn't work.

The plug, and the proximity to his prostate, made resisting his need even more difficult. He groaned again.

"Tarzan, thank you for sharing you precum with us. Very nice. Would you like us to help you cum? If you ask nicely, perhaps we will. We'd love to watch you squirt your load on yourself."

"Stretch him," the Doctor commanded, as his need to cause pain to Tarzan had overcome his interest in sexual torments. He was thoroughly enjoying Tarzan's discomfort. Tarzan's naked body was covered in sweat.

"How do you feel now, Jungle King? Do you have anything to tell me?"

Tarzan had been slow to come around to the notion that the "Doctor" was quite out of his mind, but now there was no doubt. As he suffered on the rack for the entertainment of his captor, he silently cursed himself for handing over his knife and then stripping for this madman.

"What would you like to know?" Tarzan grunted as he dealt with the fire in his joints.

"Well, I'd like to know, as long as you're just laying around, if you mind us taking a sample of your cum for our research? Your cock is so hard perhaps we could take care of the sample right now."

"What if I refuse?" he gasped.

"Oh I'm sorry, that question is in itself a refusal. We'll have to take the sample our way. Gentlemen...." A fleshlight was produced, and oil was poured all over it. Then Tarzan's cock got another coating of oil.

"Uhhh," Tarzan protested as it was slid onto his hard shaft.

"Not too fast, gentlemen," the Doctor cautioned as two men began to slide the object along the Jungle King' s aching rod. "Don't forget to play with his balls. Now work that ass plug."

"You are being humiliated, my good friend. You are going to show us your cum, and we are going to enjoy it. There is nothing you can do to stop it from happening. All you can hope for is that we won't torment you too much longer, so you can finally have the relief that you crave."

"You're insane."

"Perhaps. But you're the one who is pre cumming against his will for the enjoyment of his captor. Yes, I am your captor. By now you must have realized that you aren't going anywhere."

One of his bodyguards spoke. "He can't hold on much longer, Doctor."

"Take off the fleshlight, then," he commanded. "Use your hands. Let's see if we can make Tarzan beg."

Precum drained out of the tip of Tarzan's painfully hard cock. Dr. Martin smiled at his captive's predicament. "Stretch him more," he ordered. "Take away his ability to escape."

"AHHH," Tarzan groaned as his body stretched further.

"You're doing very well, Tarzan. Please continue to suffer. Do you have any requests for how we should torture you next?" He nodded to his bodyguards to continue Tarzan's sexual torment. "Oh, I almost forgot...would you like to cum for my entertainment? All you have to do is beg, and we will provide you with the release that you're craving."

"Uhhh...go...to...hell," Tarzan gasped.

"Don't give him any satisfaction," he ordered. "Ruin his orgasm." Unable to take any more, Tarzan's cum oozed out of his rock-hard shaft. As it did, it was squeezed hard by two of the bodyguards. All that emerged were more unsatisfying dribbles, and a low groan from the captive's throat. He suddenly jerked against the ropes which held him to the rack, but to no avail.

"You didn't think we'd let you really cum, did you? Well, now you know. I think it's time for more interesting activities. Men, bring him outside.

They quickly untied him from the rack. Tarzan rolled onto his right side, trying to get blood flowing back to his extremities. His captors admired his naked form, especially since it was offering no resistance. His eyes scanned the room for his knife, or even his loincloth. He found them both, but not the fight to go get them.

Presently, he was grabbed under his arms by two of the bodyguards. The Doctor led the procession toward the door, and then up the stairs. The sunshine was bright, and they all paused to acclimate their vision.

"I expect you to lay on that cross over there. You will be secured to it," the Doctor informed him. Tarzan looked at each of them as he was allowed to stand. The cross was only a few steps away. His options seemed clear--submit to the crucifixion, or make a run for it. He may not get another chance at freedom.



“Why are you doing this?” Tarzan asked, trying to prolong what seemed inevitable.

“For two reasons, my friend. First of all, I’ve heard so much about your ability to withstand torture and torment. I find that I’m enjoying it very much.”

“And the second reason?”

“Of course, if I can push you to the brink, and my serum can bring you back, think of the implications! We’re talking, in that case, not just about a wonder drug—we’re talking about the fucking fountain of youth. And you wouldn’t have agreed to do any of this if you wouldn’t have wanted access to it. Am I right?”

Tarzan stared at him. He looked at the cross that awaited him with open arms. He stared back at his captor.



Tarzan’s naked body shook a little and he took his first step toward the cross. Closely following were Dr. Martin’s “bodyguards,” carrying rope and some other hardware. He stood before them, confident and appearing strong even though he was naked and, he knew, at their mercy. He determined that he could not escape, now, even though he had an opportunity.

He felt old.

Dr. Martin spoke. “Lay on the cross, Jungle King. We will secure you to it.”

Tarzan turned and did as he was told. He stretched his arms on the crossbeam, and Dr. Martin nodded to indicate that he should be bound now. Each bodyguard began their previously assigned part of the process, tying either a wrist or his ankles—or hammering a small block of wood a few inches below Tarzan’s feet.

“When we out the cross upright, you will begin to suffer after a few minutes. Your muscles will strain and suffer first. Eventually it will become hard to breathe. That engorged cock of yours will surely cum for us to see. Eventually, you may pass out, and then we will bring you down. When you awake, you will be in my lab. Any questions?”

“No,” Tarzan replied icily. “Do it.”

With that, the cross was raised. “Oh, one more thing,” Dr. Martin said. “We’ve nailed a small block of wood below your feet. You can use it. Just put a foot or both feet on it and you’ll find it a little easier to breathe and take some strain off your shoulders. Of course,” he chuckled, “the wood is small and sharp and won’t be comfortable for your feet. Enjoy.”



The cross was lifted, and, as promised, Tarzan certainly began to suffer. If he’d been younger, or if he hadn’t been so thoroughly tortured, he might have been able to put up more resistance—or even have escaped when he saw where the process was heading. But not now.

No, now what he had was to take his suffering, pass out, and hopefully end up in the good doctor’s laboratory as he promised. His hard cock ached, and was being closely watched. Groggy, he felt an orgasm coming but lacked the strength to really fight it. It was hard for him to breathe. He could hear the doctor and the bodyguards talking but the pain he was experiencing was not allowing him to understand their words.

He struggled on the cross. His cock, he was sure, was about to burst, but the bigger problem was that he could not get any air. He exhaled a little as his cum shot from his aching cock.

Then he passed out.



Slowly Tarzan came to consciousness. He’d learned never to immediately open his eyes upon waking, but to let his other senses take in the information. He was flat on his back, perhaps on a table, with restraints securing his wrists and ankles. He was completely naked, but felt warm. Upon internal inspection of his body, and remembering what the doctor and his bodyguards had put him through, he was surprised that he did not feel the awful effects of the tortures he’d experienced. A little tired, to be sure, but he shouldn’t be a LITTLE tired—his joints should be on fire.

He sensed no other presence, heard no voices. He opened his eyes. He was in some kind of a laboratory. He saw his loincloth just a few feet away. Could he break the restraints?

“Grrrrrrr,” was the guttural noise that came from deep inside him as he attempted to do just that. Had he felt them give way? One more attempt and with a loud “CRACK” his wrists were free and the Jungle King was sitting up. In an instant his ankles were free and he was standing to tie his small, but significant, loincloth around his hips.



From behind, Tarzan heard one pair of hands clapping slowly. “Excellent work, Tarzan. You are my star subject. But are you looking for this?” He held up Tarzan’s knife, housed in its sheath.

Tarzan turned to see the professor’s smiling face, and the stern visages of two of the bodyguards—guns holstered but at the ready.

“Yes,” the Jungle King replied. “I need to be going.” He extended his hand.

“I’m afraid that I cannot allow that at this time, for a host of reasons,” the doctor replied. “There is more work to be done, so I must insist that you remain as my...guest.”



“So,” Dr. Martin continued, “let’s make this easy. Slowly raise your hands and keep them up. You need to be searched, stripped, and bound. Then you’ll be taken to your quarters and given some food. In an hour, we will give you another...session.” He paused. “Are we in agreement?”

“And if I refuse?” Tarzan asked.

“Tarzan,” Dr. Martin smiled. “We have guns. We have your knife. What can you do?”

“If you hurt me, I’m less valuable to you as a research subject.”

“That’s a risk that I’m prepared to take. Show us your submission. Slowly lower your hands and remove your little loincloth. Strip.”

Tarzan carefully looked all three men in the eye. The bodyguard’s guns were clearly at the ready. He was uncomfortable giving in, yet, he didn’t like his odds of escape. His loincloth his basically none of him, but he felt more powerful with it on. Still, he believed that now was not the time for battle. He reached for the loincloth and dropped it to the floor. He stood before them, naked once again.

“Take him to the St Andrews and restrain him there,” Dr Martin ordered. Tarzan did not resist. He was strapped to the X of the St Andrews by his ankles and wrists.

“Tarzan, I have someone I’d like you to meet. He smiled. I expect you to be on your best behavior. My men will be just outside this door in case she needs their help. Her name is Star. She will be here in just a few minutes.” Tarzan did not reply. The men left him.
To be continued.
 

Bergie14

Assistant executioner
A short black skirt, high heels, and a white blouse half unbuttoned adorned Star as she walked in the room. A small knife was in her right hand, and a bottle of clear liquid was in her left. Tarzan returned her stare.

“The Jungle King,” she smiled. “My goodness—not so royal at the moment are we? All tied up and nowhere to go? No chance of escape?”

“You’re being used,” Tarzan calmly stated.

Star laughed. “Oh really?”

“Yes. And you know it.”

Star looked him up and down. “Perhaps. But my job here is very specific, so I’m just going to get down to business.” Silently she opened the bottle and very slowly poured its contents over his chest, abs, groin, and thighs. She put the bottle down and slowly rubbed the oil-like substance into his skin. She was a beautiful, impressive woman, and her slow hand hardened Tarzan quickly. She smiled at his hardening, and then engorged, shaft. She watched with pride as his sac swelled at her touch.

“You are a beautiful man,”she whispered. “Under different circumstances...well. My job is to shave your body hair. Stay still,” she smiled. Just as slowly, the knife in her right hand removed a few chest hairs that time, and battle, had not. Then she gave his thighs the same treatment.

“And now, your cock and balls,” she whispered. With surgical precision, he was quickly shorn of his small thatch of pubic hair. His hard on remained.

“What now?” Tarzan asked.

The door burst open and Dr Martin and the same two bodyguards walked in quickly. “Thank you Star. I appreciate your service. You have two more tasks to perform.”

“I do?”

“Yes, and in this order: strip, and suffer.”
To be continued.
 

Bergie14

Assistant executioner
A short black skirt, high heels, and a white blouse half unbuttoned adorned Star as she walked in the room. A small knife was in her right hand, and a bottle of clear liquid was in her left. Tarzan returned her stare.

“The Jungle King,” she smiled. “My goodness—not so royal at the moment are we? All tied up and nowhere to go? No chance of escape?”

“You’re being used,” Tarzan calmly stated.

Star laughed. “Oh really?”

“Yes. And you know it.”

Star looked him up and down. “Perhaps. But my job here is very specific, so I’m just going to get down to business.” Silently she opened the bottle and very slowly poured its contents over his chest, abs, groin, and thighs. She put the bottle down and slowly rubbed the oil-like substance into his skin. She was a beautiful, impressive woman, and her slow hand hardened Tarzan quickly. She smiled at his hardening, and then engorged, shaft. She watched with pride as his sac swelled at her touch.

“You are a beautiful man,”she whispered. “Under different circumstances...well. My job is to shave your body hair. Stay still,” she smiled. Just as slowly, the knife in her right hand removed a few chest hairs that time, and battle, had not. Then she gave his thighs the same treatment.

“And now, your cock and balls,” she whispered. With surgical precision, he was quickly shorn of his small thatch of pubic hair. His hard on remained.

“What now?” Tarzan asked.

The door burst open and Dr Martin and the same two bodyguards walked in quickly. “Thank you Star. I appreciate your service. You have two more tasks to perform.”

“I do?”

“Yes, and in this order: strip, and suffer.”

“What?” Star smiled.

“You heard me. You did your job. Strip. Or my men will help you.” They both stepped forward. From behind her, two more appeared.

Silently, but staring at Dr Martin, she ripped open her blouse. She wore no bra. She kicked off her heels and dropped her skirt. Her black thong remained. She hesitated, and then removed it, revealing a freshly shaved pussy.

The mean behind her tied her hands behind her, and executed a thorough body cavity search. Star attempted to retain what dignity she could.

“She’s clean,” Dr Martin was told.
To be continued....
 

Bergie14

Assistant executioner
“Let us retire to our special chamber for additional experimentation,” Dr Martin ordered. Star was quickly bound, hands behind her back. “Please bring our guest Tarzan as well.” At gunpoint, the Jungle King was untied and led the procession.

Once in the torture chamber that Tarzan had been victimized in earlier, his wrists were placed in chains. The chains were then raised so that his arms were fully extended overhead. He was within easy view of where Star was about to be tortured. For her part, Star was untied.

“We start with the rack,” Dr Martin told her, and she was quickly bound, spread eagle, on the famous torture instrument.

“Why are you doing this?” Tarzan interrupted, though he already knew why.
 

Bergie14

Assistant executioner
“Let us retire to our special chamber for additional experimentation,” Dr Martin ordered. Star was quickly bound, hands behind her back. “Please bring our guest Tarzan as well.” At gunpoint, the Jungle King was untied and led the procession.

Once in the torture chamber that Tarzan had been victimized in earlier, his wrists were placed in chains. The chains were then raised so that his arms were fully extended overhead. He was within easy view of where Star was about to be tortured. For her part, Star was untied.

“We start with the rack,” Dr Martin told her, and she was quickly bound, spread eagle, on the famous torture instrument.

“Why are you doing this?” Tarzan interrupted, though he already knew why.

Dr Martin looked at him and smiled, but did not speak. He looked at Star, and she at him. Her look was almost one of resignation. Dr Martin finally said to her, “Beg for your life.”

Tarzan watched, struggling with the chains that he knew would not give way—but struggling nonetheless. “Who is she to you?” he asked Dr Martin.

“She is my sister,” he replied, looking at Tarzan. Returning his look to Star, he said “Beg!”

In response, Star spit at him, missing the target but having the intended effect. Now in a rage, Dr Martin shouted “Beg! I am not playing games!”

But Tarzan knew it was, indeed, a game—for Tarzan’s benefit. Was it to test him psychologically? Was it to see if Tarzan would offer himself in some way? Or was it to teach Tarzan that he must do as he is told, or he will suffer a similar fate? Perhaps—all of the above? Regardless, this was clearly not about Star—it was about the Jungle King.

A Jungle King who at the moment was naked and chained, indeed helpless at Dr Martin’s hand. And why was this? Tarzan had volunteered for this duty. He knew Dr Martin needed to be investigated, and he knew Dr Martin was not to be trusted. Yet, along the way, Tarzan had become enormously interested in the science behind Dr Martin’s work. Indeed, his interest was clouding his judgment.

Realistically, how many more years could Tarzan go on? Three? Five? Age was advancing on Tarzan, and rapidly. Yet, he continued to ask, to demand, that his mind and body continue the work he’d done at nearly the same pace he’d done it for more than three decades.

Dr Martin’s work could, potentially, shorten his recovery time at the very least—and possibly even turn back the hands of time. Tarzan felt that his work was not complete, and that there was no one to take up his responsibilities. So, the lure was great.

So he looked at Star, and then at Dr Martin.

“What do you want from me?” Tarzan asked Dr Martin.

“Just enjoy, Tarzan,” Dr Martin replied. He gestured without speaking, and two of his bodyguards began to turn the crank that slowly pulled the roller not far from Star’s ankles, and her naked body first became taut, and then began to stretch.

to be continued.....
 

Bergie14

Assistant executioner
“It’s really quite simple, Tarzan. I don’t need Star’s assistance with my projects anymore. I do need her help in seeing what happens to your pulse and adrenals once you feel the need to rise to the occasion to save a damsel in distress. Sooooooo....we’re going to watch your reactions to her torture.

It will be the last service that she performs for me, and it will be very helpful to my work.”

To be continued....
 
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