The Telemachus Story Archive

Used Jungle Boy For Sale
Chapter 2 - Used Jungle Boy For Sale
By Jotto (Illustrated by Jotto)

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First to the island was Sheikh Ali Bin Abdullah Thani Al-Thani, or Sheikh Al, to his friends.  A rugged yet gallant figure of a huge man, his colorful robe stated his pride of heritage and parted just enough to reveal the ample body hair of his strong physique.  As the Sheikh stepped off his Bell 430 helicopter, which had carried him and his attaché, Regis, over from his custom-built five hundred and fifty foot yacht, the island master greeted him as he and his attaché and promptly ushered them into the dark heart of this sadistic compound. 

There, in a private cell, stood the jungle man-boy with his arms raised high above his head, shackled to the thick wooden beams of the ceiling high above him while his legs were kept agape by a spreader bar shackled to his ankles.  The tattered loincloth did little to conceal his huge cock and the voluptuous balls that hung behind his meat as they rolled between his thighs.  The wild man-cub’s disheveled hair hid his eyes as they widened with anticipation and fear.  His years in captivity had taught him well how to read the soul of a man, especially one as dark as the Sheikh’s.  The carotid artery pulsed extra quick against the skin of his neck, his chest heaved with one deep breath and his fists clenched as he braced himself for the storm of pain that was headed his way.

As a graduate of the University of Cambridge, the Sheikh always delighted himself by surprising people with his British accent.  “I say, he is quite a bit more fetching in person.”

The Sheikh’s eyes were locked in on the cut and roll of the jungle boy’s musculature.  And those muscles tightened up as the Sheikh’s hand rose up and grabbed him by the jaw.  A firm thumb planted in his chin forced the young man-cub to open his quivering mouth as the Sheikh’s index finger slid behind his upper lip and across his teeth.  And as the inspection lingered to the point of obscenity, the jungle boy finally pulled his head back.  The master of the island quickly stepped in with a wild punch to his kidney.

“Bad, bad boy!  You behave!”  A second blow to the boy’s gut, “You hear me!”

Sheik Al halted the master’s third blow to the young man with a wave of his hand.  “I believe I can handle this buck, my good man.  If you would allow me?”

The master gracefully bowed aside, “Of course, my lord.  Go right ahead.”

The Sheikh snapped his fingers at his attaché, Regis, who promptly produce a large metal case and raised it in the air beside the Sheikh.  And with the flick of a switch, four legs sprung out from the bottom as they came to rest on the uneven floorboards of the jungle boy’s cell.  Regis stepped back as he opened the case.  The jungle boy’s view was blocked by the lid as Sheikh Al’s hand disappeared into the case and lingered for a brief eternity as the he pondered which discipline to unleash upon the helpless lad.  The Sheikh’s hand finally grabbed on to something and slowly began to rise.  The jungle boy leaned away as far as his shackles would allow as the bright glint of a sword reflected into his eyes.  The Sheikh pointed the sword right between the man-cub’s eyes.

“So, still a bit pugnacious are you?  Still an once of rancor in your blood?”

With a short thrust and swift turn of the wrist, the Sheikh slid the tip of the sword through just the first three layers of skin over the young man’s cheek and the tip of his nose.  So quick and sharp was the blade, the jungle boy wasn’t sure if he was cut until he felt the first tiny trickles of blood running down his face.  And as he gasped, the Sheikh was quick to rest his blade on the man-boy’s lower teeth.  The young man beast froze his jaw in place and did not dare to move with that sharp threat now resting on his tongue.

The Sheikh commanded, “Now, open wide and let me take a look.  Say ah.”

The master smiled, “Oh, I am in the presence of an artist.”

The Sheikh increased the weight of the blade, forcing the jungle boy to open his mouth as wide as possible.

The Sheikh prompted the jungle boy’ “Ah, ah, ah.”

The wild jungle boy complied, “Ah.”

“Well, you look clean.”  Sheikh Al was pleasantly surprised.

As Sheikh Al slid the blade out of the young man’s mouth, he left behind a cut on his tongue.  The jungle boy spat out the first gush of blood but soon had his mouth shut with a tap of the Sheikh’s sword.

“That’s a good man-boy, now swallow.  I don’t want to see you spit another drop as I cut you up.”

With that as a warning, the Sheikh swung the tip of the sword through the first two layers of skin of the jungle boy’s right pectoral.  Slightly less than a cut, but more than a scratch, the defenseless young man gasped, but knew better not to move.  Then the sword flew across his abs once, then twice, leaving a bloody “X” on his stomach.  Then the boy held his breath as the tip of the blade hovered over the tattered strip of loincloth that did little to shield his hefty manhood.

The Sheikh smiled, “Now, let us have a look at that prize desired or envied by many.”

The Sheikh brushed the undersized loincloth aside with the tip of his blade leaving a subtle cut across the middle of his meat.  The jungle boy puckered his groin, pulling away from the sword.  Sheikh Al’s eyes bulged with disbelief as he gazed upon the major collection of manhood hanging between the boy’s legs.

Sheikh Al was still somewhat incredulous, “I was sure that the web postings were manipulated images of some sort.  And now that I stand before it, I still doubt my own eyes.  Incredible.  Let’s get that useless garment out of the way for a better look.”

With a dash of the sword at the weakest point of the loincloth, the loincloth was cast off the boy’s body and dangled from the edge of the Sheikh’s blade.  Sheikh Al snatched the ragged remains of cloth and shoved it against his nose as he inhaled deeply.

“Oh, I do love that wild cologne of yours.”  Sheikh Al turned to the island master, “Do you mind if I make a souvenir of this?”

The master smiled, “Be my guest.”

But the Sheikh had already tucked the tattered sole position of the jungle boy into his robe.  He arranged the tormented boy’s loincloth so it hung proudly from his beltline as if it were some sort of fashion accessory.

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