Original story by L. Cross, approx. 2010, author unable to be located. Substantially enhanced/embellished/expanded/edited by Rick Henry, 2020 & 2025 . This is fan fiction for adult, mature readers containing explicit sexual scenes, situations, and descriptions.
(Note: This is a very long story re: the takedown of a multitude of superheroes, with a strong focus on Superman [considered the most impossible to down or enslave], with a novel-like layout… and not just a quick series of sexual encounters for prurient thrills.
While I edited this to the best of my ability, and it was quite a grammatical mess throughout [unusual for a Cross story—nor could the original author be contacted in any way, no clue or info on him could be found]—so there are many instances where original punctuation was left in place, mistakes too numerous to correct, particularly in regard to the dashes, where only a single hyphen was used instead. There was also a wealth of ellipses I did not wish to deal with, and left them as is. Plus, there is a warped mix of straight and curly quotation marks, which are simple to ignore. [Additionally, there is also an abundance of repetitious words and phrases used over and over; deleting them would have been more than difficult.] As well, the hoods to be used in the original did not give the captives any ability to see, talk, or hear. I changed that, otherwise they would become a group of starving blind men; while still unable to speak, they now can minimally yet barely function with a modicum of sensory capacity. The original story was also left incomplete. But in the main, it was too good to just be “lost.” I did my best to give it a rather open-ended conclusion, rather than leave it hanging and blank.)
The hunter continually scans the silent night of the deep jungle from its high trees to the river’s edge, hoping to sight the young jungle man he seeks. It is nearly 5AM and the sun will rise soon. He has been watching since sunset having arrived at his present vantage point just before sun-up the day before. He’d traveled light and on foot through the jungle the previous night, guided by GPS and night vision to reach this remote section of the jungle undetected by his prey: “Tarzan, King of the Jungle.” The hunter has cleverly concealed himself from Tarzan in the sanctuary of the cool high cliffs all day, waiting for darkness to begin the hunt for Tarzan. The hunter has waited all night and a good part of the morning… he continues to wait patiently for Tarzan to show himself in the opening near the river’s edge.
As the hunter waits patiently, he can clearly see the fate his perverted client has in store for Tarzan. Mr. Martin made his plans for Tarzan crystal clear the day the hunter was awarded the contract to capture Tarzan, the legendary Jungle Lord.
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Martin: I want this jungle man captured and brought to me alive, Hunter. He’s some sort of legend in his jungle domain – he should not be hard to find – I have the GPS coordinates and records from my safari last spring.
Hunter: I’m afraid it will cost you plenty, Mr. Martin.
Martin: Call me, Bill. Money is no object. I’ll pay you $1,000,000 to bring me this ape man – tamed and in chains.
Hunter: Well, I’m your man, Bill. Does this ape man have a name?
Martin: Tarzan… he’s known as Tarzan in those parts. He’s like a self-proclaimed sheriff of his jungle domain… protects the weak villagers from the more aggressive tribes… drives off the hunters and poachers.
Hunter: I take it you have had a bad experience with Tarzan.
Martin: Yes, I did… last spring on safari with my business partners. Tarzan had the audacity to accost my hunting safari when we inadvertently ventured into his part of the jungle.
Hunter: Please… tell me what happened.
Martin: The hired bearers had just finished making camp near the river for the day when Tarzan swooped down nearly naked out the dense jungle on a tree vine and landed in the center of our camp. The bearer’s’ scattered like frightened children at the sight of mighty Tarzan and ran off. He quickly destroyed our hunting weapons one by one smashing them against a tree or throwing them in the river. He then angrily confronted our guide and said, “Tarzan,” indicating with a gesture to his powerful chest that was his name. Then he screamed, “UMGAWA!” and pointed to the direction the bearers had fled. Our guide pulled his side arm but Tarzan was too quick. He pulled a knife from his holster and threw it at the guide piecing his hand before he reached the weapon. Tarzan easily disarmed the injured guide and retrieved his knife and then tossed the pistol into the river.
Hunter: What happened next?
Martin: We had no choice; our guide needed medical attention. We left in a hurry. We had to leave our supplies and equipment as we had no bearer’s. Tarzan followed watching us closely from the tree tops until we were well out of his jungle.
Hunter: Quite a story, Bill. Do you have s description of him?
Martin: I can do better that that. My partner snapped several photos of Tarzan while he was distracted. Take these with you… although I doubt you’ll have any problem recognizing Tarzan.
Hunter takes the photos and examines them.
Hunter: This Tarzan is not much more than a kid – 24 – 25. Good-looking kid, too. Blond hair – blue eyes; he looks like he’s a big boy, too –well over 6’ tall and all muscle.
Martin: Yes, he is a powerful young man – impressive body; that’s why I want to own this ape man. He’s proud and full of free spirit – he’s never been defeated – he’s never known the yoke of slavery.
Hunter: Revenge or… something else? Not that it matters to me. I’m just curious.
Martin: Strictly revenge, Hunter. I simply want to punish the ape man. I want to take everything he has away from him – freedom – his good looks – his muscle - I want to make an animal out of this legend. I have a plantation on a small island I own in the Caribbean. After you capture Tarzan for me, I intend to see this so-called Jungle Lord harnessed and bridled like an animal and worked in the hot fields of that plantation in the Caribbean.
Hunter: I see.
Martin: There is more, Hunter. Once I have Tarzan captive on my island, I will take my time and humiliate him. I’ll keep Tarzan naked except for a leather harness that I will personally fuse tightly to his cock and balls - and a leather hood – I’ll get to the hood in a minute, Hunter.
Hunter: Certainly, Bill. I’m listening
Martin: Tarzan will be my human horse block. Every morning I’ll step onto his powerful bare back as he kneels, his mighty arms tightly restrained behind his back, and mount my horse. Then I will ceremoniously lead Tarzan around my private island from the saddle of my horse. I’ll pull the savage along from atop my steed, with long leather reins that I will attach to Tarzan’s ball harness. As I ride my horse and pull the reins, the harness will tighten around Tarzan’s balls painfully, forcing him to move faster to keep up with me as ride leisurely at a brisk pace on my noble steed around the trails of my island.
Hunter: You mentioned a hood, Bill.
Martin: Ah yes - the hood – Tarzan is extremely handsome as you can see for yourself: fair skin – blond hair – blue eyes – young – mid-twenties. When you capture this jungle boy, I want you to immediately place a thick leather hood over his head that will I provide you – lace it up and lock it in place. It has only a nose hole and mouth hole, and the tiniest slit for eyes. The hood is never to be removed from Tarzan’s head. Tarzan is to never see the sun again, and no one will ever see this young man’s handsome face with its blond hair and blue eyes, again –the thick heavy grotesque leather hood will take away his major eyesight and attractive face and features forever. When you see the hood, you’ll understand my meaning. Tarzan is an animal, and I intend to dress him as one. Oh – and you are to strip him naked and keep him naked.
Hunter: Keep the kid hooded and naked – got it.
Martin: You’ll have to visit Tarzan on the plantation, Hunter. After his morning walk, each day Tarzan will be sent into my fields where he’ll be worked by my task master as a beast of burden; he’ll be harnessed and bound to a plow. Tarzan then will be whipped while he is forced to pull a plow behind him to till my fields... half the day in the scorching sun. Or straining to push at my grinder’s punishment wheel. At night, I’ll cage him in the barn with the other “horses.”
Hunter: That will be something to see, Bill.
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“Well… a contract is a contract… some of my clients have peculiar appetites. Mr. Martin sure has it in for Tarzan… he made a big mistake when he accosted his safari,” thinks the hunter.
The hunter suddenly snaps back to present. Through the night vision equipped binoculars the hunter sees movement in the jungle near the river’s edge. The hunter smiles as a green outline of a large and very tall muscular young man wearing only a loin cloth steps from the jungle and into a clearing near the edge of river. The carefree, strapping young man stretches his muscular arms over his head and yawns as he twists, flexing his powerful form, driving the sleep from his body. The jungle man is unaware of the hidden danger from the cliffs above, and stands in the open clearing for several moments looking up into the rising-dawn sky. The photos don’t do this kid justice - Tarzan is more impressive in person. Look at those muscles – living in the wild has made this boy strong. I better take him down the first time – I won’t get a second chance, and he’d be tough to take, one-on-one, without having to kill him first, decides the hunter. The contract calls for Tarzan to be alive
The hunter continues to watch the jungle man with fascination as he dives into the river and swims a few laps. “I thought I’d have to spend another sleepless night waiting for you to turn up, jungle boy,” thinks the hunter. While Tarzan is distracted, the hunter quickly readies his rifle loaded with a tranquilizer dart. The hunter takes aim at the river bank where Tarzan dove in moments ago, and waits for him to finish his early morning, cleansing swim. Minutes later, Tarzan finishes his morning laps and swims quickly to the bank and easily pulls himself out of the river. The powerful Jungle Lord shakes his head, spraying water from his long blond hair.
The hunter smiles in the semi-darkness as he takes careful aim through the gun’s scope at Tarzan’s right buttock, with the assistance of the night vision technology. The silence of the jungle dawn is shattered with a thundering crack and bright flash from the gun’s long barrel as the hunter fires his gun. Tarzan’s reaction to the loud gunshot and bright flash comes too late; the dart drives deep into Tarzan’s right buttock and empties its contents immediately, startling the young man. “AHHHH!” howls the bewildered jungle man as he pulls the dart out and quickly kneels low in the sandy soil, frantically scanning the cliffs above him. The hunter watches as Tarzan examines the dart in total bewilderment and rubs his stinging buttocks with his free hand. The hunter smiles as he watches through his binoculars. Tarzan suddenly drops the used dart, kneels down and raises both hands to both sides of his head, as if suddenly swept with a wave of intense dizziness and light-headedness. The drug works fast, thinks the hunter, as he sees Tarzan try to stand up but falls back weakly to his knees, and puts both hands back to the sides of his head again, closing his eyes and leaning slightly forward. The hunter stands up no longer fearful of being spotted by his young powerful prey, and continues to watch through the binoculars with satisfaction as the young jungle man quickly succumbs to the effects of the tranquilizing drug.
Tarzan does not see the hunter above; he is occupied trying to comprehend what has just happened as he desperately tries to fight off the knockout drug and remain conscious. However, the large dose of the drug is too powerful, and suddenly Tarzan’s hands drop to his side and his entire body goes limp; his eyes shutter, and the muscled Tarzan falls forward face first, hard onto the sandy ground of the river’s edge. He lays motionless, hands and arms askewed to his sides.
“He’s down!” yelps the hunt as he shoulders his rifle and tosses the binoculars into the open knap sack. The hunter closes the sack and then picks it up and starts to make his way down to where the drugged young jungle man is lying helpless near the edge of the river.
Several minutes later, the hunter approaches Tarzan as he lays face down with his face buried in the sandy soil. The hunter stares down at the young jungle man clad only in a loin cloth as he circles his downed prey several times. The hunter drops the sack and nudges the big jungle man in the ribs hard with his foot, trying to arouse him. “The jungle boy is out cold,” says the hunter aloud. The hunter kneels down next to Tarzan and rolls the strapping young man over onto his back in the sand. He slaps the young man’s handsome face three times sharply in quick succession, but the man does not stir.
“Excellent – that drug really did a number on Tarzan,” murmurs the hunter. “Yes!” he thinks,
appraising his young captive from his muscular pecs down to his powerful calves – a magnificent specimen of manhood. The hunter wastes no time and disarms the Jungle Lord. He pulls the large knife out of Tarzan’s holster, and cuts the leather waist cord of the loin cloth he wears. The hunter pulls the knife holster away from Tarzan’s waist, dragging the cut leather cord and the loin cloth off along with it, leaving Tarzan completely naked. The hunter examines the knife and then holsters it, looking down at the naked young man.
“Nothing personal, Tarzan – strictly following orders – your new owner wants you kept naked from this point forward,” explains the hunter as he pokes and prods Tarzan’s balls with the holstered knife, sizing them up for the ball shackle he will soon lock around the Jungle Lord’s manhood. “These will make great souvenirs,” says the hunter aloud as he opens his sack and deposits both the knife and loin cloth into the sack.
The hunter rummages through the sack and pulls out a set of heavy, leather neck-wrist restraints and a small lockable steel shackle with a length of chain attached to it, and tosses the items next to the naked man with a clatter. He again rummages through the sack and retrieves a strange looking thick, leather hood and a large black ball gag with leather straps. The hunter looks at the grotesque leather hood and then down at Tarzan laying naked in the sandy soil. “Well kid… you’re in for a rough time from here on in! Not only am I instructed to keep you in the buff, but I’m to take away your speech, sight and hearing,” explains the hunter to the slumbering jungle man. The hood is black and made of thick leather, and has the grotesque, distorted features of a gorilla’s face on the front of the hood. The hood has only two opening – an air hole in the wide flat nose-piece of the face, and a mouth opening between the thick oversized lips of gorilla’s mouth. Plus tiny slits at the eyes. The gorilla hood has a zipper on the back, and a thick black leather cord interwoven and laced through the back of the hood, hidden by the long lengths of shoulder-length black kinky hair sewn into it.
The thick leather cord, when drawn tight and tied off, compresses the hood tight around the wearer’s face like a second skin. At the base of the hood is a tiny padlock used to lock the zipper closed, once the hood with the mask is secured over the victim. “Well, jungle boy – act like an ape, and sooner or later someone will dress you up as one,” thinks the hunter as he unzips and unlaces the thick leather animal hood, preparing to put the hood over Tarzan’s head.
(Note : all subsequent maskings of the captured heroes will have both nose and small mouth holes in their fronts. Plus minimal eye slits. Additionally, the ball gags inserted will also have adequate straw-holes drilled into the center of the ball that fits into their mouths, so they may be given liquid only nourishments and water twice daily. In the event captives are forced to toil in the hot sun, they will be given water breaks every hour, to keep them from passing out or having heatstroke).
Eight hours have passed since the hunter brought down the young jungle man with a tranquilizer dart. The hunter is sitting in the clearing near the river with his back up against a tree watching his slumbering captive’s powerful upper body rise and fall with each breath he draws. In his hand, the hunter holds a heavy black steel weight one half the size of a small cannon ball with a small chain attached. The hunter smiles as he examines the weight and then looks at Tarzan menacingly. Tarzan is taller than the safari logs indicated – easily close to 6 and ½ feet tall. Tarzan is an impressive man - blue eyes, long blond hair and a fair-ish complexion. Tarzan is definitely what they call a ten: chest, arm, and leg muscles all well-developed and perfectly proportioned, accented finely by his fair skin, naturally tanned to a rich golden brown.
The drug should wear off anytime now, thinks the hunter. Tarzan is lying naked in the morning sun, face down but to the side, on the sandy ground of the river bank where the hunter drugged him. His powerful arms are now tightly buckled in leather restraints behind his back. A wide leather strap runs from the wrist restraints up the length of Tarzan’s broad back and is fused with a big steel rivet into a constraining leather collar. The collar is snugly wrapped and buckled tight around his strong neck. Tarzan’s right buttock has a black and blue bruise where the hunter’s dart struck. Per his client’s instruction, the hunter has secured the grotesque tight-fitting black gorilla faced hood over Tarzans’ head. The full-faced leather hood is zipped closed and laced tightly with a leather cord interwoven into the back of the hood, and tied off making the hood rather conform to Tarzan’s handsome face. The cruel hood has only nose, mouth, and eye slit openings, robbing the Jungle Lord of most of his sight and normal hearing. The mouth opening with its fat, oversized gorilla lips are spread open and have a large black rubber ball inserted deep into Tarzan’s mouth cavity. The mouth gag is secured in Tarzan’s mouth with leather straps that also buckle together behind the leather hood. As well, attached to the base of Tarzan’s hefty testicle sac is a small shiny steel shackle, with a length of chain attached to the top of the shackle. The hunter holds the end of the chain and tugs on the metal ball-leash occasionally, pulling at the young man’s manhood, trying to arouse the captured stud back into a state of consciousness.
“Come on, sleeping beauty. You’ve got a long, hard walk ahead of you, jungle boy,” jokes the hunter as he roughly tugs the chain-leash again several times. Tarzan groans through his mouth gag as his body shifts slightly in the sand, and his biceps flex impressively as he pulls weakly at the leather restraints holding his arms folded fast behind his back.
Good – he’s starting to come around, thinks the hunter. He’ll put up a fight for a while, muses the hunter, watching the downed big man twist slightly in the sand as the drug begins to wear off. But I’ve handled big men before. Besides, it’s pretty obvious this gorilla boy is all brawn and no brains... no education, or formal upbringing, I’d guess. Doubt if he can even talk well, having grown up out here on his own. Wonder how he even ended up here... plane crash – lost when he was a kid? Abandoned on purpose?
“Who knows – who cares?” decides the hunter. His own emotions detached and cold as steel; unflinching, not warmly human, concerning his task. A contract is a contract. Mr. Martin hired me to capture this jungle man he has become obsessed with, and I did. I just have to break the jungle boy before I hand him over to him. The contract calls for a “tamed” jungle boy. The quickest way to break this stud is to show him who’s in control, now – and that’s me!
A half hour later Tarzan is fully awake and thrashing around blindly in the sand, grunting and snarling through the ball gag pulling at the leather restraints that bind his arms tightly behind his back. The hunter watches in amusement as the jungle man thrashes his head wildly, trying to free himself of the tight leather gorilla hood over his head, as he begins to panic and freak out at the darkness and his captivity. Rather expected, snorts the hunter to himself, with little compassion.
The hunter rises and approaches the struggling young man, reining in the ball-leash tightly. Tarzan struggles frantically, twisting on his chest in the sandy soil as he too well feels the sharp constant tug on his manhood. Deprived of full sight and hearing, he instinctively shifts his body in the sandy soil and follows the direction of the tug on his balls, rising up onto his knees before his unseen captor. The hunter smiles and tugs upward, hard and sharp again, on the ball-leash, and commands loudly, “Up, gorilla boy!” Encouraged by the roughly consistent upward painful tug on his ball shackle, Tarzan struggles to his feet and stands before the hunter unsteadily, still shaking his gorilla-hooded head, urgent to be free of the confining hood and large ball gag inserted in his mouth. He desperately tries to break the leather wrist restraints attached to the tight leather collar that hold his powerful arms secure behind his muscular torso, but cannot. Tarzan tries to move away blindly... but the hunter reins in the ball-leash and pulls the big man back towards him. The hunter jerks the leash hard again, and Tarzan stumbles unsteadily and confused towards his unseen captor, still testing his arm restraints and shaking his head that is confined tightly in the cruel, grotesque leather hood.
“You are a big boy,” comments the hunter, looking his strapping prize up and down. “Kinda like a wild horse caught for the first time. You need to be broken, boy. I might as well get started!”
The hunter brings the length of chain attached to the top of the shackle locked around Tarzan’s ball sack up to Tarzan’s chest. The hunter smiles at the young man in the ridiculous gorilla hood and attaches the chain to the D ring on the leather collar of the neck-wrist restraints around Tarzan’s strong neck. Tarzan futilely struggles but the hunter holds his balls firmly in place with his grip on the ball shackle’s chain. Tarzan’s mighty arms and legs instinctively flex as he moves confined before the hunter, trying to defend another part of his body he senses is being leashed. Hooded, Tarzan is completely in the dark to what is coming; he has only felt the steel grip around his maleness, and now the tight tug of the leather grip of the collar around his neck.
The hunter can’t resist, rubbing the chain against the jungle man’s rock-hard pecs and abs. He holds Tarzan in place, maintaining a firm hold on the ball shackle’s chain and rubs the chain against the length of Tarzan chest. Tarzan quivers as the hunter rubs the cold steel against his impressive pecs and abs, allowing him to sense the unbreakable strength of bonds that harness his muscles and makes him powerless before his unknown captor. The hunter then takes the heavy weight he has been toying with and attaches the weight’s short chain to the bottom of the ball shackle, and releases the weight. Tarzan’s scream is muffled through the ball gag as the weight drops, pulling Tarzan’s balls downwards sharply. “All wild horses buck hard before they are tamed,” laughs the hunter, watching the confused and bewildered jungle man trying to adjust to the feel of the heaviness anchoring down his precious manhood.
Like a cowboy on a wild stallion, the hunter grabs the chain running from the collar to the top of the ball shackle and pulls upward fast and hard. Tarzan again muffle-screams through the ball gag, as his crotch thrusts forward and up instinctively as the weight and chain-leash pull in opposite directions at his shackled balls. The hunter continues to pull upwards hard on Tarzan’s ball shackle, forcing the near-blinded and bound Jungle Lord to heel and stand up high on his tip toes in the sand; a demonstration to Tarzan that all his muscle has been effectively harnessed, and he is beaten for the first time in his life.
“Heel, boy - that’s it, gorilla boy – up on your toes!” commands the hunter coldly. Tarzan’s muscles are pumped, trying to free his arms, horrified at having his balls bound and pulled both upwards and downwards simultaneously. Worse than fear is surging through him as his efforts to escape his unseen captor prove useless. The hunter laughs, and shows no mercy as he maintains his iron grip on Tarzan’s steel ball shackle, and tugs even harder so that Tarzan will heel to his command. Ruthless, the hunter seems to enjoy his ownership over a much more powerful being. The “rush” rather stimulates him. Tantalizing him in un-before reached ways.
The cruel hunter holds the once mighty Jungle Lord up high on his tip toes, tugging hard on the chain for a long time, letting his captive know his powerful muscles are useless and he no longer has control of them – the hunter demonstrates to Tarzan again and again that he has been beaten. After a few minutes, Tarzan stops struggling and finally heels to his unseen captor. He actually bows his head and stands squirming in pain, shifting back and forth on the ball of each foot quietly before the unseen captor, breathing ragged and heavy through the flat, wide nose-piece of the gorilla mask. The hunter smiles and continues to hold Tarzan’s ball-leash high and firmly in place, forcing Tarzan to stay up on his toes squirming for several more minutes. The hunter is surprised at how quickly the mighty Tarzan, King of the Jungle, has been subdued. Tarzan is no longer struggling – standing before the hunter quietly squirming, but clearly in submission. Taming the dumb jungle boy was easier than I ever dreamed, thinks the hunter, as he pulls the chain higher again to demonstrate his power over Tarzan once more. Tarzan moans and gingerly shifts his weight to compensate. Apparently, Tarzan is all about muscle, thinks the hunter – who is stronger? When I harnessed the jungle boy’s muscle and took away most of his sight, Tarzan perceived me as the strongest; and like any savage, submitted to the stronger entity! In this case, ME! The Hunter, who has made the mighty Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle – “HEEL!”
It’s been an hour since the hunter left the river clearing, leading the captive jungle man towards the trail which will take them to the drop-point many miles away... where a companion will meet him with transportation. The hunter looks behind occasionally to watch the Tarzan’s restrained rippling muscles as he leads his “catch of the day,” by the chain attached to Tarzan’s collar and ball shackle. The cumbersome weight, approximately four pounds, attached to the ball shackle, dangles heavily and swings wildly between Tarzan’s legs, bouncing off his powerful upper thighs... making it difficult to walk at the hunter’s quick pace down the narrow jungle trail. To the hunter’s surprise, Tarzan now sports a raging hard-on – a good-sized one, at that - his cock steely hard and thick, with a flow of pre-cum on its tip... though at a noticeable downward angle, which can’t be helped. I guess restraint and domination is a sexual arousal for Tarzan, surmises the hunter as he gives the chain a hard tug causing the big jungle man to stumble and almost fall face forward. “You kind of like being restrained and dominated don’t you, big boy,” mocks the hunter. He picks up the pace, forcing the big man to struggle harder as he is forced to walk even faster down the jungle trail.
The hunter is in a hurry to reach the pick-up point and Tarzan is yanked forward by the chain fastened tightly to his balls and strong neck; the tugging on his balls is undeniably painful, and Tarzan is desperate to keep up with his captor to avoid further pain.
Tarzan is also drenched in sweat, his dick rock hard, and breathing laboredly through the wide, flat nose hole of the confining gorilla-faced hood, unsteadily following the hunter blindly through the jungle, who is relentlessly pulling him forwards by his balls. The hunter smug-proudly looks back at the harnessed Jungle Lord he parades behind him... naked, and masked like a dumb ape, with satisfaction... knowing that Tarzan will never again know what it means to be a “lord” of his jungle. The hunter smiles and yanks the chain hard, and yells, “I said pick up the pace, gorilla boy!” Tarzan tries to obey, vaguely hearing anything, and walks faster—but the dangling weight from the ball shackle, bouncing off his powerful thighs, disrupts any sort of rhythm for a quicker pace. The nose-piece of the gorilla mask is small, and it is difficult for Tarzan to draw air into the hood.
Many hours later, after a continuous march with no breaks, the hunter reaches the clearing that is his pick-up point. The clearing is empty as the hunter leads a thoroughly exhausted and sweat-sheened Tarzan stumbling and staggering into the area. The hunter stops suddenly and whirls the big jungle man around 180 degrees, and then releases his grip on the chain that runs between Tarzan’s balls and collar. The blind man does not see the maneuver coming and the big man goes down hard backwards with a thud onto his arms that are restrained behind his back. “Take a break, gorilla boy,” commands the hunter, as Tarzan moans through the ball gag and slowly rolls onto his stomach to relieve the pressure on his restrained arms. Tarzan is thoroughly exhausted from the hard march, drenched with sweat, and breathing very raggedly through the nose hole of the hood. Tarzan’s muscled chest rises and falls heavily and quickly, desperate to draw sufficient air into the hood and catch his breath.
The hunter takes his canteen from his belt and takes a long cool drink of water and wipes the sweat from his brow with his long sleeve. He looks down at the restrained naked man lying face down exhausted in the grass. “That was a long walk, hey, gorilla boy,” snickers the hunter as he takes another cool drink. “I’ll bet you’re thirsty, Tarzan,” observes the hunter as he checks his watch. “I hope so – get used to being thirsty and hungry,” the hunter says coldly to Tarzan, who cannot hear him in the leather hood.
The hunter watches from the co-pilot’s seat of the multi engine turbo prop transport as the coast of Africa disappears and the gray waters of the Atlantic appear. “So…what’s so special about the air cargo that that you need to lease my entire plane—just to move one mysterious cubical covered tightly with a tarp?” ask the pilot.
Hunter sips his coffee, smiles and says, “You know my line of work, Jack—we’ve been friends a fair, long time. I need stealth and secrecy; thought I’d throw some easy money your way.”
“Oh, I do appreciate the business… double my normal fee. Bonus alone, for not having to clear customs, will pay for a year of Zach’s college,” replies the pilot.
“How is Zach doing?” asks the hunter as he stares out at the seemingly endless stretch of the Atlantic Ocean.
“Great… Zach is doing great… grades are good, and he’s kept out of trouble. He’s a different kid since you got him out of that jam he got himself into… I still can’t thank…”
“No need to thank me, again. Zach’s a great kid… he just needed to be shown and pointed in the right direction. Fell into line… after a few ill-advised friendships were ended,” explains the hunter. “Where’s your co-pilot?” asks the hunter as he looks around from the cockpit.
“He’s making his in-flight check in the cargo hold. Don’t worry… Jake’s young, but he knows not to snoop into other folks’ affairs. Been with me for a couple years now… he’s a good kid, and a great pilot too. He knows when to keep his mouth shut.” replies the pilot.
“Good… when he returns, I’ll show you what I’m moving. It’s not my normal line of work, and I’d normally refuse this type of perverted job. I even planned on proposing an outrageous fee for the job to avoid it… I don’t like to traffic in slaves. But the money I was offered for a few weeks work was triple what I was going to ask—couldn’t pass it up. Money jobs of this magnitude are few and far between,” says the hunter, and then sips back on his coffee.
“You have a slave on board?” asks the pilot in amazement.
“Slave was probably the wrong word… this job was more like a kidnapping on my part. Slavery comes into play after I turn him over to his owner. Don’t worry… he was completely flushed out and plugged by a vet buddy of mine before I caged him,” laughs the hunter. “There won’t be no mess to clean up.”
“Plugged… he’s in a cage?” asks the pilot.
The hunter looks at the pilot and says, “Well, I couldn’t give him “preferred seating,” I’m sorry. Ah… it’s a long story, Jack. It’s like this; I was hired by a wealthy… well, pervert— word gets around—I’ve heard about my client’s depraved appetites. Anyway, my client hired me to capture a local jungle savage, who’d made the mistake of crossing him a few months ago while on a hunting safari. He says he just wants to settle a score with “jungle boy”… humiliate him… parade him around his island naked like a savage ape—use him for hard labor on his plantation in Caribbean. But I think there is more than humiliation and forced labor in store for the air cargo onboard. Here’s the thing… the jungle boy I captured is a very good-looking kid: white, tall… muscled… blond, blue eyes. I’d bet my entire fee for this job, my rich client has an endless supply of roofies. He’ll likely have this jungle-toy drugged into a stupor, and between his sheets every night of the week. Odds are my client with the bottomless wallet is probably sitting on his plantation’s porch right now, stroking his floppy hard-on and licking his lips, thinking about the first time he’s free to have his way with jungle boy , undisturbed.”
“What a sick freak… how would you imagine the kid came to be this jungle man?” asks the pilot.
“Probably son of some rich family… strayed away from a safari and got lost… survived a plane crash… missionary parents murdered by hostiles—who knows, for sure? Either way, he managed to grow up on his own in the jungle,” offers the hunter. “Must be one heck of a story of survival… shame it has to end like this.”
A token nicety said—he didn’t really care.