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I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
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Chapter 19: Bound in Captivity -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 19: Bound in Captivity
As the dawn broke over the horizon, Mr. Blackwood guided Tarzan back to Lord Harrington's sprawling estate. The journey was a solemn one, the weight of Tarzan's captivity settling heavily upon him. The jungle, distant and wild, seemed to beckon in the distance, its ancient heart aching for its rightful king.
Upon their return, Mr. Blackwood approached Lord Harrington, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.
"My lord, the night proved to be a success beyond measure" Blackwood said to his new partner. "Tarzan's display of strength and agility left the patrons in awe. The profits were substantial."
Lord Harrington's gaze bore into Tarzan, a glint of greed in his eyes.
"Excellent news, Blackwood. It seems our investment has paid off handsomely."
At Mr. Blackwood's side stood three distinguished men, each eager for their chance to oversee Tarzan in the fields and mines. They offered Lord Harrington a substantial sum for this privilege, their intentions clear in their ambitious eyes.
"Lord Harrington," one of the men spoke, "We assure you, with our guidance, Tarzan's labor will yield results beyond compare. We have devised methods to ensure maximum productivity."
Lord Harrington considered their offer, a smile playing at his lips.
"Very well, gentlemen. I grant you this opportunity."
He provided the men with the tools they would need to oversee Tarzan's work: a riding crop, a bull whip, and a cattle prod. Each item symbolized the control they now held over the once-mighty king of the jungle.
Under the watchful eyes of their new overseers, Tarzan toiled in the fields and mines, his body demonstrating the raw power that still flowed through his veins. The men, with their tools of authority, directed his every move, their voices cold and commanding.
As the day wore on, the sun bearing down with unyielding intensity, Tarzan's muscles strained against the relentless labor. The overseers, their stature elevated by their newfound authority, pushed him to the brink of exhaustion.
Meanwhile, in the shadowed corners of the estate, Mr. Blackwood and Lord Harrington spoke in hushed tones, their voices filled with the promise of even greater profits. They discussed plans to exploit Tarzan's strength for further gain, to extract every ounce of value from their prized acquisition. He was proving more profitable than they could have imagined, with men lining up to pay for the privaledge of whipping tarzan into shape and up to pace.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of red and gold, Tarzan was led back to his meager quarters. His body, weary and battered, bore the marks of a day of relentless toil. Yet, his spirit remained unbroken, a beacon of defiance in the face of his captivity.
The jungle, with its ancient wisdom, watched over Tarzan, its branches whispering secrets of hope and resilience. The once-king, bound by fate, knew that his journey was far from over, and the call of the wild still echoed in his heart.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, Tarzan's weary form was led to the kennels. The hose, a harsh and impersonal instrument, sprayed him down, cleansing away the residue of his day's labor. It was a reminder of his lowly status, a stark contrast to the untamed spirit that still pulsed within him.
From the depths of his coat, Mr. Blackwood produced a garment, a simple and coarse tunic that would now replace Tarzan's signature loincloth. It was a garment more fitting for one of Tarzan's lowly stature, a tangible representation of his fallen status.
"Put this on, Tarzan," Mr. Blackwood instructed, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "It is more appropriate for your current role."
Tarzan accepted the garment with a measured acceptance, understanding that it was another step in his journey of captivity. He donned the tunic, the fabric rough against his skin, leaving his mighty chest exposed and barely covering his cock -- intimidating even at rest -- and leaving his big bull balls dangling beneath the edge of the slave garment, a tangible reminder of his altered existence.
Leashed and bound, Tarzan was led back to the opulent club where the night's revelry awaited. Before securing him for the trip, Mr. Blackwood spoke to Tarzan, his words a mixture of instruction and assurance.
"Tonight, Tarzan, you will entertain the patrons once more. Remember your place and show them the strength that they admire so greatly."
Tarzan listened, his demeanor respectful and compliant. He had learned to treat Mr. Blackwood with the deference that his new role demanded, a survival instinct that guided him through the trials of captivity.
He rode in a cage strapped to the top of the carriage, the once-king now confined in a cage that spoke volumes of his fallen status. It was a stark juxtaposition to Mr. Blackwood, who rode in comfort and ease, a testament to the power dynamic that now governed their interactions.
The spectacle of the savage stud caged and controlled like a common beast was not lost on those encountering the carriage and its cargo on its trip to the Dom's Den.
As they approached the club, the atmosphere shifted, the anticipation of the night's spectacle palpable. Tarzan understood the gravity of his role, the captive king now a living curiosity for the amusement of his superiors.
END OF CHAPTER NINETEEN-------------------------------------
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