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Chapter 24: Tarzan Dreams a Dream -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 24 -- Tarzan's Dreams
Tarzan's slumber becomes increasingly filled with vivid dreams that seem to address his immediate change of circumstances. Is it a coincidence that the powerful dreams reinforcing his newly dawning sense of self began when Lord Harrington and Mr. Blackwood had the overseer, Hargrove, implement the sound system with the subliminal messages to tarzan each night?
In Tarzan's latest dream, he found himself in a lush jungle, surrounded by towering trees and vibrant foliage. Yet, this jungle was unlike any he had ever known. Instead of being the king of this domain, he was no longer a wild man, but rather a devoted servant.
Before him stood a grand mansion, far removed from his accustomed treehouse. Tarzan wore his customary loincloth, his hair neatly groomed for a change, and he looked somehow refined, unlike the rugged ape man of the jungle.
Approaching him was Mr. Blackwood, his Master. Blackwood was clad in an exquisite suit, exuding an air of authority and sophistication. He held out his hand, and Tarzan obediently knelt before him, kissing Blackwood's ring as a sign of submission.
"Tarzan," Mr. Blackwood said with a commanding tone, "you are my loyal servant. Your only purpose is to serve me, to fulfill my every desire."
Tarzan nodded in compliance, his devotion evident in his eyes.
Blackwood continued, "You will be the epitome of obedience and dedication. You will attend to my every need, anticipating my wishes before I even voice them."
As the dream continued, Tarzan was seen catering to Mr. Blackwood's every whim, whether it was preparing meals, tending to his attire, or even offering a soothing massage after a long day. Tarzan found solace in this servitude, a deep sense of belonging and purpose.
Throughout the dream, Tarzan felt a growing sense of contentment and fulfillment. He had found his true place, and it was serving Mr. Blackwood with unwavering loyalty and devotion.
As the dream slowly faded, Tarzan awoke, feeling a strange mix of emotions. It was a vivid dream, one that left him pondering his newfound role and the connection he felt to Mr. Blackwood.
Tarzan's dream wove a tale of strange and surreal scenes. He found himself amidst an opulent gathering at Mr. Blackwood's extravagant estate, a place of decadence and power. The guests were familiar faces from Tarzan's past, those he had crossed paths with as a jungle hero, some of whom had once sought to challenge or exploit him. Yet, the circumstances were starkly different now.
In Tarzan's dream, the guests at Mr. Blackwood's party were embodiments of his past adversaries, now turned masters. Each interaction was a surreal dance of power and submission.
He saw Captain Reynolds, whose plans to illegally harvest ivory from the jungle tarzan had thwarted. In the dream, Tarzan was now serving drinks to Captain Reynolds, bowing and scraping as he did so, acknowledging the Captain's superiority.
Tarzan recalled their prior encounter when Reynolds sought to plunder the jungle's riches for his own gain. In the dream, Captain Reynolds now sneered down at Tarzan, mocking his subservience. Tarzan, in his loincloth and collar, knelt at Reynolds' feet, his eyes averted.
Captain Reynolds looked down at Tarzan with undisguised contempt, a triumphant gleam in his eye.
"So, the mighty jungle king reduced to a mere plaything," he sneered, his tone dripping with superiority.
"Fetch me a drink, Tarzan," Reynolds commanded, extending an imperious hand. Tarzan obeyed without hesitation, moving with a grace that belied his newfound servitude.
As Tarzan knelt at his feet, Captain Reynolds chuckled darkly.
"You were never fit to challenge a man of my stature, were you?" he mused, relishing the reversal of their roles.
In Captain Reynolds' eyes, Tarzan was nothing more than a pet, a living testament to his own dominance.
Colonel Harris was there, a rival explorer who had tried to outshine Tarzan's knowledge of the jungle. In the dream, Tarzan was handing Colonel Harris a plate of exotic fruits, looking on with envy as Colonel Harris enjoyed the finest delicacies.
Tarzan remembered the Colonel's arrogant attempts to outshine him as an explorer. In the dream, Colonel Harris strolled by, barely sparing Tarzan a glance. He addressed him with a condescending smirk, asserting his dominance with every step.
"You always did have a penchant for theatrics," he remarked, his tone dismissive. "But now, you're where you truly belong."
Turning back, he surveyed Tarzan with a self-satisfied smirk.
"Fetch me a cigar, Tarzan. And don't dawdle," he ordered, watching as Tarzan hurried to comply.
"You thought you were invincible, didn't you?" Colonel Harris mused. "But here you are, on your knees. A fitting end, I'd say."
To Colonel Harris, Tarzan was a symbol of his own superiority, a testament to his ability to bend even the mightiest to his will. Tarzan had previously protected Professor Lawrence from danger in the jungle, saving his life. In the dream, Lawrence was now seated with Tarzan at his feet, eager to hear his every word.
Professor Lawrence looked down at Tarzan with a mix of fascination and satisfaction. "The student has become the master, it seems," he observed, his voice tinged with irony.
"I wonder," Lawrence mused, "what secrets your body still holds? Let's find out, shall we?" He gestured for Tarzan to stand, examining him with clinical detachment.
"You were a mere anomaly in my studies," Lawrence stated, "but now, you're my most valuable specimen."
In Professor Lawrence's eyes, Tarzan had transformed from a subject of study to an object of his own perverse curiosity.
Doctor Smithers, the scientist who had once sought to study Tarzan as a scientific curiosity, a specimen of evolutionary significance, now circled him like a predator. He scrutinized every inch of Tarzan's exposed form, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction.
Doctor Smithers circled Tarzan, his eyes alight with a predatory hunger.
"Such strength, such vitality," he murmured. "And now, all at my disposal."
He ran a gloved hand along Tarzan's bicep, relishing the power beneath his touch.
"You're a marvel, Tarzan. A true marvel," Smithers said, his tone almost reverent. "I always knew there was untapped potential in you. Now, it's mine to harness."
To Doctor Smithers, Tarzan was a living embodiment of his scientific ambitions, a worthy subject for his ability to control and manipulate even the most formidable specimens.
And far from least was Baron von Richter. Tarzan had thwarted the Baron's plans to poach rare animals for their valuable hides. Tarzan recalled their past clash when tarzan stifled his illegal animal hunting. In the dream, the Baron held Tarzan's leash, yanking it sharply to remind him of his place. Tarzan obediently followed his every command, his movements slow and deliberate, embodying submission.
"You were a thorn in my side for too long," the baron remarked remarked, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
"Kneel, Tarzan," the Baron ordered, and Tarzan complied without hesitation. "You're learning your place, I see."
As Tarzan knelt before him, the Baron chuckled darkly.
"You were never meant to challenge men like us. Now, you understand that, don't you?"
To Baron von Richter, Tarzan represented a victory over a longstanding adversary, a living representation of the baron's own triumph and superiority.
As Tarzan reveled in this strange reversal of roles, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. In his dream, his enemies had become his master, while he was now subservient to those who had once sought to exploit him. It was a fantasy, a fleeting escape from the harsh reality of his new life, but it brought him a sense of empowerment and retribution he so desperately craved.
As the dream unfolded, Tarzan grappled with the stark contrast of his former victories and his present submission. His enemies reveled in their newfound power, relishing in the role reversal. It was a disorienting and unsettling fantasy, one that challenged Tarzan's sense of self and purpose. Yet, even in his dreams, he couldn't deny the strange allure of such a transformation, a tantalizing taste of a reality that now seemed far beyond his reach.
In this dream, Tarzan's submission was absolute, a testament to his acceptance of his newfound role. His interactions with these men were a surreal dance of power and dominance, each one reveling in the reversal of their roles.
In the dimly lit hall of Lord Harrington's grand estate, the guests, each one a former adversary of Tarzan, were gathered. The air was heavy with the weight of power and conquest, and at the center of it all stood Tarzan, now clad in a simple loincloth, a symbol of his submission.
Mr. Blackburn watched Tarzan with a look of smug satisfaction. He relished every moment of this display, each command a reminder of the dominance he now held over the once-mighty jungle king.
"Tarzan," Mr. Blackburn purred, his voice dripping with authority. "Kneel before me."
Without a moment's hesitation, Tarzan sank to his knees before his master. It was a position he'd come to know well, a symbol of his unwavering commitment to serve.
"Fetch me a drink," Mr. Blackburn commanded, holding out an empty glass. Tarzan rose gracefully and moved to the table, filling the glass with a steady hand. He returned and presented it to his master, who took it with a satisfied smile.
Next came the commands designed to showcase Tarzan's submission. Mr. Blackburn gestured for him to stand and turn, examining him from every angle.
"Such a fine specimen," he mused, his eyes tracing the contours of Tarzan's form.
"Flex," he ordered, and Tarzan complied, his muscles rippling in response. It was a display of power, but now it served a different purpose -- a testament to his master's control.
Finally, Mr. Blackburn issued his most daring command.
"Dance for our esteemed guests, Tarzan," he instructed, a wicked glint in his eye.
Tarzan hesitated for only a moment before he began to move. His dance was a mesmerizing blend of strength and grace, a stark contrast to the wild, untamed creature he'd once been. Each step was deliberate, each movement proclaiming his mastery of his own body.
As he danced, the guests watched in awe, their faces a mix of astonishment and delight. They could hardly believe their eyes -- the legendary Tarzan, now a mere plaything at the hands of Mr. Blackburn.
His loincloth, once a symbol of his strength, now served as a stark reminder of his subservience. It clung to him, accentuating every movement, every line of his body. It was no longer a garment of power, but a badge of his servitude.
The room was filled with a tension that hung in the air, a palpable reminder of the roles that had been reversed. Tarzan's dance demonstrated his complete submission, a display of his dedication to serving his master.
In his dream, as Tarzan moves through his dance, he experiences a complex mix of emotions. He feels a strange blend of vulnerability and empowerment. The loincloth, once a symbol of his strength, now feels like a garment of submission. Each step and sway is guided by Mr. Blackburn's commands, emphasizing his newfound role as a servant.
As he approaches Captain Reynolds, Tarzan is acutely aware of the man's disdainful gaze. The Captain's eyes seem to pierce through him, and Tarzan can almost taste the bitterness in the air. He obeys Mr. Blackburn's directive, lowering himself before Reynolds, a gesture of submission that feels foreign yet oddly fitting.
Moving on to Colonel Harris, Tarzan is struck by the man's arrogance. Harris regards him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain, as if Tarzan is little more than a curious specimen. Tarzan executes each motion as directed, feeling the weight of his subservient role pressing upon him.
Professor Lawrence's presence invokes a different kind of discomfort. Tarzan senses the man's intellectual scrutiny, as if he's dissecting Tarzan's every move. The Professor's analytical gaze makes Tarzan acutely aware of his own vulnerability, and he follows Mr. Blackburn's commands with a sense of resignation.
Doctor Smithers exudes an air of clinical detachment. Tarzan can't help but feel like an object under the Doctor's gaze, a specimen to be examined and cataloged. As he performs his dance, Tarzan grapples with a mix of humiliation and resignation, acutely aware of his role in this bizarre display.
Approaching Baron von Richter, Tarzan is met with a palpable air of superiority. The Baron regards him with a haughty expression, as if he's surveying a piece of property. Tarzan's movements are precise, each step calculated to meet the Baron's expectations, even as he wrestles with a sense of indignity.
Throughout the dance, Tarzan's thoughts are a swirl of conflicting emotions. He grapples with his newfound role as a servant, struggling to reconcile his innate strength with the subservient motions he performs. Each guest's reaction is a reminder of his place in this peculiar hierarchy, a stark departure from the life he once knew. As the dream unfolds, Tarzan's mind becomes a battleground of acceptance and resistance, his subconscious navigating the complexities of his altered reality.
As the dance came to an end, Tarzan sank to his knees once more, his chest heaving. He looked up at Mr. Blackburn, his eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and devotion.
"Thank you, Master," he whispered, his voice a breathless acknowledgment of his noble calling.
Mr. Blackburn's smile was triumphant. He had proven his dominance, not just to Tarzan, but to every guest in the room. The once-mighty jungle king was now nothing more than a loyal servant, bound by his unwavering commitment to his master's will.
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR-------------------------------------
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