Part 1 of 4
“Ouch! That hurts!” yelled Morton.
But Kent ignored his whining and continued to pull his arms higher and tighter and tie them off so that Morton was standing on tiptoes. He had already spread his legs wide apart and tied his ankles to an old mop handle to keep them that way. Now, he was finishing the job by using the clothesline tied to his wrists and looping over a large tree branch in his backyard. Such a suitable, sturdy branch because it was parallel to the ground and about eight feet off the lawn. Being an average-height middle-height teenager, Morton’s bare feet could barely reach the ground. Morton was beginning to think that going along with his younger brother Kent’s idea on his “great game adventure” wasn’t such a smart idea after all.
The front flap of the soft sheepskin loincloth swung back and forth and tickled the side of his tensed thighs, but Morton had other things to worry about now. The loincloth was his idea when he found the large sheepskin chamois his dad used to wipe the water off his car after he washed it. He’s the one who cut it into a loincloth shape and secured it around his waist with two tan leather bootlaces tied together. Yep, the long, wide strip of sheepskin folded under his crotch and then over the bootlace tie in front and back and … BINGO! Morton was Tarzan. That was quite inventive as well as authentic.
Let’s go back to the very beginning … a perfect place to start.
Morton, 18, imagined himself as the Tarzan he had seen on many Tarzan movie posters and in jungle comic books. His little brother, Kent, 16, was full in. Their backyard was, indeed, the pretend jungle, and Morton and Kent were adversaries. And … let the games begin! They had just finished watching a Tarzan movie on television. It was a summer day, so no school, and their folks were at their jobs, so they had the house to themselves. Kent had seen this movie before. It was one of his favorites. He liked the part where Tarzan had been captured by the bad guys searching for gold along the Amazon, and they tied Tarzan up and tortured him in different ways to make him tell where the treasure was hidden. But Tarzan withstood the tortures. After the movie ended, Morton suggested to Kent that they play out a Tarzan-themed game similar to the movie. Morton was wondering who would get to be Tarzan.
“Morty, we don’t have any treasure to hide.”
“Kent, we can just make up something, pretend it is valuable … like … my baseball.”
Kent was more of a realist. He said, “But if we had something really of value, we would not have to pretend. Let’s say I wrote down an embarrassing secret, and one I did not want you to know. If I were Tarzan, I’d really put up with a lot to avoid you getting your hands on that secret paper.”
“Oh, I get it. OK, but what’s on the secret paper?”
“Morty, what would you not want me to know?”
“I don’t have any secrets. You already know everything about me.”
Kent and Morton were sincerely trying to come up with something to make this the most interesting and intense game ever. They agreed the game would be more realistic if – whoever was Tarzan – truly wanted his secret kept from the other. Morton suggested that it should be something embarrassing, and Kent agreed. The two boys did think alike, after all.
“Well, let me think. You know, Morty, if I was Tarzan and I had written down the two most embarrassing, scary, or intimidating things you could do to me, I’d fight like hell to prevent you from discovering them. I’d put up with a lot of ‘torture’ to Morton thought that was odd, but he agreed it would make Tarzan avoid a quick surrender. That was the whole purpose of the game.
“OK… so, we will each write down something that we would never want the other to do to him if he was Tarzan. If this is true, then whoever is Tarzan would try his utmost not to reveal the place where he hid his paper.” Morton said with some hesitation.
“OK, we’ll call each paper ‘hidden treasure’ because it would be a treasure of information for the captor,” Kent said, and they both laughed and shook hands.
“Now, who is going to be Tarzan?” Morton asked.
“It really doesn’t matter since we will probably just rotate each time we play this.” Kent said, then added, “But before we figure that out, let’s each write down our ‘secret treasures’ that we don’t want the other to know about. The boys went into the kitchen, got paper and pens, and started writing.
Morton took everything more seriously than Kent did. Each boy was busy scribbling down what he did not want the other to know. But, at least in Kent’s case, he was only scribbling down things that were OK with him. He would not write down anything that would truly freak him out if subjected to it. He wrote down: Spank me with the hand 10 times, and make me walk around the backyard naked for 10 minutes. Both of these “tortures” were fine with him and would never make him reveal anything.
When they were finished, each went into the backyard, one at a time, to hide his secret paper, or, as they called them, their ‘hidden treasure.’ Finally, they came together. Morton asked, “OK, so how do we pick Tarzan this time?”
“Well, let me toss a coin. That’s fair, isn’t it.” Kent offered, and Morton nodded his head. It seemed simple.
“OK, heads I win, tails you lose.” He immediately flipped the quarter into the air and let it land on the kitchen floor. The quarter was spinning on edge, and when it finally stopped, Kent yelled, “It’s tails, you lose, you’re Tarzan this time. Isn’t that great!” Not wanting Morton to think about how he phrased the call, Kent immediately got Morton talking about what he would wear and how he would behave and talk like Tarzan.
Morton went on to think about his Tarzan character and envisioned what he would look like as Tarzan.
Morton was surprised that Kent was so happy with him getting the “title role.” Morton did not realize that Kent was thinking ahead to have his buddy spend the entire game tied up and subjected to whatever brilliant torments popped into Kent’s imaginative brain. They used to play games like Cowboys and Indians, where they would tie each other up alternately. Or bank robber and cop. They had been playing various games for three years, and each year, their games would get a little more detailed. In their previous backyard games, any bondage applied was always a pretend, playful element, never seriously done. But these brothers had grown a lot and gradually became more creative. This afternoon’s Tarzan game would break some important new ground and cross some boundaries for both brothers.
So there was Morton, completely naked, wearing only a homemade loincloth and a quickly crafted necklace. Nothing else, not even underwear or shoes. He stood before Kent with his hands tied high above his head.
With his hands on his hips, his usual conqueror’s pose, Kent stood and looked at his older brother. “Well, Tarzan,” he said. “At last, I have you in my power! Tarzan, will you tell me where the treasure is hidden and save yourself a lot of pain?”
“No!” Morton said. “Tarzan never tell you anything!” Morton did his best to imitate Tarzan’s broken English and pulled down hard on the ropes that held his arms stretched up to the heavy, horizontal tree branch. This was the part that Kent was really looking forward to, the part where Morton would defy him when his prisoner refused to cooperate, just like in the movie they saw. Kent came up very close to the “struggling” Tarzan and grabbed a fist full of his hair in his right hand, “I’ll use this knife to split you open,” while he traced a line down Morton’s tight chest and belly with the forefinger of his left hand, pretending it was a knife.
“Oh, you’ll tell me all right!” he said. “Eventually, it may take a while, but ‘we’ (referring to his imaginary helpers) have ways to make you talk. Change your mind now, Tarzan, and save yourself the sweat and the agony,” he demanded. Of course, since they played capture games for years as cowboys and Indians. Kent knew that Morton wouldn’t easily weaken. Kent looked forward to continuing to the part where he’d make Tarzan talk.
True to his role, Morton was stubborn and unafraid. “No! Never! Tarzan, not afraid of what you might do to him! Tarzan never tell!”
“Then, let the torture begin!” he announced jubilantly to all his cohorts assembled in their backyard jungle. Kent exaggerated, looking at his followers.
No doubt, the same imaginary villains that just a few minutes before had dragged Morton before him with his hands tied behind his back. These same imaginary bad guys helped him prepare Morton for the torture by spread-eagling him beneath the branch.
As usual, the first course of torments was a brisk round of tickling that covered his neck, armpits, chest, belly, and thighs. Morton was fairly ticklish and dreaded this part of the games, but he was not ticklish enough to spill the beans. So, Kent went on to ‘other game scenes’ he had fantasized about ever since they first came up with this game scenario.
At first, these backyard games were mostly about catching, tying up, and escaping. With the cowboy and Indian theme, the tying up was always loosely done so the victim could escape and be recaptured or not. It had to be that way, or after one of them was tied up, there was nothing more to do in that game, so the escaping, and how that was accomplished, was a big part of those games.
Perhaps it was the simple reason that they were older now and needed more complexity or challenges in the games that made the bondage more real.
Morton, who actually thought up this Tarzan theme game, never really thought it through, or at least, never considered Kent’s take on it. Morton knew that the games gradually got more complicated. Here, Kent wanted to act out every intense movie scene related to Tarzan’s capture.
In past games, tickling was the major tool of “torture” since both brothers hated being tickled. Ice cubes were also applied to a bare chest, along with some playful spanking. But that was then.
Kent took his top roles more seriously than Morton did when he was the captor. Aside from the rich pleasures of all the ritualistic aspects they acted out, Kent’s secret lust was to see how long Morton could hold out against whatever exquisite torments Kent ingeniously devised. Although they never discussed it. It soon became apparent that the increased realism of the games was deeply satisfying to both of them. So, consciously or unconsciously, they each encouraged these “interesting” developments.
In the past, whoever was the bondage victim always got free rather quickly. However, several things are different today. One, Morton’s hands were tied – for real - behind his back before he was brought to the tree by the imaginary bad guys. He knew that he could not get them loose. He initially panicked, but he was also excited by it.
Also, when this tree branch was used before, the victim’s feet were never tied. With one’s feet free (and with looser hand bondage), the captive had some leverage to get his hands untied. Again, this time, things were different. Kent went the extra step to pound metal stakes about four feet apart into the ground. Then he tied each of Morton’s ankles to a stake, securing them tightly, as well as spreading his legs wide. Morton thought this was new, weird, and a little uncomfortable, but nothing hurt. There was something about being truly helpless that was erotic to Morton. Now, there was a new element. He had to trust his little brother.
“You’ll tell me where the treasure is, or you will be sorry, Tarzan.” Kent postured.
“Me, Tarzan King of Jungle, you’ll never get it out of me.” Morton defied him.
Kent approached the nearly naked Tarzan and stared. For the first time, at least consciously, he saw his loincloth-clad big brother as sexy. It was weird because both boys were straight. Part of what appealed to Kent was that Morton was not only almost naked – for the first time in any of their games - but Morton was the older, more dominant, of the two, and he was now tied up and vulnerable. Gradually, Morton’s physique went from boyish to toned over the past few years. When had that happened? Something clicked in Kent’s mind. It was like he was in a daze, seeing Morton as a “man” for the first time; he was drooling and feasting his eyes as he had never had before. Weird.
“Time to get started,” Kent thought, then jammed a wad of cloth into Tarzan’s mouth as a gag. He grabbed a roll of masking tape, tore off a piece, and taped it over his mouth to prevent Tarzan from pushing the rag gag out. Then he put the tape down.
But then, he picked it up again. Applying that one piece of tape over Tarzan’s mouth gave him a great idea. “Yes, more tape. Of course, much more tape!” he said. “Yes. What a great idea for torture!”
Kent went to town, pulling off another piece from the roll and sticking it over Morton’s right nipple, then another short strip over his left. “Fabulous torture!” he considered.
Moton thought this was dumb. What kind of silly” torture’ is this? Kent applied more four-inch strips onto the sides of Tarzan’s torso and his slightly hairy underarms. Kent thought that’d yield a nice “ouch” when ripping those off. Kent was not finished. Why should he stop now? His sexy big brother in his skimpy loincloth was all his to do with as he pleased. The loincloth presented a lot of sexy bare skin for Kent to… to… play with. Plus, Morton was gagged. How could he object now? So he placed a strip on his lower belly, just above his low-waisted loincloth. There was a tiny bit of pubic hair showing there. Kent would be rewarded with a nice “ouch” when he ripped it off.
Kent was humming with a kind of evil grin and placed pieces of tape on Morton’s outer thighs. The loincloth, which hung down over his dick in front and down the center portion of his ass in back, left his outer thigh skin bare at the hips. You could see about 10 inches of the rawhide bootlace waist tie. So, this was a fertile area to tape over. More tape strips were stuck to the sensitive skin on the back of his thighs and also behind Morton’s knees. And now Kent applied a strip to what he thought would be the biggest “ouch” producer, the tender skin inside Morton’s thighs. Several strips were stuck on each side, ensuring they did not overlap. Of course, he found a few other tender areas he thought he’d cover, just for the hell of it.
All along, Morton, behind his taped-over gag, thought Kent was decorating his body. He had no idea what was to come in the way of torture. He was not concerned at all. Rather, he enjoyed being touched and rubbed in the various areas where Kent applied tape and press-rubbed it to stick thoroughly. It felt nice to have his body rubbed all over this.
Kent put down the roll of tape and stood close to Morton, peering into his eyes. “Tarzan, King of the Jungle, are you ready to tell me where you hid your secret paper … I mean the ‘secret treasure’?”
Of course, Morton was gagged, so he shook his head no. Without breaking his eye-to-eye stare with his captive, Kent slowly and sneakily put his right hand to the tape on Morton’s left outside thigh. When Morton was wondering what all the staring was about, Kent slowly pulled the tape off, causing Morton to cry a muffled, “OOOOWWWEEEE!”
Kent smiled, “How about now? You wanna give up the location now?” Again, Morton shook his head no.
“OK … let the games really begin!” Kent giggled. So he peeled off each strip of tape. Some snapped quickly off, some removed painfully slow, just for variety. The thighs weren’t bad, but the nerves of his lower stomach began to twitch and fidget when he slowly pulled those off. Tarzan yanked on his bonds. The way his arms were stretched upward so tightly. Tarzan was balanced one his tiptoes. He could not rest his full body weight on his feet and have them flat on the ground. That put too much strain on his wrists, arms, and shoulders. So when a tape was removed, Tarzan would jerk and bounce upward and downward, alternating a moderate pain between his feet and shoulders.
The most painful tape removals were the ones over his sensitive nipples and in his tender armpits. These Kent would remove very slowly. Even though Morton was only slightly hairy, there was enough hair there to create louder, muffed “Ouches.” Mercifully protected by his loincloth, there was no way Kent could access his groin area to engage Morton in a more devilish torture.
Teen Brothers Play Tarzan
Part 2 of 4
When all the tape was removed, Tarzan stood strong and firm, keeping the treasure location secret. He was proud that he had withstood his little bro’s attack. He made it. He won.
“OK, it’s time for you to reveal the location before my men and I take this to the next level.”
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Morton thought. He won already.
He withstood the torture. What’s going on? He wanted to be untied, though his rag gag would not let him communicate that. He did want to know what Kent had in mind. Morton was curious, so he shook his head no.
“No matter,” Kent said. “I wouldn’t want you to spoil my fun by giving up too quick, anyway!” And, true to his Tarzan character, Morton would never give in so fast anyway. “Glad to see you’re sticking to your character.” Morton was starting to sweat a little.
Again, Kent marveled at his fully tied-up older brother. He loved his new idea of staking Morton’s feet to the ground. Such a masterful touch! Then … he flipped up the front of the loincloth and smiled with that evil, bad-guy smile he had when we played these games in the top role and said, “I bet if I took this thing off you, I’d find some good spots to put tape on ... AND RIP OFF!” and then he pretended to start to untie the knot that held the bootlace around his waist.
The loincloth was cut from a large sheep skin chamois his dad used to wipe the water off his car. Morton had cut it into a long strip, about 10 inches wide. It was a little tricky to put on. He had to be naked, then tie a bootlace around his bare waist. Then he tucked most of the sheep skin under the boot lace in the front, leaving only about a foot hanging down his front. The bulk of the sheep skin went under and between his legs, then up over his ass, and was tucked behind the boot lace in the back, leaving about a foot of the skin hanging down over his ass. So, his hips were bare, showing only a few inches of the bootlace waistband. If Kent untied one side of the lace, the whole thing would drop to the ground.
Morton started to shake his head violently when Kent touched the lace. He twisted his hips away the tiny bit he could to keep Kent from getting at the knot. But Kent stopped almost immediately, laughing at Morton’s consternation, and continued with the interrogation’s next phase.
This was not the first time that Kent had mentioned stripping Morton all the way for their games. Several times, he would suggest that Morton just ought to take everything off before he tied him up. He said this would make it more “realistic,” and he even showed Morton pages from one of his comic books where the guys getting worked over in the dungeon were naked, except you only saw them from the back and then only part of them. But Morton always said he didn’t want to, and Kent didn’t press it. Up until now, Morton was only bare-chested.
Morton had a special reason to retain his loincloth. He didn’t want Kent to see his boner. It happened before, but not like this. Morton would be so embarrassed if Kent saw his hardening dick, especially when Morton was helpless to cover it up or to turn away to hide it.
“Let the game continue!” Kent announced. And with that, Kent disappeared into his house and returned with a large pot of hot but not boiling water. As in some games before, they prepared hot water ahead of time to use during the game. Kent took some facecloths and put them carefully into the hot water. The water was almost hot enough to burn his hands, but not quite, so he knew it would not burn Morton’s skin either.
Kent slowly and with great suspenseful drama, placed a cloth on his back and slowly moved it around like he was washing him there. “OOOWWWEEEE!” Tarzan screamed into his gag as he jerked his body against the ropes.
Then he put that one back in the hot water, fished out another washcloth, and placed it on his chest. Again, “OOOWWWEEE!”
“Time to speak up. Tell me about the treasure.” Tarzan refused again.
Another hot cloth was placed against Tarzan’s thighs, belly, and armpits. That really got Tarzan rattled, but still, he remained silent. Well, except for the muffled screaming, that is. Kent knew that none of his “tortures” were over the line quite simply because if they were, Morton only had to nod his head “yes,” indicating that he would talk and surrender the treasure. So, in a real sense, Morton was in full control as to how much torture and pain – really discomfort - he would receive. Also, consider that some of this “pain” created varying degrees of erotic sensations. So Morton was OK with whatever Kent did to him … so far.
More hot clothes assaulted his body, causing the King of the Jungle to do a jerking dance on his tiptoes. It was like Kent was performing some religious ceremony as Morton continued to flinch around uncontrollably. It was kind of awesome, beautiful, and erotic, all at the same time. This torture lasted for almost 10 minutes before he introduced the next and newest addition. Birthday candles.
These he lit and held very close to his skin, still damp from the washcloths. He soon found that the best spots were his armpits, the front of his flat belly, his nipples, and his belly button. Some wax dripped on Tarzan, but the idea here was to give him a sense of being burned. Despite going through four little candles, Tarzan still wouldn’t give up the treasure’s location. So far, Kent seemed to be losing the game but wasn’t noticeably unhappy about it. In fact, because Tarzan was not giving up, it was a delight for Kent to continue torturing his big brother – as of late – his sexy big brother.
Again, Kent left to go into the house. This time, he returned with one of his favorite torture “tools,” a bowl of ice cubes from his kitchen freezer. From past games, Kent knew that Morton was extremely sensitive to cold objects, and therefore, ice cubes were one of Kent’s favorite “methods of persuasion” in his growing bag of tricks. Tarzan tensed against his bonds as soon as he saw the bowl of ice, and Kent’s glee was unmistakable.
Kent asked Tarzan again if he was ready to talk. This time, he removed Tarzan’s gag. “Tarzan, you have two choices: give up the location of the ‘hidden treasure’ or be further tortured in any way I choose.”
Even though the gag was removed, Tarzan shook his head, “No.”
“You have to say it,” Kent insisted.
“OK,” Tarzan spoke clearly for the first time. “No, I won’t tell you location.”
“No, I gave you two choices, give up or accept whatever torture I want for you. What will it be? Tell me the choice you want. Say it clearly.” This was another new element; Kent wanted to add humiliation to the scene. He wanted to feel what it felt like to hear Tarzan humiliate himself.
“Tarzan want more!”
“NO! Spell it out, or I will go especially hard on you. Say it.”
“Tarzan want more torture from you. I want whatever torture you choose to give Tarzan. I will still never tell about hidden treasure.’”
“Beg me.”
Tarzan took a deep breath, “Please torture Tarzan. Please just do it. Tarzan want tortured to prove he will never, under any circumstances, tell you anything! So, please, for fuck sake, torture me all you want.”
The happy Kent - maybe the sadistically happy Kent, by now – took a large ice cube and applied it to Tarzan’s torso. Kent had a way of applying ice that got the most shock and shivers from Morton. Kent would drag these ice-cold touches out until he felt Tarzan could barely stand it, and still, he’d continue with this prolonged, almost unbearable torture. Tarzan was trembling and sweating. He was bouncing on his toes. Kent applied ice behind Tarzan’s knees, on his elbows, up and down his backbone, on his upper inner thighs, his belly, his nipples, his armpits - a favorite spot - and anywhere else he thought might cause the Jungle King the most discomfort.
Kent thought that at any moment, Tarzan would blurt out, as was usual in their games where Morton was captured, “OK! OK! No more! I’ll talk! I’ll tell you everything! Just don’t torture me anymore! I’ll talk!” But not this time. Tarzan refused to talk. He felt that he successfully resisted the worst Kent could do to him. So, so far, Morton has been successful. In fact, up to this point, his refusal to quit caused him to develop a deeply rooted stubbornness. It was odd. Morton saw his success as something that was building his resolve. In other words, he made it this far. He could go the distance and beat Kent by not caving in, ever.
Kent could only think that whatever Morton wrote down on his secret paper must be so embarrassing or humiliating that he’d go a long way to never revile it. FUCK! Kent was so over-charged, so excited, so fucking pleased with his big brother. WOW! What in the world is he so scared of? He supposedly wrote down two awful things he did not want done to him as part of his torture. They must be fantastic! It may be that Morton drew energy from his successfully resisting Kent. BUT… Kent drew even greater energy, power, and will by big brother’s refusal to divulge his two secrets. Kent now felt he had persimmon - given to him by Morton - to pull out all the stops!
There was his Tarzan, straining in his binding, on his tiptoes, with his toned arms and somewhat muscular legs held in a spread-eagle position, expanding his recently developed chest. Kent could not shake this new image of his brother, downing only a loincloth, a skimpy one at that, looking so sexy looking.
Was it sexual? They were both straight. What was it? Kent loved seeing him all stretched out and hanging helpless, totally at his mercy. Maybe it was just the sense of power. He was young, Morton was older and more muscular, so having power over big brother might be the turn-on. It was new to Kent. He secretly wanted to gently caress Tarzan’s body all over in a tender and loving way, but the only way he could do any touching was with an object of torture in his hand. He kept those “weird,” new feelings to himself. He knew he would never act on them.
Kent used more ice cubes on Tarzan for another fifteen minutes. By this time, most of Kent’s ice had melted, and Tarzan had been stretched under the tree limb for almost an hour. His arms and legs grew numb from the tension and lack of movement. This was the longest time they had ever played a capture game, and never one like this. Even though neither of them was ready to quit, Tarzan was coming to the end of his ability to stand on his toes in his spread-eagle position. He could feel his arms giving out, so he told Kent to untie him.
“Nah,” Kent said, “We ain’t finished yet. Just a little longer.”
“No, man! You can’t. C’mon, you gotta untie me now. I think my circulation is cut off or something.”
“Then … you better talk. That’s the only way I will release you, Tarzan.”
“No! Tarzan won’t talk. Never. But you gotta untie me anyway.”
Kent thought for a minute and then offered a solution. “OK. Here’s what we can do. I’ll untie you, but you’re still my prisoner, and I still get to torture you some more. Only I’ll take you somewhere else and tie you differently… so you won’t hurt. OK? Agreed?”
“OK, Tarzan agree.”
“You gotta swear you won’t try to get away or anything like that. Tarzan is a man of his word. You got to promise and obey.”
“I swear. Tarzan promise. I’m still prisoner. You just gotta let me down, though.”
Kent untied Morton, and the sudden release of his arms brought a burst of pain as his arms fell downward. It nearly brought tears to his eyes. His legs were also hurting pretty bad. After Morton had a few moments to walk around and shake his arms out, he sat on the lawn. Kent came up behind him, gently took big brother’s arms, and drew them behind his back. Kent had him place one elbow in each palm. His forearms were parallel and side-by-side. It was definitely more comfortable this way, so Kent bound his arms behind him using a soft, cotton clothesline.
“OK,” Kent said to the imaginary guards, “Take this prisoner to the special torture chamber. We’ll continue to work on him there.” He helped Morton stand and then shoved him gently ahead of him over to the house. Morton was marched into Kent’s bedroom without resistance, as promised. The boys had separate rooms. Then, the guards shoved the jungle man onto the bed and placed him in a sitting position.
They had used his bed before in their games, so Morton knew the drill when he was told to sit facing the footboard in the middle of the bed. It was a big queen-size bed with huge, heavy oak corner posts, and it was to these that he would fasten Tarzan’s limbs.
Kent got up on the bed and squatted behind the cooperative Tarzan to untie his hands. Then he had him lie back while slowly and carefully tying each wrist to the headboard posts. Since he knew Morton had sore wrists, he carefully wrapped each wrist with a heavy sock and secured it to a bedpost. Then Kent got off the bed, went down to the footboard, reached over, took big brother’s ankles, and pulled Tarzan hard toward him, causing his arms to snap out to full extension, locking his elbows straight. After spreading Tarzan’s legs wide apart, much wider than they were spread in the yard, he again wrapped each ankle with a heavy sock and tied them to each foot post with the cotton cord.
Tarzan was now “staked out” on his back, on an imaginary dirt mound, in the middle of the jungle, helplessly spread-eagled and waiting for the next phase of Kent’s torture program. But was Tarzan ever going to talk? What more could Kent do to him?
Kent got back on the bed and straddled Tarzan’s chest, a knee on either side pushing up into his armpits. He leaned over and rubbed the jungle man’s shoulders and down across his chest. “Tarzan, you gonna tell me where the ‘hidden treasure’ is now?” Kent asked.
“No,” Tarzan responded, just like every other time he was asked. “Tarzan not.”
“Look, if you tell, I’ll massage away all your aches and pains and soothe your body with precious oil.” Kent offered as he continued to rub Morton’s sexy body.
Tarzan was stunned. He liked little bro’s soothing, caressing touches. He had no words. He wanted to tell his captor, “No, I won’t tell you.” But then Kent would stop his gentle rubbing. So he pretended to think about it.
“You have been so brave, Tarzan. Best to now tell me what I want to know and let me make you feel good and relaxed. I know your body aches. Let me work my hands all over you.”
“I … I … Tarzan … I …” Morton was so torn. He had never been touched and caressed so lovingly as his brother was doing now. He wanted it to go on forever. All he had to do to keep the touches coming was tell Kent where he had hidden his secret paper. The paper on which he wrote the two worst tortures that would make him give up.
Kent could tell his Morton was very conflicted. He knew he loved this massage. Kent had a little trick up his sleeve. As he rubbed Tarzan’s chest, he “accidentally” let his fingernails lightly rake over Tarzan’s nipples. Kent kept an expression on his face as if he had no clue that he was giving his captive an erotic charge with each flick of his nails over each of Tarzan’s nipples.
Morton thought that if he continued said he wouldn’t tell, Kent would stop. If he said yes, he would tell. Kent would stop anyway and go retrieve his secret paper. He felt Kent would not really keep massaging him in either case. Plus, he was afraid of what would happen if the massage continued. He was still tied spread eagle, and he was getting a boner again, a firmer one this time, hidden under his loincloth.
Tarzan let out a couple of involuntary moans and hoped that Kent did not hear them. He definitely did not want to say yes or no, so he remained silent.
This was as far as Kent would let him linger with no response, “So … you won’t talk. That’s fine. You know what that means? If you don’t tell?” Kent asked.
Finally, Tarzan spoke up, “Yeah, Tarzan know.”
“It means I’m gonna have to torture you some more until you talk. Are you ready for that, Mr. King of the Jungle?” Kent asked, taunting him more now.
“Yeah, go ahead. Tarzan not afraid!”
Teen Brothers Play Tarzan
Part 3 of 4
“We’ll see,” Kent said, and he got off of him and began to gather up what Morton thought would be his “torture tools.” Morton’s mind was buzzing with curiosity and excitement. He was only a little afraid, but he trusted his little brother.
Kent returned, was back on the bed, and took out more candles again. He lit one and held it over Tarzan’s bare skin, which, of course, was almost everywhere.
He let the hot wax drip onto his captive’s chest. The wax was hot, but the candles were wisely held high enough so that the droplets of wax didn’t burn when they landed on Tarzan’s skin. It was more of an erotic pain. Tarzan moaned and writhed around on the bed. This was the first time he had done this. It seemed like they both got into it. It was almost dark by then since Kent hadn’t turned on any lights in his room, making the candlelight look like a primitive, ritualistic ceremony.
The combination of the dim light, the candles, and Tarzan’s shiny, sweaty skin made it very exciting. Tarzan could feel his dick getting harder and flexing under the soft, thin, sheep skin loincloth. In the hour that Kent had Tarzan stretched under the tree, he had had two or three separate hard-ons and had been grateful for the extra concealment provided by the two layers of thin leather covering his dick. Yes, two layers. The underlayer wrapped around his groin, going from his ass to his belly, covered his dick once, and the outer layer flaps that hung down over the bootlace waist tie covered his dick in a second layer. Now, lying flat on the bed and stretched out in a spread-eagled position like he was, there wasn’t much Tarzan could do to conceal what was happening under his loincloth. It was still two thin layers covering his dick, but he was so stretched out he seemed more vulnerable and more easily exposed at Kent’s whim. Hopefully, Kent would remain totally unaware of his boner.
All this time, Kent was dripping hot wax onto Tarzan. Kent was asking him repeatedly whether he was ready to talk yet. Tarzan kept telling him no, but Kent kept asking. This was part of their common ritual in these games, the repeated asking if the captive will surrender, and the captive saying no … that is, as long as the captive could hold out. Kent really liked this part. It may seem repetitive and boring, but each repeat of the question reminded Tarzan that he was Kent’s prisoner and possession. Kent could do anything to this mighty and powerful King of the Jungle.
After he went through half a dozen tiny candles, Kent got bored and quickly brushed the now cool wax off Tarzan’s skin. In doing so, he once again “accidentally” brushed his fingernails over Tarzan’s nipples, repeatedly, pretending that wax was stuck on them. Tarzan moaned a few times, and Kent pretended not to notice. Then Kent seemed to get an idea, and he jumped up. He went over to his desk and returned with two drumsticks. Yes, he played the drums for school. He was back on the bed again and squatted over Tarzan, placing his knees inside of Tarzan’s spread knees.
Then Kent used his knees to pressure Tarzan’s thighs to spread even wider. They really couldn’t spread much more. They were already spread near the max. But … his pressing to force Tarzan’s legs wider, just that moderate pressure, caused Tarzan to feel more vulnerable. Every man wants to control their own dick, be protective of his very private parts and be able, at any moment, to cover them up. Now, Tarzan was being forced to spread his knees, even a half inch wider, which made him feel that his dick was a thousand times more vulnerable. It also was an undisputed signal that Kent, and Kent alone, was now 100% in control of Tarzan’s loincloth-covered dick and balls.
Kent did something that caused Tarzan to sharply suck in his breath and hold it. Kent flipped up the front flap of the loincloth. At this point in their game, Tarzan was coming down from a full erection and was still half hard. Kent grinned at his captive and then took one drumstick in each hand and started to lightly tap a rhythm on the now single layer of THIN sheep skin stretched over Tarzan’s cock! Kent could see the outlined bulge of his full cock shape under the thin skin.
“Talk!” Kent ordered as his drumsticks tapped danced on the dick covering.
Tarzan grimaced, took in another deep breath, and held it. “No!” he told him. “Never!” And the tapping increased in tempo and strength. After a minute or so, Tarzan was sure that his dick was well on its way back up to a full-mast hard-on, and there was nothing Morton could do being tied spread-eagle.
“This is a great torture, isn’t it?” Kent asked, concentrating on his rhythm and not missing a beat. Tarzan didn’t answer but held his breath as he expanded his chest and tensed his calf and thigh muscles against Kent’s anchored knees that unyieldingly held his legs apart. Morton pulled on the four ropes that tied off his ankles and wrists to the bedpost corners. In fact, it was a great torture. Tarzan was considering giving up. But the mighty Tarzan wasn’t about to let little bro know that or give up … yet.
After about five minutes of loincloth drumming, Tarzan’s cock achieved its maximum size and firmness, and it began to jump and twitch under its restricting skin “blanket.” Kent stopped and got off the bed suddenly. He threw the drumsticks down and left his room, disappearing down the hall toward the bathroom. When he returned, he stood next to the bed and started undressing.
Slowly, like in a striptease, Kent removed his shoes, socks, tee shirt, and jeans, then got back up on the bed wearing just his underwear. He straddled Tarzan’s body again, but this time his thin underwear-covered ass sat right on the jungle’s man’s trapped, aching, twitching boner. Kent wriggled his ass around on Tarzan’s big stiff bone, which sent shivers of pleasure and erotic pain through the mighty King of the Jungle. Kent was smiling that evil smile again. He put both hands palm down on Morton’s chest, playing with his nipples.
“You gonna talk? Tarzan?” he asked for the hundredth time. “Where's the ‘hidden treasure’?"
Morton had to remind himself that the treasure was what all this game was supposed to be about. "Tarzan never tell, no matter what you do!" He said boldly.
Kent took his hands off his captive and scooted his ass back down to kneel again between Tarzan’s wide-spread knees. Now the loincloth-covered dick was right there in front of Kent’s face. He traced the outline of Tarzan’s hard dick with both his hands and then squeezed his dick between his thumbs and forefingers. His right hand squeezed Tarzan’s dick just above his balls, and his left squeezed it just below the mushroom head. Tarzan sucked his breath in sharply again and pulled on the ropes with his arms. His whole body tensed.
"Don't! Kent," Morton told him. "Don't do that!" For the first time, Morton called his brother by name. Was he slipping out of character? But Kent didn't stop. He continued to squeeze and roll his thumb and forefinger as they gripped the base and head of his captive’s cock. Kent was teasing Tarzan’s big, hard, thick dick. This was certainly out of bounds for any of their past games, including this one. But why didn’t Morton cry “FOUL!” or “CHEATER!”? Why did he remain silent?
"You're my prisoner," Kent said in almost a whisper. He didn’t yell or speak loudly. He didn’t need to. "I can do anything I want to you. Understand, Tarzan?" he said, emphasizing his question with a final hard squeeze of his dick. "I've got great ideas for new tortures!" he added. The bootlace knot was exposed with the front flap now flipped up. That one knot in the rawhide bootlace that served as the waistband for Tarzan’s loincloth was all that held this jungle garment on.
Kent started teasingly playing with the rawhide's knot, "Last chance, Tarzan. You gonna talk? Where did you hide your paper … I mean ‘hidden treasure’?" Kent asked for the 100th time.
Morton had no doubt that he was going to do it. He could avoid it easily by giving up. All he had to do was to say, "I'll talk!" Kent would win, and Morton would lose, but the game would be over. Did either one want this particular game to end? Now? This was new territory. Not the bondage and domination elements they had experienced before, but new were these sexual feelings and erotic sensations they were each feeling. That never entered the games previously. It likely came into this game because the boys are older and hornier and because of the sexy, skimpy loincloth Morton was wearing. It took Morton about five seconds to go over all this in my mind, and then, for some reason, he said, "No! Tarzan does not talk! I’m fucking Tarzan, King of the Jungle!”
"Great!" Kent declared, "I was hoping you'd say that … Tarzan!"
Kent undid the knot and slowly, almost sadistically, pulled on one end of the leather shoelace, pulling it out and dropping it on the floor. Morton’s dick jumped to attention straight up. It was still mostly covered by the thin skin but now set loose. His covered dick looked like a sturdy pole holding up a tent. At this point, Kent could just exhaust a big breath and blow the sheepskin material off Morton’s pole-like dick. Why didn’t he? Did he want to linger or maybe… wallow… in his new sense of power? Control?
“Oh wait,” Kent said and got off the bed slowly so as not to disturb the loincloth tent. He left the room. Cautiously, Morton stayed absolutely still. He did not want to twist or jerk his body and have the loincloth slip off his dick. What a sight! Morton, tied securely, spread-eagled with his erect dick creating a tent! Morton locked his arm and leg muscles to stay in that exact position, so he would not inadvertently shake off his dick cover. What an odd feeling Morton had. He did not want Kent to see his big, stiff dick laid bare. No one was being fooled. Of course, he had a big hard-on, but he didn’t want Kent to actually see it. He was assuming, hoping, that Kent would end the game now and not do anything with his stiffy or even uncover it. Why was that so important to Morton? Who knows? It’s all so confusing.
Prior to this movement, Morton had tried to get free. That was an important element in all their capture games. He had been pulling and jerking on the ropes, shaking his entire body in the process. But, now, he has ended all his efforts to even move. He’d feel so embarrassed if he wiggled his body as he jerked to get free, and his “dick cover” slipped off his boner to salute Kent when he re-entered the room. How stupid is that thinking? Did he really think Kent was not going to strip him bare? Wasn’t he already completely naked, sort of?
“Oh, there you are, Tarzan. I’d been looking all over for you,” Kent joked. Standing there, he looked at his buddy, “Say, you got quite a boner there, Tarzan,” sounding as if he hadn’t noticed before. “Did some sexy ape come in here, or was it some big-busted gorilla that caught your fancy?” He laughed. “Don’t feel embarrassed. No one will know.” Then he took out his cell, which he must have brought in just now, and took some flash photos.
Morton stared wide-eyed, trying to figure out what to say. He did not want to be photographed and did not want to quit … yet. Rather than appeal to his capture, he sought out his little brother. Morton mumbled something like, “Please, Kent. Oh, please, oh, please, don’t, please. We’re best buds. Best bros. Tie my loincloth back on and get on with your better tortures. OK, Kent? You can’t do this to your best friend.” But it was barely audible. Kent probably did not hear it because he was in a lusty daze. With a singular focus on that sheepskin “tent,” his mind was not entertaining any extraneous notions, such as getting sexual with his brother. Those rational thoughts could not disturb his current carnal appetite.
On Morton’s part, he could have yelled, “GOD DAMN IT, KENT! YOU FUCKING STOP THIS RIGHT NOW, OR I’LL TELL MOM!” That would have stopped Kent and the game, and Morton would have lost. But … that loud and clear message was never uttered.
Kent had also returned with a small rolled-up towel, which he set on the bed. He slowly and very carefully climbed back up on the bed, got between Morton’s wide-spread legs again, and knelt there. Seemingly, Kent did not want to remove Tarzan’s loincloth completely or have it slip off Morton’s rigid dick. How odd. Why didn’t he leave the bootlace tie fastened around his buddy’s waist as it was? Morton did not understand what was going on. This was so different than anything they had ever acted out before.
Did Kent decide to just tease his older brother, in a mind-fucking way, and not uncover his dick after all? Yes, that’s it. This was another clever new torture he thought up as part of the game to get Morton to reveal where the treasure was. YES! He was going to make Morton talk using this sneaky ploy. Perfect! And, indeed, clever.
“OK, I am ready to have you tell me where the ‘hidden treasure’ is, Tarzan.”
“Tarzan?” Morton was mentally jerked back into the game, being Tarzan and being interrogated. “NO, I will not. You’ve done your worst; you never broke me. Let Tarzan go. You lost!” Morton spoke loudly.
Kent reached for the towel and unrolled it. Tarzan could see nothing in his reclined position until Kent held up a couple of black feathers, about 10 inches long. Were they from a costume or something? He held them up for Tarzan to get a good look. “Change your mind?”
“No, you already tickled me, and Tarzan withstood your torture. You lose. Tarzan win. Let me go now.”
You have to visualize this clearly. Tarzan is tied spread-eagle and fairly well stretched in all directions. He can’t move much at all. Tarzan’s big boner is standing tall, lightly draped over by a thin layer of sheepskin. That material is so precariously covering Tarzan’s dick. The sheepskin would have been blown off if the ceiling fan above the bed was turned on. That’s why Tarzan was making every effort to remain motionless, so he wouldn’t blow his cover, so to speak.
Kent takes a feather in each hand, slides them under the sheepskin, and slowly saws them back and forth along each side of Tarzan’s dick. Kent can’t actually see the covered dick, but … Tarzan’s dick begins to bob and twitch.
Tarzan has his eyes closed. He can’t help but moan. “Please … ooohhh, please sta … Oh fuck … don’t … plea … oooohhh.”
“And the ‘hidden treasure’ is where?” Kent giggles, while Tarzan just moans. Morton didn’t want Kent to stop – IT FELT SO FUCKING GOOD! - but he must pretend as he does. He wants to come across as feeling very uncomfortable.
Kent now moves the feathers up and down the side of his captive’s dick. Tarzan’s body jerks, and his dick twitches and bobs. And, now, Morton's hips are thrusting up and down uncontrollably. For some reason, Kent takes the small white towel, emptied of what he carried inside it, loosely folds it, and gently places it over Tarzan’s eyes. Since his eyes were closed already, he did not notice the towel on his face. Tarzan was too lost in the erotic sensations. He continued his heavy breathing and soft moaning, oblivious to anything but the wonderful sensations on his dick.
Now Kent took the feathers and angled them downward, one to saw all around Tarzan’s balls and the other he used to tickle Tarzan’s asshole. For sure, his captive was unaware of anything but the erotic sensation all over his dick, balls, asshole, and perineum. Slowly, Kent slipped off Morton’s loincloth, allowing Tarzan’s dick to freely bobbing and jerk. It was done so gently that Tarzan didn’t know his entire naked body was on full display. Kent could really begin the final torture of The King of the Jungle.
Putting the feathers down, he picked up a bottle of baby lotion, which was among the items he had brought in the towel. He put some lotion on his hands and coated Tarzan’s dick with it, but he did it lightly. His captive’s dick twitched. He had never seen his older alpha brother erect. And he never had an opportunity to own it like now. He was fascinated. Kent was only 16. His big brother was 18. He was experimenting on his brother. He had, of course, often played with his own dick, and a few times, he even had a couple of sleepovers that included quickie jerk-off sessions with friends. But that really was kid stuff. There was no interest in exploring different subtle touches and techniques. It was just the mechanical friction and blasting off, followed by embarrassment and guilt … and feelings of not wanting to do gay stuff again.
This was so fucking different. This was so fucking awesome! Kent always looked up to Morton as the older and wiser brother-protector. They respected each other, but here Kent had his “alpha-protector,” with his nicer built body, all tied to his bed. Their parents would not be home for hours. And Morton was not going anywhere. And more important, it was obvious that Morton didn’t want to go anywhere or even have Kent stop. Well, he wasn’t gagged; he could say something but didn’t.
Kent looked at Mortin’s body on the bed, and he no longer saw Tarzan, only his good old big brother Morton. And there in his hand was Morton’s fabulous dick. “Hey Morty, you OK?” Kent whispered. But Morton only moaned in pleasure. “I hope you are OK because I have a great new torture for you.”
Kent placed his hand over Morton’s dick but did not tightly close his fingers around it. He used a very, very light grip and slowly, very slowly moved his oily hand up, up, up all the way to the tip, making tiny light circles on the edge of the head, and then moved his hand down, down, down, so slowly all the way to the base. He repeated this light, slippery sliding movement with almost no friction on his brother’s dick skin. Again, Morton bucked his hips upward. Oddly, the tight bondage kept his arms and legs secure in their exact positions, but his hips could lift up, he guessed eight to ten inches. “Perfect,” he thought.
But he wondered if Morton’s thrusting movements were voluntary or involuntary. In other words, was he consciously thrusting his hip upwards, or was his nervous system just taking over without him consciously doing it? So Kent experimented on different touches to his big brother’s body. He placed his thumb and index finger near the top of the head of Morton’s dick, just below the corona flange, with his thumb on the side of the dick closest to him and the index finger on the side away from him. Then he separated his fingers about a half inch away from the towering dick. If the dick twitched up, it would touch Kent’s index finger, and when it twitched back, it would touch his thumb. He read about this in a women’s magazine. To start the dick twitching, he lightly touched it with his index finger. The dick twitched, and he touched it with his thumb. It twitched again.
According to the magazine, he remembered to touch the dick extremely lightly. Then, keep the two fingers about a quarter inch from each side. As the article said, “When the dick starts to twitch, hold your hand still, the dick will twitch to “kiss” one finger and then switch back to “kiss” the thumb, and back and forth.”
BINGO! It worked. He could not believe it! The beautiful dick was involuntary, twitching back and forth, touching each finger and then the other … all on its own. It was bobbing. It was craving attention. The twitching caused it to bounce from one finger to the other. Morton, he guessed, could not stand it. He wanted, or, more accurately, his dick wanted, more friction. Morton began to thrust his hips. He was fucking air in an attempt to jab into something solid so he could feel friction so could climax. But Kent was not going to let that happen.
Teen Brothers Play Tarzan
Part 4 of 4
Kent returned to the oily loose grip-pumping, where his fist barely touched his Morton’s dick skin, and moved his fist so lightly and slowly up and down.
THEN … with his other oily hand, he used his index finger to rub circles on his asshole lips. Morton went berserk!
He was pleading. This time it was not for Kent to stop but for him to play with his body.
“Oh fuck, please, Kent, please pump my dick hard, harder. Please.” Morton begged as he groaned and gyrated his hips. “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! Yeah, man, do it to me! Please … do it to me harder.”
Kent loved his big bro to beg him like this. This is a new side of Morton, he thought. This is great. “Sure, buddy, sure. Just tell me what you want, OK? Spell it out.” Just then, he pushed his index finger into Morton’s asshole, but only half an inch. That’s all he was going to give him.
“OH FUCK! I need it, OH GOD, I NEED it bad, Kent.” Somewhere along this time, Kent removed the towel covering his buddy’s eyes, but Morton kept them closed anyway.
“I’ll give you what you want, Morty. Just tell me what you want. What do you want me to do, buddy?”
“FUCK! Just do it. DAMN IT!”
“What, Morty? Finger fuck your asshole? Is that it?”
“YES! FINGER FUCK MY HOLE! PLEASE, KENT, I NEED TO GET OFF! FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”
“Oh, that. Well, sure … I’ll do that for you … I need something in return.” Kent said calmly. Then added. “Well, actually, that’s not correct. I don’t need anything from you, but I do need something from Tarzan.”
‘WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? THE GAME IS OVER. YOU DIDN’T BREAK ME. I WON. NOW, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, JUST GET ME OFF BEFORE I GO CRAZY!” Morton yelled back, really losing it.
“I’m not talking to you. I’m speaking to Tarzan. Where is the ‘hidden treasure,’ Tarzan?”
“WHAT?!”
Suddenly, Morton felt Kent remove his finger from inside Morton’s ass, only circling the outside, teasing his ass lips. Kent’s other hand was firmly pulling on his ball sack, but not in a painful way. Kent placed his thumb and index fingers in an “OK” sign, closing them around the tip of the sack. Then he pulled them away from Morton’s body. This way, he pulled the balls toward him without squeezing them.
Finally, Morton felt Kent’s third hand playfully rubbing the head of his dick. It felt awesome, all wet and slippery and erotic.
“What?!” Morton looked up with a jolt and saw that that was not Kent’s third hand. It was his mouth licking all over the head of his dick. Not sucking it, not even swallowing it. Just playfully licking the sensitive mushroom head and back and forth over the little piss slit.
Morton was moaning like crazy. He was trying to push his ass down onto Kent’s finger to force Kent to fuck his hole with it. But Kent would only give him that half an inch.
Kent looked up, “Tarzan want his jungle hole fucked with my finger? His big fat dick sucked with my mouth?”
“YEEESSSS! For fuck sake! YEEEESSSS!”
"Then talk!" he said. “Tell me where the ‘hidden treasure’ is.” Suddenly Tarzan knew what this great, new torture was. Everything made sense now.
"Tarzan not talk.”
"Oh," Kent said, "This is going to be so much fun to just continue for another hour!"
"Oh, Kent, please! Please! You gotta let me? Please, Kent, I need to shoot so bad!"
"Then talk. Tell men where it is, and I'll let you come!"
"No! I'm not gonna tell you! No!"
"Even for some of this?"
"Ahhhhhhh! Oh, jeez, please don't stop!” Kent was licking Tarzan’s dick like an ice cream cone. “Oh, YES! PLEASE, Kent! You just gotta let me! I think I'm gonna die or something if you don't! Please?"
"Like I said. You gotta talk? If so, I’ll let you explode. Tarzan, it'll be so, so good. I promise you. Just talk, and then I'll do it all the way. Will you talk?"
For almost an hour, Kent had Tarzan tied spread eagle on his bed. Kent slowly and carefully teased and played with his very, very hard and slightly purple dick.
"OK, OK! I'll talk! I'll tell you where it is! Just do me, Kent! Please let me cum!"
“Oh, but Tarzan, the rule is – and it was your rule, as I recall - that I didn't have to do anything until I have your secret paper, I mean, the ‘hidden treasure’ in my hand.”
“OK! OK!” Tarzan screamed. “It’s under the flower pot with the geranium in it by the birdbath.” Kent went to that hiding place, retrieved Morton’s paper with his secret torture, and immediately brought it back to his bedroom.
"I got the paper but haven’t read it yet.” Kent teased.
"Oh, god, Kent, please don't! Not now. You said you’d let me cum now. Please! You gotta make me come, man! You gotta!"
"OK, Tarzan, we’ll see, but first, I am dying to discover the big secret torture that will drive you crazy.” Kent unfolded the paper.” Let’s see, it says. ‘The 2 tortures I MOST don’t want you to do to me are continuously pinching my nipples, sitting on my face as you force me to lick your ass.’ FUCK, you gotta be joking. Is that what Tarzan wants me never to do to him? Really?” Kent said with great surprise and delight.
“OK, Kent, you won. Now untie me. The game is over. You had your fun.” Morton was so embarrassed for his little bro to read his note. No wonder he put up with so much of Kent’s torture methods.
“But Tarzan, I promised I’d make you cum, remember? I’m not going back on my word.” Kent said with a smile. And it was not with just any smile. It was his devilish smile, and it freaked Morton out.
Kent, who had been in his underwear for the entire bedroom portion of the game, stripped out his boxers. Now totally naked, he got back on the bed, standing with his feet planted on each side of Tarzan’s torso, facing Tarzan’s feet. Then he slowly started to sit down, aiming his asshole right over Tarzan’s head.
Morton saw where this was going, “NOOOOO! Don’t sit on my face! NOOOO!” He screamed. Morton was, of course, still tied tightly in his spread-eagle position and could not move an inch or protect his face in any way.
Kent continued to slowly lower himself onto his big brother’s face and gently landed his ass on it. As he sat, he spread his ass cheeks apart to be sure his asshole was positioned right on Morton’s mouth. The first thing they both felt was Morton’s nose right in the deep part of Kent’s bubble butt ass crack. When he was all the way down, he got in a kneeling position so he could easily lean forward to give Morton some air. Then he could straighten back up to sit more squarely on Morton’s face, taking away his air.
As Morton screamed, his now ass-cover mouth made his desperate cries sound like MUMMMPH! MUMMPH! MUMMMMMMMMPH! Which felt like a sexy vibration to Kent.
Morton could not breathe, and Kent clearly knew that by the violent jerking the body under him was making along with the screams. Kent continued to sit on big bro’s face, smoothening him intentionally. He waited a few more seconds, which to Morton must have seemed like minutes.
Kent leaned forward, lifting his ass off Morton’s face a little, allowing him to suck in air. He was so desperately taking in air that he couldn’t speak to quickly tell Kent to get off him.
Kent leaned down and backward to speak to his bud, “Morty, if you want to breathe, I want to feel your tongue licking my ass.” He just said it and quickly sat on his face again, never giving Morton a chance to argue.
Again, Morton jerked his body and struggled with the ropes but was tied tight. Kent was not giving up or getting up. He was concerned, but he figured his bud would start licking before he passed out. So he waited. Morton stopped struggling and remained still, hoping that that would get Kent to get off. He was hoping his stillness showed he had surrendered. But Kent just sat there. He knew Morton’s air was completely cut off. But he waited.
Kent was thinking all along - and it didn’t take a genius to come up with his logical conclusion - that when Morton wrote that he never wanted Kent to force him to lick his ass, it was because he really wanted to do it. He wanted to be forced to lick Kent’s asshole. I mean, why would anyone write such a weird thing if he was not constantly thinking about doing it?
No one was keeping time, but maybe a minute and a half went by, or was it two minutes? Yes, the thought of hurting Moton did occur to Kent, and he certainly didn’t want that to happen. So, he stayed vigilant for any signs that Morton was in trouble. He sat there with his naked ass on his big bro’s face … and waiting.
However, it was too long. Morton was not going to do as told, so Kent gave up. He was just going to get off before his brother was hurt. But then, a wet tongue was licking and poking along Kent’s ass crack. “YES!” He let Morton lick for a few seconds and then leaned forward to lift his ass a little. Morton gasped for air. His chest was heaving, and he was sucking in air as quickly as he could. As soon as he was able to speak, he was going to tell Kent to FUCK OFF!
It was too late; Kent sat back on Morton’s face, sealing off his air. Nothing happened at first. No tonguing. But it did not take long for Morton to begin licking this time. He was more deliberate, licking longer strokes up and down Kent’s ass crack. Kent realized how long he could go without air and how his body started to jerk when he got desperate. At least Kent knew that Morton understood he had to lick or be suffocated. Well, that’s what Morton thought. He was all tied up. He had no options. What else could he think?
When Kent leaned forward this time, he twisted his head close to Morton’s head, “I want to feel your tongue shove its way deep into my ass hole.” And without waiting for a second, he again sat back on Morton’s face.
Kent had a huge smile. He was enjoying a great tongue rimming up his asshole. Morton stopped jerking or resisting. But was it because he was threatened to have his air cut off if he did not comply? Or was it because he actually started to enjoy rimming Kent’s ass?
Kent looked down at Morton’s dick. How could he help notice it? It was right in front of him, and to his astonishment, that towering twitching dick was fully FUCKING ERECT! He was not even touching it, and it was bobbing and leaking. He was right; his older buddy did secretly desire to lick his ass. To prove there was no force now needed, Kent lifted his ass off Morton’s face, but only about a half inch. It was enough to give his ass-rimming macho brother a comfortable supply of air AND allow him to stop the rim job if he so chose. But Morton stuck his tongue out even further as he lifted his head - on his own - to lustfully probe Kent’s asshole as deep as he could.
It was amazing. Morton had practically sworn that the last thing he ever wanted to do was lick Kent’s asshole. Kent, who had been in the school play, Hamlet, recalled the line, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
Then he thought about the other “torture” Morton wrote on his secret paper, which he ABSOLUTELY did NOT want Kent to EVER do to him. It was to pinch his nipples. Without delay, Kent placed his fingers on each of his buddy’s nipples and pinched. These were not pinches done with his fingertips. These were painful pinches using his fingernails.
Several things happened in quick succession. Morton screamed, then moaned, and then jammed his tongue all around Kent’s ass … and … and … Morton shot volley after volley of warm man juice. No one touched his dick. It just exploded like that. Kent’s amazement rekindled as he felt Morton continue to lick and kiss all around that incredible asshole that he had secretly fantasized about for so long.
Kent, who didn’t climax, still thoroughly enjoyed himself and lifted his ass off Morton’s face even though his tongue was not finished. Kent awkwardly smiled as he stood beside the bed and looked down at his tied-up brother.
“OK, big bro,” Kent said, “let me get you out of this before Mom and Dad come home. He untied Morton, who then got up, dramatically shook his limbs, and stretched in all directions.
Kent was picking up his clothes to get dressed. “Stop.”
“What?” Kent asked.
“Your beautiful dick is so hard. May… may… I… I have it? Please?” Kent was not really interested in more sexual interactions with Morton. It was a game. Fun, yes, but it was over. “We better straighten up the room before …”
“Please?”
Kent was silent for a few moments. Then he considered all he put his big bro through. “Sure.” He stepped to the bed where Morton was standing. “OK, kneel and open wide.”
“Actually…” Morton got on the bed, on all fours, in the doggie position, pointing his ass toward his little brother.
“Well, Morton, you worked on my ass. I guess I can work on yours.” Kent got on the bed behind big bro and lined up his stiff dick with his brother’s ass. Having never fucked an ass before, he did not know about being gentle, and he did not want to ask anything. With Morton’s ass so tight, Kent just pushed in firmly and continuously, ignoring big bro’s groans of discomfort.
“Slowly, please,” Morton instructed. “In and out slowly. This is new to me, too.” The sensation became more sensuous and erotic for both boys but mostly for Morton. “Ah, that’s it. Just keep it up like that. Oh, yeah.”
“AAAAAAHHHHHH FUCK!” Not only did Kent blast off into big brother’s ass, but Morton came a second time! It was wonderful…sort of. It was a good educational experience. It confirmed that Morton liked it… a lot. But Kent was doing it just to please his big brother.
There were a few months where both boys had to digest unsettled feelings of that afternoon’s game of Tarzan and the awkwardness that came from it. It was the last time they ever played Tarzan or any other capture game and the one and only time they had sex. Morton and Kent rationalized the ending of such games as something they grew out of.
The brothers naturally gravitated back to each other, resuming their close friendship. The only difference was that they no longer overly touched each other like they used to do when they goofed off in the school showers or elsewhere. The following year, Morton went to off college, and Kent began seriously dating a particular girl.
Morton joined the Gay Student’s Union on campus, better connected with his true sexuality, and became somewhat of an activist. Through it all, Kent and Morton respected each other and their differences.
Kent viewed his one-time childhood “gay” experience and the true emotions explored with Morton as pleasant memories that he valued, though they were never discussed. Kent decided to marry his long-time girlfriend when he turned 22. He was nervous about asking his big brother to be his best man, fearing his request would be rejected. But Morton was delighted, “Sure, I’d be proud to, buddy.” Then added, “And you don’t mind if I bring my boyfriend to the wedding? Is that OK?”
“Of course!”
The brothers smiled and embraced each other. They remained best friends.
The End
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