243 Backyard Tarzan Games
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 middle-height teenager, Morton's bare feet could barely reach the ground. Morton was beginning to think that going along with his best bud, Kent's idea, on his "great game adventure," wasn't so smart 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.
Of course, this photo is not one of Morton as Tarzan, nor was it taken in Kent's backyard where they always played, but this image is how Morton perceived his hero. And Kent's backyard was indeed the pretend jungle, and Kent, his adversary. And … let the games begin!
That was the game, actually. They had watched a Tarzan movie on television. It was an old one, in black-and-white, and pretty, corny. Kent really liked it! 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 was over, he 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."
He thought about it, then Kent said, "But if we had something really of value, we would not have to pretend. Let's say I wrote down a secret, and it was something 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. They agreed the game would be more realistic if – whoever was Tarzan – truly wanted his secret to remain. 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 wrote down the two things I found MOST secret, embarrassing, scary, or intimidating that I would not want my abductor to do to me, I REALLY would not want you to find that paper. I mean, I'd put up with a lot of your shit just to keep my secret. I would not want to be embarrassed. I'd be highly motivated to win the game."
Morton thought that was odd, but he agreed it would make Tarzan avoid surrendering. Tarzan would never want that big a secret to be known to his captor.
"OK… so, we will each write down something that we would never want the other to do to him. If this is true, then whoever is Tarzan would try his utmost not to reveal the hidden place of his secret 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 and got pieces of 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 a spanking with the hand 10 times and was made to 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." And immediately flipped the quarter into the air and let it land on its own on the kitchen floor. And ... the quarter was spinning on edge, and when it finally stopped, Kent yelled, "its tails, you lose, you're Tarzan this time. Isn't that great!" And Kent, not wanting Morton to think about the call, 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 want 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. They had been playing various games for three years, and each year their games would get a little more detailed. Prior to this Tarzan game, the bondage part was always only a tangential element.
This afternoon's Tarzan game, which was beginning, would break some important new ground for them. Morton didn't know it at the time.
So there was Morton, completely naked, wearing only a homemade loincloth and a quickly crafted necklace. Nothing else, not even underwear. He stood before Kent with his hands tied high above his head.
Kent stood and looked at his buddy with his hands on his hips, his usual conqueror's pose. "Well, Tarzan," Kent 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 do a Tarzan imitation and tried pulling 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. Kent was scratching Morton.
"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 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 on 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! I'll never tell!"
"Then, let the torture begin!" he announced jubilantly to all assembled in their backyard jungle. Kent exaggerates, 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.
Kent and Morton lived a few doors away from each other and played together when they were kids. They went to the same grammar school and middle school. Morton was six months older than Kent. That little age difference did make a big difference in how they interacted with each other. Morton being six months older caused him to act like he was two years older and more of the alpha male and leader.
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 the bondage became 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 they gradually got more complicated after they started making up the games. They had to act out every movie scene related to their specific predicaments.
In the few years they acted out capture games, there were other themes, such as Cowboys and Indians, and the elements of the games would become more and more challenging. It had been a few months since their last capture game. Morton was the Indian, and he played his role bare-chested but keeping his pants and shoes on thought out the game. The bondage was pretty good, but as planned, he could maneuver out of it with some difficulty. It would happen when cowboy Kent turned his back, as planned. In other games, Kent would be the captured Indian.
They used tickling as the major tool of “torture,” and sometimes ice cubes were applied to a bare chest and some playful spanking. As with many childish games, they got bored and needed to kick the excitement and the challenge up a notch as they matured into their teenage years.
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.
So, in this first Tarzan game, Tarzan is strung up to a tree branch in Kent’s backyard jungle with his hands high above his head and is struggling to get free.
In the past, whoever was the bondage victim … always got free after not too long. However, several things were different from the beginning of this afternoon’s game. One, Morton’s hands were really tied behind his back as he was brought to the tree by the imaginary guards. He knew that he could not get them loose. He panicked a little, but he was also excited by it.
They had used this tree branch several times in the Western theme games, but whoever was tied to it had his feet free and could kick his captor. With his 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 a metal stake about four feet apart into the ground. Then he tied each ankle to a stake, securing them better and spreading the victim’s legs apart. Morton thought this was weird and a little uncomfortable, but nothing hurt. There was something about being truly helpless that was erotic.
I should explain something. Kent's mom and dad were divorced, and he lived with his mom at this house. His older brother lived with his dad in another town. Kent’s mom worked at the battery plant on the second shift. This meant that they pretty much had the run of Kent's house whenever Morton could get his parent's permission to play there. They were always fairly loose with the truth, suggesting that there was always an adult home at Kent’s. There was usually no problem since his parents weren't much into checking out stuff like that.
“You’ll tell me where the treasure is, or you will be sorry, Tarzan.” Kent postured.
“Me, Tarzan King of the 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 buddy as sexy. It was weird because both boys were truly 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 his “older,” more dominant, 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 his adult-like friend for the first time; he was drooling and feasting his eyes as he had never done before. Weird.
“Time to get started,” Kent thought to himself, 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 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 thought to himself. “Yes. What a great idea for torture!”
Kent went to ‘town,’ pulled off another piece of tape, and stuck it over Morton’s right nipple, then another over his left. “Fabulous torture!” he considered. He applied more four-inch strips onto the sides of Tarzan’s torso and his slightly hairy underarms. Kent thought that’ll yield a nice “ouch” when ripping those off. Kent was not finished. Why should he stop now? His sexy bud in his skimpy loincloth was all his to do with as he pleased. Plus, he 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. Another louder “ouch” would be caused by its removal.
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 his buddy’s knees. And now Kent applied a strip to what he thought was a big “ouch!” area … the tender skin inside Morton’s thighs. Several strips were stuck there 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 was enjoying being touched and rubbed in the various areas to which Kent was applying tape and press-rubbed it to stick thoroughly.
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 quickly, some 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 wrist, arms, and shoulders. So when a tape was removed, Tarzan would jerk and bounce upward and then downward, alternating a moderate pain between his feet and his shoulders.
The most painful tape removals were the ones over his sensitive nipples and in his tender armpits. 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.
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 friend’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 he did not try to communicate that. He wanted to know what Kent had in mind. 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 Tarzan’s form, he 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 longtime neighbor, classmate, and good buddy’s body, all secured taught. 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. Morton started to shake his head violently and twist his hips away the tiny bit he could to keep Kent from getting at the knot. But Kent stopped almost immediately, laughing at his friend’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 remain clothed in this game. 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 the nearby per-arranged 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 one 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 Tarzans 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 he would receive. Also, consider that some of this pain was varying degrees of discomfort, and some were more erotic. 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 15 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 best buddy – and as of late – most sexy buddy.
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 the 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 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 the location.”
“No, I gave you two choices, give up or accept whatever torture I want for you. Want 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 me. I will still never tell you about the ‘hidden treasure.’”
Tarzan took a deep breath, “Please torture Tarzan. Please just do it. Tarzan want to be 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 Tarzan’s reactions to the cold, lingering touches. 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, he 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.
Kent could not shake this new image of his buddy, downing only a loincloth and a brief one that was so sexy looking.
There was his Tarzan friend, 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. Was it sexual? They were both straight. What was it? He loved seeing him all stretched out and hanging helpless, totally at his mercy. It was new to Kent. He’d seen Morton naked before, in the school showers, as well as at home, changing, but this … this was different. Kent 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. This was new. This was erotic. 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 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 said. “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 your prisoner. You just gotta let me down, though."
Kent untied Tarzan, 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 Tarzan had a few moments to walk around and shake his arms out, he sat on the lawn. Kent came up behind him, gently took Tarzan’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 that way, so Kent bound his arms behind him using a soft, cotton clothesline.
As mentioned earlier, Kent lived with his mom, who worked from noon to late evening, so these boys ran the house. That’s why they could be in the fenced-in yard, even naked or tied up, and no one was there to see it.
"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 Tarzan stand and then shoved him gently ahead of him over to the house. He was marched into Kent’s bedroom with Tarzan putting up no resistance, as promised. 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 his buddy had sore wrists, he carefully wrapped each wrist with a sock and then secured it to a bedpost. Then Kent got off the bed, went down to the foot, reached over and took his ankles in his hands, 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 sock and then 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, come what may, Tarzan was not going to talk.
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. "I'm 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 his friend’s sexy body.
Tarzan was stunned. He liked Kent’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 was never touched and caressed so lovingly as his best bud was doing to him right now. He wanted it to go on forever. All he had to do was tell Kent where he had hidden his secret paper. The paper on which he wrote the tortures that would make him give up.
Kent could tell his buddy 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 said no, he won’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 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," Tarzan told him, "Go ahead. I'm not afraid!"
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 buddy.
Kent returned and was back on the bed, took out more candles again. Only this time 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 leather 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, however, 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, he was dripping 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 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 unsharpened yellow pencils just like they used in 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 apply pressure to force Tarzan’s thighs to spread even wider. They really couldn’t spread much more. They were already spread near to 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 pencil in each hand, like mini drumsticks, and started to play a rhythm on the now single layer of THIN leather stretched over Tarzan’s cock! Kent could see the outlined bulge of his full cock shape under the thin leather.
"Talk!" Kent ordered as his pencils danced in a drum cadence on his thin leather 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 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 in his expanded chest and tensed his calf and thigh muscles against the anchored knees that unyieldingly held his legs apart. He 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 him 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 leather “blanket.” Kent stopped and got off the bed suddenly. He threw the pencils 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 took off 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 was right on the jungle’s man’s trapped, aching 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 the tightly bunched muscles of his buddy’s lower abdomen and rubbed it gently in tiny circles.
"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 you, no matter what you do!" Tarzan said boldly.
Kent took his hands off his captive and scooted his ass down to kneel 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!" Morton told him. "Don't do that!" But Kent didn't stop. He continued to squeeze and roll his thumb and forefinger as they gripped on the base and head of his captive’s cock. Kent was teasing Tarzan’s big, hard, thick dick. Well, big and thick for this middle-aged teenager. This was certainly out of bounds for any of their game, 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 hidden knot was exposed with the front flap already flipped up and now covering Tarzan’s belly. 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 playing with the rawhide's ends teasingly, "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 was 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 freeing the lace to remove it. Morton’s dick jumped to attention straight up. It was still mostly covered by the soft cloth, but it was now set loose under the blanketing loincloth front flap. 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 dick. Why didn’t he? Was it a 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. Foolishly, Morton stayed absolutely still. He, too, did not want to twist or jerk his body and have the loincloth slip off his dick. He locked his arm and leg muscles in exactly that 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 obvious now.
All the while, Morton was tied spread-eagle on the bed. He was trying to get free. That was an important element in all their capture games. He was freely pulling and jerking on the ropes. But, now, he ended all his efforts to even move. He’d feel so embarrassed if he wiggled his body as he jerked to get free, and the “dick cover” sheepskin 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?
So there was Morton, tied spread-eagle on Kent’s four-poster bed; and tied in a most secure way that did not allow him much wiggle room. With his arms stretched upward like that, his chest was expanded, and his stomach was naturally sucked in. How slim and sexy! Morton was in great shape, and he looked so fucking sexy, not to mention vulnerable, not to mention helpless. His sheepskin loincloth came up from between his legs, over his dick pole, draping it. Magnificent!
“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 what to quit … yet. Rather than appeal to his capture, he sought out his best bud. Morton mumbled something like, “Please, Kent. Oh, please, oh, please, don’t, please. We’re best buds. 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 a best friend might end their fabulous relationship. 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 YOUR MOM!” That would have stopped Kent, and the game and Morton would lose. 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, and knelt there this time. Seemingly, Kent also did not want to remove Tarzan’s loincloth completely or have it slip off his buddy’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 buddy, 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 me go. You lost!” Tarzan 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. There was a ceiling fan above the bed and it was turned on, the sheepskin could just quickly blow it off. 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 over 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.
Tarzan just moans. He does not want Kent to stop, 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. For some reason, Kent takes the small white towel, empty of what he carried inside it, loosely folds it, and gently places it over Tarzan’s eyes. He just set it there. Tarzan may not have even felt it on his face since he was moaning, seemingly oblivious to anything but the wonderful sensations on his dick.
Now Kent took the feathers and angled them downward to saw one over Tarzan’s balls and used the other one to tickle Tarzan’s asshole and all around it. For sure, his captive was unaware of anything but the erotic sensation all over his dick and balls and asshole and perineum. He had no idea that Kent uncovered his beautiful boned-up dick, pulling the loincloth gently off Tarzan’s bobbing dick, and then he slowly pulled it out from under Tarzan’s ass cheeks and tossed it onto the floor. It was done so gently. Tarzan didn’t know he was made totally naked. Now, 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 his mother used, the other item he had brought. He put some 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 buddy erect. And he never had an opportunity to own it like now, or at least, never dared to try anything. He was fascinated. He was experimenting. 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. But that really was kid stuff. There was no time or 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 looks up to Morton as the older and wiser friend. They respected each other as leaders and followers. But here Kent had his “leader,” with his nicer built body, all tied to his bed. His Mom 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 his buddy on the bed, and he no longer saw Tarzan, only his good old best bud, Morty. And there in his hand was Morty’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 touching movement with almost no friction on his bud’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 he experimented on different touches to his bud’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 down, 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. And then keep the two fingers about a quarter inch from each side. 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.
Part 4 of 4
Kent returned to the oily loose grip-pumping, where his fist barely touched his buddy’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 “older,” nicely built buddy to beg him like this. This is a new side of Morty. 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?”
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, and forcing 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 best buddy 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 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 buddy’s face and gently land 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 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 his best bud’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 his best bud’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 limping 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 contently 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 his friend 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 bud’s face … and waiting.
However, it was too long. Morton was not going to do as told, so Kent gave up. He was going to get off before his buddy 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 his bud’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 knew 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 his sapping buddy’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, his buddy’s dick was fully FUCKING ERECT! He was not even touching it, and it was bobbing and leaking. He was right; his 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 buddy 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. As Kent stood beside the bed and looked down at his tied-up buddy, Morton’s face turned bright red with embarrassment.
“OK, buddy, let me get you out of this. He untied him, and Morton got up, stretched in all directions, and immediately went to find his clothes. When he was dressed, he returned to the bedroom where Kent still was. Morton said simply and awkwardly, “Well, OK. I’ve got to go home for dinner,” and left.
There were a few months where both boys, especially Morton, had to learn to accept and adjust to those unsettled feelings of that afternoon’s game of Tarzan. It was the first and last time they ever played Tarzan or any other capture game. They rationalized the ending of such games as something they grew out of.
After those few months, the boys naturally gravitated back to each other, and their close friendship resumed. 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. The following year, when Kent and Morton attended the same college, Kent became, or remained, straight and enjoyed dating some of the girls there.
Morton joined the Gay Student’s Union on campus and better connected with his true sexuality, and became somewhat of an activist. Through it all, Kent and Morton remained close and with a better understanding of who each other was.
Kent viewed his childhood “gay” experiences and the true emotions explored with Morton as pleasant memories which he valued, though they were never discussed. Years later, when he got married, Morty was his best man.
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