Tarzan and the erotic jungle

I must confess that there was much in the fanciful adventures of Tarzan as told by Mr Burroughs that I simply put down to the over-active imagination of a supreme storyteller. I therefore did not expect to find some of his wilder descriptions so closely aligned with reality. Principal amongst these was the Jungle Lord's ability to speak fluently and cogently with the tribe of the Great Apes which, had I not witnessed it over a prolonged period, I would scarcely have believed possible.

Once I had been pawed and sniffed and handled in ways I could never have imagined by the savage throng, I was left alone as if I had been with them all my life. Standing aside I was able to observe Tarzan seemingly in conference with a group of particularly terrifying anthropoids, clearly the tribal elders, massive and greatly to be respected and feared. There could be no doubt that the guttural grunts, groans, barks, whines and roars that were shared between the participants was the stuff of communication, and I tried desperately to discern even a shred of sound that I could latch onto as familiar and meaningful. I failed miserably.

To Tarzan however it was as if he had been conversing with fellow members in the smoking room of his club in Mayfair, so natural was his discussion with the mighty beasts. Upon its conclusion he came over to me and told me the story of how the tribe had chanced to be in this borderland so far from their natural home. They were hunting for a white hunter who had invaded their traditional grounds, killing one of their own and incapacitating several others. I could tell that Tarzan's blood was up, and it appeared that the murder (and that is what he called it) was carried out purely for trophy taking, the victim's head, hands and heart savagely cut from the bleeding carcass. Hunting for food and sustenance was something that my friend understood all too well, but to kill for sport and trophies was utterly foreign to him, repellent and monstrous.

I had never actually seen him angry before, his demeanour in the city always controlled and aristocratic, but now as he  told me the grisly tale his entire body seemed to flush crimson with barely suppressed rage. I knew that we were about to embark on a manhunt, and that a death would probably lie at its end.

That night the entire tribe (and I include myself in that group) took to the branches of the massive trees that made parts of the jungle all but inaccessible on foot. To sleep on the ground was to invite disaster with some of the most fearsome predators haunting the darkness in search of food. Tarzan, aware of my earthbound nature, assisted me into the upper reaches of a particularly mighty forest giant, at times wrapping an arm around my waist and literally hoisting me from branch to branch, as if I weighed no more than a small child. The feel of his flesh against mine and the sense of security I felt in his arms all conspired to arouse my manhood once more, so that by the time he decided upon a secure confluence of branches for our sleeping spot I was sporting a tumescent member that could not be willed away.

"Forgive me Tom", he remarked as we began to settle into our makeshift sleeping quarter, "but I think it best for you to lie against me and allow me to hold you in my arms. I have been sleeping like this all of my life and my body knows instinctively how to move, but you could fall with the slightest shift and I may not be able to catch you in time."

Naturally enough I was not about to argue the point and settled back against his warm, solid body like a baby nursed against its mother's breast, the thick matt of fur on his chest and stomach brushing against my bare back like the softest blanket, his rich smell enveloping me like a cocoon. I couldn't imagine any moment in my entire life when I had been happier, or more aroused, and was wondering how I would be able to keep from touching myself during the night when I felt the fingers of his right hand brush against my shaft. I stopped breathing as I waited to see if the touch had been purely accidental, praying that it had not been. There it was again, only this time the fingers lingered, moving gently up and down the hard bone, pausing momentarily at the underside of my engorged knob before wrapping themselves around my thick pole and expertly massaging it into an even harder state.

"It's alright Tom" he whispered into my ear, " we are tribal brothers. When we smelt each other in front of the tribe it was a signal that you belonged to me, that I had taken you as my mate and that you would henceforth be under my protection. Tonight we must consummate that bond. They will smell it on us in the morning and they will understand and respect what it means."

I was beyond words by that point, the sensations coursing through my pole lighting up my entire, exhausted body, his hand wrapped around my penis coaxing juice from the tingling piss slit, sending me into a jungle of my own. He shifted slightly behind me and I could feel his beautiful, hard tool pressing against my back, moving slowly against my warm, sweat-soaked skin, his breathing warm and heavy against my ear.

"I want you to fuck me John" I whispered into the night air, and the pressure of his hand around my manhood increased slightly while his other hand cupped my large, hairy balls, pulling on them gently but firmly, eliciting a groan from deep within me.

"Soon Tom soon, but not here, not now" he breathed into me, "somewhere special for that, away from the tribe."

I groaned at the thought, and with the thought came a flood of my juice as his powerful hands succeeded in pushing me over the edge. My orgasm caught me unawares, covering my face, chest and stomach with thick cream. The pleasure seemed almost painful as I arched my head back against his shoulder, uttering great sobs of relief with each involuntary spurt. His hand continued to pump my swollen shaft until finally I collapsed against him, totally spent, sucking in great mouthfuls of humid air as I attempted to recover from the exhausting climax.

His own cock suddenly appeared between my legs, rising up like a totem, sliding along my perineum, massaging my fleshy ball-sack, looking desperately for relief. I tightened my thighs around it, felt his slippery hardness rubbing against my skin. His breathing had become rapid, his hands slid across my body and chest, looking for purchase, grabbing my pectorals, squeezing the discs of my nipples. He was close, so close as I crossed my legs as tightly as possible, holding his engorged member in a vice-like grip as he pumped with an intense desperation. Suddenly his whole body stiffened, the entire jungle seemed to pause for breath, expectant, silent, and then a shudder as a fountain of thick drops rained down on us, a shower of jewels from a forest god. Finally a long, low endless sigh into my ear as his flow faded away, his hot breath filling me with a sense of security and contentment that I had scarce ever felt before. The jungle came awake again as if it could feel his body relax, a chorus of low grunts and stifled roars from the trees around us signalling approval from his tribal brothers and sisters. He held me tight, not a word spoken, and we slept in perfect peace.

Next morning, as good as his word, the tribe were all over us, smelling our soiled bodies, grunting, roaring and beating their mighty chests in seeming approbation and joy. Tarzan left me with them, knowing now that I would be quite safe, and went off in search of food. I couldn't remember when we had last eaten, the terrors and joys of the last 24 hours banishing all such thoughts from my mind and body.

When he returned he bore with him a freshly killed stag thrown over his shoulder for the tribe, and a hoard of berries and nuts for me, guessing that warm raw flesh may not be my first choice for a breakfast repast. I wolfed them down deliriously, suddenly aware of my great hunger, and watched as Tarzan joined his tribe in ripping apart the still warm body of the deer and devouring it as if it were the finest meal from the finest restaurant in Paris. I was aghast and fascinated. Who was this creature, chest and mouth covered in gore, whose arms I had nestled in just hours before, whose seed I was still covered in, whose presence made me feel as safe and secure as if I was in my own family home ? And who was I, what had I become?

I had little enough time to ponder these questions, for as soon as the meal was done things were afoot and the tribe took to the trees and disappeared from sight almost before I was aware that movement was occurring, their roars and bellows gradually swallowed by the all-enveloping jungle. Tarzan explained to me that he had commanded the apes return to their homeland, fearful that their presence so close to the borderlands would reveal their existence. They were the stuff of legend outside the jungle, most people believing them to be creatures of Mr Burroughs’s vivid imagination, and their lord was keen for that perception to be maintained. He had promised that he would track and deal with the offending hunter, and that promise was all the tribe had needed to absolve them of their own responsibility in the matter. They were gone, and I was strangely sorry to be without their company.

I must confess that by this time we were both starting to look more of the jungle than the city; indeed, I doubt that any of our acquaintances back in civilisation would have recognised either one of us. My friend however had assumed a truly fearsome and savage appearance. He had always worn his hair long but it was now down to his shoulders and utterly untended, a flowing mass of dark Medusa-like tendrils framing his powerful face, casting his features into constantly shifting shadows that only increased the sense of brooding power that was a hallmark of his appearance. His jaw was covered in the red gore of his recent repast, jagged trails of fresh blood running down his chest like some hideous tattoo, his arms and legs smeared with the green and brown of foliage and dirt that clung to him as if he was made of the same stuff as the brooding, living jungle. He was transformed and magnificent.

"Tom, we have work to do." The statement was simple and clear, and I knew that the work would be dangerous and deadly. "You must follow me as best you can, but if you fall behind take to the trees and stay up high.  Your spoor is part of me now, I will find you once this business is done. Listen for my call, follow it if you can." His blood was up, his penis as hard as I had yet seen it, engorged with the fury of the moment, the skin pulled back tight and taut.

And then he was off. I raced after him in hot pursuit, desperate to remain as close as possible for as long as possible. I could hear him just ahead of me as he thundered through thickets and seemingly impenetrable walls of foliage, an almost constant low snarling and muted roar accompanying his progress, more animal now than man.

My penis was hard as well, almost painful, and yet again I wondered what had become of me as I dogged his trail, afraid of what would lie at its end but desperate to be there with him no matter what, the sense of excitement and fear translated into a heightened state of erotic desire that I had never felt before.

I lost him as he took to the trees, his preferred mode of travel, and I had to rest panting, naked, terrified and exhilarated in the middle of that overwhelming Eden, stripped back to my primeval self. The jungle was a symphony of bird-calls, bestial cries and the chattering of invisible beasts as I stood there overwhelmed, sucking in great mouthfuls of humid air, determined to continue. And then a call, dominating all of the others, filled the space around me. I knew that it was Tarzan somewhere ahead, just out of reach. I pulled myself together and charged on, using I know not what reserves of energy and grim determination to follow the sound. How long had I been in this place? A year? A day? An hour? It was all meaningless to me, I could barely remember my life before.

Jane had warned me, and I had not understood. But I did now.

Then suddenly I came upon him standing in the middle of a small clearing, growling and snarling like some grim beast, his body bent as if about to leap, his jaw thrust forward and his teeth bared in ferocious challenge to something just beyond my line of sight. I moved slightly, concealed by the trunk of a majestic tree that stood at the perimeter of the clearing, and saw the bedraggled figure of a hunter a mere ten feet from my savage friend. My stomach turned as I saw the carcass of what I took to be a chimpanzee at his feet, the body pierced by a short steel arrow, head, hands and heart removed. Three small baby chimps were collared and tied to a nearby tree, whimpering for their mother lying before them horribly mutilated. I could feel Tarzan's fury like some physical force radiating out from his coiled body, and I knew that death was in the air. 

The hunter raised his bow and arrow and aimed it with absolute confidence at the figure of the wild white man, no sign of fear or panic as he faced this intruder who had dared to interrupt his grisly work. I had no doubt that the tip of the shaft had been dipped into curare, or some such deadly substance, and feared for my friend who faced him with naught but his naked outrage.

The arrow left its bow like a lightning bolt and I could see no escape for my companion, my heart pounding in my breast as I watched the tragic scene unfold. And then the most amazing thing I had yet seen. In the blinking of an eye, without any discernible movement or even preparation for movement, Tarzan's arm snapped up and caught the arrow, plucking it mid-flight a mere inch from his body.

The hunter, expecting the shot to fell its victim, was entirely unprepared for such magic and lurched ruinously for the rifle he had propped up against a nearby tree, but death was upon him. Tarzan, on catching the shaft was already in motion, bearing down on the distraught figure, arrow brandished and turned on its owner. He ploughed into the terrified man like a runaway train, plunging the tip of the arrow into the neck of his victim as he was knocked back, as if by a blast. In one fluid motion he picked up the fallen hunter by one of his ankles and swung him like a sack of feathers over his head, slamming him into the trunk of the nearest tree. A sickening crunch as every bone in his frame shattered with the impact, and the body fell ruined and twisted to the base of the trunk, twitching horribly as life seeped from every pore.

I admit that the scene both fascinated and appalled me, and I lost the contents of my stomach as I forced myself to look away from the terrible vision. A roar, primeval and despairing drew my eyes back to the grisly stage, and I saw the Ape Man kneeling over the mutilated body of the chimp, sobbing uncontrollably, the three young ones huddled together at the base of the trunk, blinking upon the terrifying scenario being played out before their innocent eyes. I knew that Tarzan's mind was back in the days of his youth, re-living in horrible clarity the death of his own ape-mother Kala by the hand of a young warrior out to prove his manhood. He had avenged that death as he had now avenged this one, but the legacy of meaningless tragedy was the same.

We buried the chimp mother with a solemnity I found deeply affecting, strange as it might have appeared to prying eyes. The three young ones would return with us to the compound and be raised as pets, their chances alone in the jungle practically non-existent. As for the body of the hunter, Tarzan would not have me move it, preferring instead to let the jungle devour it. It was only with the most heartfelt pleading that I convinced him not to hack off the hands and head as a grim warning to any other fool with thoughts of trophy hunting in his domain.  

Untying the young ones from their bonds I looked on as Tarzan communicated with them as best he could in the language of the apes, their youth and innocence making his task no easy thing. They climbed all over him, screeching into his ears and pawing at his bare flesh, transferring all of their affection and needs onto his broad shoulders. I looked on with tears in my eyes as I saw this savage man transformed into a the most loving and patient guardian, and when he directed them over to me I took them into my arms as if they were my own children, overwhelmed by their trust and his care. 

Covered in blood, mud, gore, sweat, shit, cum and all of the detritus of the seething jungle, we stood there naked gazing at each other, our cocks telling the tale of our friendship and passion, his eyes blazing with a myriad conflicting emotions. Principally however I saw his desire and need, mirroring my own, our shared experiences manifesting themselves in a towering sexual urge that needed to be satisfied.

Grabbing my hand and gathering up our new wards, he dragged me away from the bloody spot and led me along a barely discernible trail until we at last came upon a small clearing adjacent to a gently meandering stream. Here he set down the three chimps and growling something indecipherable into their ears I was amazed to see them curl up in each others arms and within seconds fall into a deep, cosseting sleep. Then, turning his full attention upon me I could see that our time had at last come, and I trembled with anticipation and fear.

Wordlessly he came upon me, placing his hands upon my shoulders, forcing me to my knees in front of his commanding member, his foreskin pulled back from the purple bloated knob, his piss slit leaking a steady stream of precum, a glistening trail meandering down the underside of his mighty shaft.

I didn't think twice, my senses reeling from his acrid, erotic stench. Leaning forward I buried my face in his fetid groin, inhaling all of the musky, loamy smells of our time in the jungle. He groaned as my lips encircled the tip of his head, my eager tongue catching the salty juice as it flowed from his wide open slit. He thrust himself forward and I almost gagged as his shaft found the back of my throat, my mouth filled with the taste of his of sweat and piss and cum. I took hold of his cock as I sucked, pulling his foreskin forward, sliding my greedy tongue under the slippery sheath, covering every inch of his tool with saliva and desire.

So savage had I become in such a short space of time that I gave no thought to my filthy state as he drew his penis from my hungry mouth and knelt down in front of me, pushing me back onto the soft grass, raising my legs onto his shoulders and gazing intently at my most private space, entirely his for the taking.

"Tom, I will try not to hurt you too much, but I must have you here, now." The moment we had both anticipated was upon us and I groaned in pleasure as he bent down and spat onto my tight opening, preparing me as best he could for the challenge that lay ahead.

And then he was upon me, and inside me. I had no time to worry about preparing myself as his solid rod pushed against my anus and opened it up, forcing my ring wide to gain admittance, the shock eliciting a loud gasp from me as I felt myself impaled on his pole. He was purring now, like some beautiful beast of prey, moving himself in and out of my passage, each thrust ploughing deeper into my body, his pendulous balls slapping rhythmically against me, the sound of flesh on flesh reverberating around the clearing.

I was transfixed watching him, his head thrown back, his face only vaguely discernible through the tangle of hair that moved and swayed with every shudder of his body. The jungle had electrified him the moment he had stepped back into it, every fibre, every nerve ending alive to its savage beauty. It was no wonder that Mr Burroughs had chosen to leave out this aspect of his hero's life, and I wondered just how much he had seen or experienced himself during his investigations.

But for now all I wanted was to please my lord and master, for that was how I saw him. I could feel his thick tool deep within me and I clenched my sphincter muscles as tight as possible in order to keep him there, gripping his throbbing penis, increasing his pleasure, ensuring that when the time came I would be able to drain every single drop from him, keeping at least some of his essence within me.

His purring had altered to a series of low growls now, each thrust into my punished hole eliciting a gasp from me and a grunt from him. My legs were wrapped around his taut, muscular body which was positioned parallel to mine, his hands embedded in the soil on either side of my head, his face a mere inch from my own, his matted hair covering my eyes and falling into my open mouth. My passage was on fire, electric and flooded with sensations as he kept his hard pole deep within me, his luxuriant bush caressing my butt cheeks, no longer withdrawing and plunging into me but almost stationary inside, the merest pulse of his thick member bringing him closer and closer to the climax we both craved.

Suddenly his lips clamped onto mine, his tongue invading my mouth, his breath heavy and erotic, and I felt an explosion of hot fluid deep within me as a muffled roar swelled up from his depths and burst into my throat. My own cock spasmed and flooded my stomach and chest, his proximity and heat all that was needed to take me over the edge with him. His massive cock jerked again and again deep within, filling me with warmth and pent up desire. I arched my back, desperate to press my jerking penis against his hard flesh, feel his skin against mine, cover him with my seed as he was flooding me with his.

A low, purring moan resonated throughout his body as he released wave after wave of hot fluid into me until finally his lips unclamped from mine and he reared up and emitted an open-mouthed cry, a mixture of pleasure and something more savage, primeval, almost victorious, as if he were exulting over the body of a vanquished foe. It terrified me and made me desire him even more.

When it was finally over he lay on top of me, a dead-weight, for what seemed like hours. I could have held him there forever. It was finally the noise of our new wards awakening that roused him from his torpor. He brushed his lips against mine and smiled as he unstuck himself from me, our dried cum and sweat sealing us together in our embrace. Moving to raise himself I felt his spent penis slip easily from my hole, a warm wetness flooding my nether regions as the surfeit of his seed flowed out of me. He looked down and smiled at the mess, the master surveying the wreckage of his passion, and we both laughed as he held out his hand and helped me to my unsteady feet.

"We must bathe Tom, before we return to the niceties of civilisation."

He led me to the stream and we regretfully washed ourselves clean of each other, and of the jungle that had so overtaken us. By the time we regained the grassy banks I knew that something had changed, despite our nakedness. He disappeared back down the trail and returned shortly with the rucksack in hand, full of the clothes that I now viewed with distaste and abhorrence. His own manner was friendly but formal, befitting an English Lord, and I knew that it was over.

Gathering up the three chattering chimps we headed back to the river to await the coming of the next steamer, silent in the newfound distance that had descended upon us. I gazed at him when I could, entranced and saddened by what had been and what we now needed to forget. What was he thinking? Not a clue on that handsome face, not a moment of that physical intimacy that had just occurred and which might just as easily have been a dream. I despaired and fell into a massive funk, almost wishing that I had never followed him into this sweltering, invasive place.

A horn blast further upstream, the ponderous lugger was approaching like the shutting of a door. I almost laughed when I thought about the vision we must present, the proud parents of three hairy children waiting for the next bus to Piccadilly Circus. There it was rounding the bend, belching steam from its single funnel, bearing down on us, intent on stealing us away from this remarkable Eden.

And then it happened. As the careworn vessel bumped against the rickety landing jetty he leant into me, his mouth pressed against my ear, and he blew a long, deep sighing breath inside me, like some intoxicating zephyr.

“You are Tarzan’s mate now Tom, and one of his tribe. Never forget."

I had no words to utter, but the look on my face was enough to communicate the great relief and joy which surged through me, and I could swear, at that precise moment, that I heard from a great distance and within that heaving mass of jungle the sound of mighty roars, as if from the throats of great apes.

The End