When we last left the forlorn jungle boy, he was imprisoned on an island of depravity and despair, chained to a boulder and used as a toilet. Barely a single day had passed without the wild lad screaming in agony and passing out from the pain of having his statuesque physique brutally penetrated, probed and electrocuted. Punishment for biting off the cock of the visiting Sheikh Ali Bin Abdullah Thani Al-Thani’s was brutal and incessant. And after all of this cruelty, the worst, and the most beautiful, was yet to come.
Winter had come to the Southern hemisphere of the planet, yet on an island near the equator; the only indication of any seasonal change was slightly harsher breezes. The wind and the warm rain did little to cleanse the soiled and tortured flesh of the jungle boy as he lay motionless on the boulder he was chained to. His muscular arms so tightly held back, he had forgotten when he was last able to touch himself and slide his hands across his body. And with his shackled balls stretched out taut to a rusty pipe, nor could he could remember the last time his jewels had been allowed to dangle freely. The intermittent flow of rain, shit, urine and semen had turned the soil beneath him into a mud that had packed into his buttocks and groin, and thickly coated the voluminous muscles that formed the back of his legs. The blazing sun of many days had baked the mud into a cake that glued him to the ground as the stench of this human toilet attracted a swarm of flies that nibbled at his flesh freely, unchallenged by the wretched lad whose arms were unable to wave away the carnivorous insects. His outdoor prison cell was adorned with the debris of beer parties, bowel movements and other unwanted or forgotten items. The jungle boy had become the island’s trash heap. The stench was even bad enough to keep away the nefarious men who would have otherwise raped him. Eventually, he was visited only by one of his fellow slaves who’s sense of pity overtook his fear of retribution, retribution for extending charity to this pathetic soul, charity in the form of some food or a sip of water. And a tender kiss on his lips after the sip of water had washed away the excrement of the truly foul creatures that imprisoned him. And it was those simple acts of kindness from his secret lover that kept the jungle boy alive.
Suddenly, the flies that feasted on his ravaged body were blown away by a hurricane stirred up from helicopter blades. The jungle boy turned his head away as the wash of wind pelted his body with sand and small pebbles. When the sleek craft finally landed and came to a rest, the jungle boy was able to look up just in time to see the sheik leap out of his private helicopter. The same Sheikh Al who had his dick bitten off by the jungle boy months earlier. A distant clap of thunder accented the thud of his booted feet as they landed firmly on the hard soil. The wild boy did not recognize the man at first, as he was dressed differently, this time in camouflage. When their eyes met, fear flooded the jungle boy’s thoughts. As wild as the young man was, he instinctively knew the look of revenge.
The master of the island was caught off guard as he was still securing a robe around himself as he and his followers ran out to greet the sheikh. The island master did not tolerate surprise visits, he ran a strict island and carefully monitored the comings and goings and everything in between on his island. But the sheikh’s excessive wealth did allow for some exemptions. And while the two men conversed, the sheikh never took his eyes off the jungle boy.
The master’s tolerance was tested as he politely quizzed, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise visit your eminence?”
The sheikh scoffed while accentuating the high and mighty quality of his British accent, “I wanted to see if you were true to your word, about that beast being punished for what he did to me.”
The master played with the truth, “Oh yes, not a day has gone by without him being raped, electrocuted, exposed to the harsh elements of this island or just shat upon, as you can see. You could have confirmed that via the web-cam we have set up just for you.”
The sheikh griped, “Such things can be faked. Where are the oral spreaders that held his head back and his mouth kept agape?”
“I guess one of the men took it to use privately. I’m sure we’ll be able to find it. But you can see he is still chained to that boulder.”
“Well, I’m afraid that is not good enough.”
“What more would you like me to do to him?”
The sheikh commanded, “First, I would like you to hose that filth off of him. Then, I want him suspend him by his wrists and ankles from the ceiling at a height that presents his asshole at the height of my crotch. I want to show him just how well my cock has healed. Then after I’ve finished raping that beast, I want you to set him free.”
The island master was stunned, “Free? Did you say, free?”
The sheikh casually gestured back to the helicopter, “I plan on hunting down that beast with something I had made just for him.”
The master’s observed with foreboding as the sheikh’s valet stepped off the helicopter with an oversized case. Though the case was a solid black, the master recognized it intimately and that it could carry only one thing, a set of bow and arrows.
The master was pokerfaced as, “I see. However, it should be noted that he is still quite a valuable asset to me. The revenue that is generated by selling photographs and streaming videos of him being sexually tortured and raped are still considerable. And need I mention the funds that will be raised when I once again rent out his body to visitors?”
The sheikh handed the master a hefty leather poach, “I believe that should be adequate compensation for him.”
The master opened the sack and gazed upon what seemed a bottomless pit of jewels. The master smiled, “Adequate indeed. That wretched savage is all yours. May I ask what will be the strategy of his demise?”
The sheikh’s eyes were fixed on the jungle boy as, “Nothing complicated. Quite simply, I am going to go hunting for that boy. I will stalk him, I will place him in the site of my bow, and then I will hurt him as he hurt me. I will empty the contents of my quiver into his manhood, and after I’ve let him writhe in pain for an appropriate amount of time, perhaps a day or two. Then, when I have grown tired of his tormented screams, I will cut off his genitals with an antique Arab Islamic Silver Jambiya Dagger that has been in my family for countless generations. And then I will take his severed manhood and force him suck on his own cock until he bleeds out. And as he takes what I believe to be his last breath, I will shoot my last arrow right between his eyes just for good measure. And when he is dead, I will take his body back to my palace where he will be handed over to my best taxidermist to be stuffed, mounted and put on display for all to see in my trophy room along with all the other big game I have vanquished over the years. And then I will have his sizable genitalia mounted on plaque and hung on the wall right beside him, but just out of his reach. He will never be whole again. Does that answer your question?”
The master smiled, “And then some.”
The master turned to his men gathered around him and clapped his hands twice, “Men, get the fire hose, we need to get that jungle boy ready for a “Code 13, Flying Eagle” right away. That feral boy is no longer our property, its new owner has paid us handsomely for him and has big plans for his demise.”
Meanwhile, that young slave that was special to the jungle boy that was locked up in a room nearby could hear the news and became more concerned than ever for the man-beast he had great affection for. But he currently was unable to help in any way as he was restrained and forced into rimming the hairy ass of some fat thug. But, his chance to be a hero will come.
Although some of the men regretted losing their favorite living sex-doll, they promptly unshackle the jungle boy and pried him out of the dried mud. The jungle boy was incredibly stiff but glad to have his arms free as he gently rubbed the soars around his wrists. However, this freedom is short-lived as his hands were quickly tied behind his back. The boy, guided by the unruly men, stumbled like a zombie over to the hangman’s scaffold. His hefty phallus bounced off his thighs as he tripped up the three tall steps of the severely weathered wooden platform. The wild man-beast had become use to this scenario and though he did not fear it, he braced himself for the extreme event about to unfold. He remained stolid as they placed the noose around his neck. Repeated visits to the gallows had developed the muscles in his neck to where he could keep breathing even when the noose went completely taught around his neck and the lack of air made him go unconscious. But this time it was different, instead of being hoisted high off his feet, the rope around his neck was pulled up just taut enough to force him onto the tips of his toes. The jungle boy’s face turned red as he coughed, sputtered and gagged. His toes dance around in small circles while trying to support the full weight of his body. Strangling him had its usual affect as his dick started to harden up into a raging cock. His years of conditioning were thorough and his body had developed the autonomic response of an erection. As his cock grew, the dried mud and shit slowly flaked away as its plump head bejeweled itself with a single drop of seminal fluid. The drop of man-tea swelled, then like a spider spinning a web, the crystal clear drop slowly repelled downwards. And just as it was about to land near the jungle boy’s toes, an outburst of water from a high-pressured fire hose blasted the wild lad in the nuts.
The jungle boy squawked out, “FUCK!”
The sheikh was mildly surprised, “Oh yes, I forgot the thing could speak.”
The master pondered, “Yes, he’s managed to pick up a few words while being subjected to our brand of hospitality. However, his vocabulary is limited to words pertaining to acts of sexual violence.”
The sheikh smiled, “Of course.”
The master continued, “He has shown other signs of intelligence. I even suspect that under the right circumstances, he could have been groomed into a gentleman of considerable refinements. But that won’t happen, will it?”
The sheikh studied his prey being pressure washed, “Not if I have anything to do with it. No, my good man, he won’t live long enough for that.”
The jungle boy’s screams were drowned out as the jet of water was aimed at his face and filled his throat and nose, rinsing the taste of shit and piss out of his mouth. The violent jet of water then traveled across his body, visiting every part of his body by way of his reproductive organs. Every watery blast to his groin sent his large rock-hard cock and voluminous balls thrashing in circles against his body. The jungle boy’s hefty cock was slapped up against his stomach as his balls were smashed flat on his thighs or forced back through his crotch. As much as that did hurt, it also felt good to have his cock back in action again. And there were a few moments during this sadistic shower that the force of the water against his cock almost brought him to orgasm. As a result of his conditioning, there was a part of the jungle boy that even enjoyed the pain. The dirt and excrement as well as some of the humiliation and despair were blasted off his body and soul. As much as it hurt, it was just as pleasing to the jungle boy to have all that accumulated filth washed off his flesh. And he instinctively knew that the men who torture him admired, no, worshipped how his colossal cock could remain so steadfast in the deluge of such punishment. Then suddenly without warning, the jungle boy’s body responded to the pain the only way it knew how, with a blast of sperm from his cannon of meat. A volley of sperm that cleared his shoulder and impregnated the floor behind him. It was mostly an autonomic response to having all the nerve endings in his cock stimulated at once; the jungle boy derived almost no pleasure from it. In fact, he was so overwhelmed by the pain of the jet of water pummeling his body, the jungle boy didn’t notice his own orgasm. But his orgasm was well noticed by all who surrounded him.
The sheikh was impressed, “Hmm, how truly magnificent that cock of his is. I almost feel bad for him that I’m going slice it off his equally magnificent body.”
The master queried, “Really?”
The sheikh shook it off, “No, I’m over it. He’s going to die. However, if we could make a lifecasting of his engorged cock, I would have castings of his manhood used to create a very unique fountain. A tribute to what I’m sure will be a most memorable hunt.”
The jungle boy turned away from the hurtful torrent of water only to have the jet stream of water target his ass, instantly filling up his rectum. The water forced him off his feet putting all his weight on the rope around his neck. The wooden planks were now too slick for him to maintain his footing as his body swayed and twisted in the forceful spray of water. When brown water drained from his ass, it caught the attention of Sheikh Al.
The sheikh commanded, “Make sure his man-pussy is thoroughly washed out! I don’t want to be packing his fudge!”
Two of the men scrambled up the stairs and each grabbed a one of the boy’s ankles, lifting and spreading his legs as far as possible, aiming his asshole towards the brute manning the fire hose. With the rope tight around his neck and his legs firmly held apart, the jungle boy was unable to scream and break free as the jet stream of water slammed against his crotch, pummeling his balls and drowning his ass. The young man bucked like a wild bronco. Water instantly refilled his rectum and just as swiftly burst into the vacant chambers that lay beyond. The violent flow instantaneously filled his intestines, his stomach, his esophagus, and his lungs. Stomach acids burned the back of his throat, he coughed and gagged as the remains of his breakfast and water purged out of his mouth. The jungle boy could have fought off strangulation or drowning, but both at the same time were too much. As his body went limp and his mind lost consciousness, he wondered what hell would greet him the next time he opened his eyes.
Then, some oblivious amount of time later…
Consciousness slowly returned to the jungle boy and his world was very disoriented. His vision was blurred and he could not tell immediately what position he was in, but he was aware of the restrained feeling around his wrists and ankles, that the entire weight of his mass was resting on those four points of his limbs, and that his body was stretched out and floating in midair. There was severe pain, very severe pain on his scrotum. There was movement, a violent shaking back and forth along with a pounding in his ass. Quickly, realization set in, he was being fucked. He shook his head and his vision cleared up. Through the haze, he recognized the familiar ceiling of his prison cell. He stretched his neck to look down his body and past his manhood rolling back and forth across his stomach as his balls were locked in a vice-like grip. His scrotum was clamped tight and stretched from one side of a fist to the other. His nuts, so red and swollen, were under so much pressure they felt as if they were about to burst out of his sack and pop. Looking up between his outstretched legs he recognized the opened camouflage shirt and the hairy chest and stomach towering up to a familiar fury face. Sheikh Al was fucking him and using the hold on the wild man’s balls to control his position like a joystick controlling a plane. Just to confirm this ugly probability, the jungle boy shook his head once more. Coming into focus, he could see the sheikh’s snarling face. Jeremiah let out a rebel yell.
The sheikh looked back at him, “That’s right boy, your ass is mine.”
With the sheikh’s cock planted deep in his ass and his body completely immobilized, the jungle boy once again abandoned any hope of escape and surrendered to his fate. The muscles in his neck went limp and his head dropped back towards the center of the Earth. No fight, no struggle, he just waited for the sheikh to finish like all the other times that depraved men have raped him. And after what seemed an eternity, the jungle boy could feel the warm sting of Arab semen filling his ass, that thick hairy cock sliding out of his hole and flopping up onto his crotch as even more Arab semen sprayed up his torso and face. Almost worse than the rape was the copious amount of sperm that was oozing from his ass and that stained his body. Sheikh Al’s semen meandered between the boy’s man-cleavage and trickled down and around his neck. And when the white sap of his new owner crossed his mouth, the disgusted jungle boy wiped off his lips against his shoulder.
The sheikh slapped the jungle boy across the butt, “Damn, that felt good! I’m going to miss that sweet ass of yours when you’re dead. However, you will be stuffed and mounted in my trophy room, so maybe there will be some kind of perverse afterlife for you. Hmm, how should I have your body posed? On your knees perhaps so I can wank a load into your face whenever I want. Or bent over perhaps, so I can slap your ass with my cock as I ejaculate all over your back? Or maybe just like this, but with your severed cock dangling above your head. I can be so fucking wicked.”
The jungle boy didn’t understand a lot of the words being spoken, but understood well that that hairy bastard was gloating. Sheikh Al avoided the chains that suspended the jungle boy in mid air as he walked around to the lad’s draped back head. The cruel Arab grabbed his cum drenched cock and wiped it off clean across the boy’s face. The wild boy did not give the sheikh any satisfaction by reacting to this foul act and kept any emotion deep behind a stolid face and tightly sealed lips.
Sheikh Al boasted, “As you can see, you filthy beast, I am whole again and feeling fine.”
The sullied lad reached out his head like a turtle and snapped his jaw at the sheikh’s cock. The sheikh yelped and nearly fell as he jumped back and out of jungle boy’s reach. The jungle boy knew he just got the best of him and smiled. Sheikh Al leaned in and with all of his weight swiftly gave the boy’s head the back of his hand. That wiped the smile off the jungle boy’s face.
The sheikh yelled, “You utter twat! You will know the full extent of my wrath soon enough.”
The sheikh hurriedly put his pants back on and rushed over to the cell door and shook the bars violently.
“Let me out of here!”
The door nearly hit him in the face, as it was already unlocked. Embarrassed, the sheikh stormed out and disappeared through the outer door. The boy’s color faded from his face and his head slumped once again as he pondered his immediate future. Then all too soon, the sheikh reappeared shoving a guard ahead of him.
Sheikh Al commanded the guard, “Get that thing down from there and get it outside! The hunt begins now!”
The guard walked in and released a lock on a wench that was mounted to the wall. The jungle boy fell to the floor. The boy let out a huff as his body flattened out onto the floor. The guard was quick with his knee to the jungle boy’s neck and pinned him down as he wrestled the boy’s limbs free of the shackles. The jungle boy rolled onto his side to spit out some of the Arab semen that had landed in his mouth as the guard grabbed the “Persuader” off the wall.
The “Persuader” was an industrial sized meat hook that had a shiny steel dildo welded to the end of it. That insidious device was so frequently buffed by the inner walls of the jungle boy’s anus that it shined like chrome. And quite often the jungle boy was lifted off his feet and high into the air with the “Persuader” attached to a chain while shoved up his glorious hole.
But this time, the guard just jammed it up the jungle boy’s hole as brutishly as possible and used it like the reins on a horse to coax the wild lad off the floor and outside. The steel tool had been sitting in the only patch of intense sunlight to find its way into the room and its heat seared its way into the boy’s rectum. The boys gait was awkward as his hands tried to push away at the invasive steel, but the guard was much stronger than him. The jungle boy yelled as the guard momentarily lifted the boy off his feet with the “Persuader” and threw him to the ground. As the jungle boy braced himself against the dirt, he managed to crap out the insidious device. The bulbous head of the steel dildo caught on the inside of his rim until he gave it an extra push. The “Persuader” chimed as it hit the ground. The jungle boy wept silently as his ass seeped out streams of Arab semen. The boy opened his eyes to see the glistening boots of the sheikh blocking his view. The end of the sheikh’s bow tapped the boy on the chin guiding him to look up at the towering figure of a man that loomed over him.
The sheikh commanded, “On your feet, boy.”
The jungle boy took his time to slowly stumble his way up to a tenuous stance. His muscular legs trembled not so much from fear as much as atrophy. It had been so long since he had been aloud to stand under his own power, such a long time since he was on his feet without his hands or neck tied from above. And his joints still hurt from being spread-eagle in mid air. Surrounded by all the men of this despicable order, there was nowhere for him to run. The jungle boy took a wide stance and at last stood tall, but the sheikh was taller and broader still.
Sheikh Al reached into his back pocket, pulled out a wadded clump of fabric and aggressively flung it at the jungle boy. The boy who was use to having blunt objects hurled into him did not flinch as the wad hit him on the neck and started to roll down his body. His hand calmly swung up and caught it as if the appendage had a mind of its’ own. His hand held it out pinched between his fingers and like some battle worn flag, it unfurled and fluttered on the warm island breeze. It was his loincloth, torn, tattered and stressed almost beyond recognition. He sniffed it and rubbed it in his face like some child reunited with a lost pet. The boy opened the ring of cloth and raised one leg and then the other, gingerly stepping back into the only possession he ever had. His body undulated like a dolphin through the waves as he gently coaxed the cloth past his ample thighs. His groin puckered in as he tenderly slid the frail flap of animal hide over his prodigious manhood and ever so gently set the tenuous strands to rest on his hips. The rear flap of the garment partially wiped away the Arab semen that stained his buttocks. And though it was stressed way beyond its original fit, the diminutive remnant of a loincloth seemed to come alive as it eagerly hugged his body and draped down over most of his pendulous phallus, partially covering the front of his personal meat while leaving its thick trunk and broad sides exposed. And of course, the tattered loincloth did nary a thing to conceal the voluminous scrotum that peered out from behind either side of his elephantine cock. The jungle boy felt whole again as he took a deep breath and sighed as he slid his hands down into his groin and traced his flesh just under the diminutive loincloth.
All the men around him were mesmerized by the dress-tease that was just performed in front of them.
The sheikh cleared his throat, “When I hunt you down, I want to kill you while adorned in all your jungle boy regalia, Jeremiah Diamante.”
All heads snapped towards the sheikh as the jungle boy slowly raised his head. Not only was this the first time some one called him by any name, but this word had a familiar sound to him and rang in his ears like a distant echo. The boy knew this word…this name…was important to him.
The sheikh continued to address the crowd, “I had some time to do some extensive research while I was recuperating and it seems a plane crashed in the waters around these parts about twenty years ago. A Spanish man who worked for an oil company piloted that plane, his name was Joseph Diamante, and he had only two passengers, his Italian wife, Rosa, and their five-year old son, Jeremiah. The Indian Navy recovered Joseph’s body and parts of his wife in the ocean not far from here, but they never found his son’s body. Imagine that, a five-year old boy miraculously survives a plane crash, swims or floats through shark infested waters, most likely clinging to some piece of floating wreckage, washes up on the shores of this uncharted isle and is able to provide for himself in a hostile forest for some dozen years or so. Only to be captured and drafted into the sex-slave trade. He endures all the sordid types of violations and tortures you perverts can dish out. He survives all of that only to be raped by me and pierced by my arrows. Amazing.”
The sheikh turned to the jungle boy, “And that is my gift to you, your name. From the hunter, Sheikh Ali Bin Abdullah Thani Al-Thani, to his prey, Jeremiah Diamante, enjoy your name while you can.”
The sheikh tossed his bow at the boy. The boy’s reflexes quickly recovered as he caught the bow with one hand, but he was bewildered at the sight of the compound bow. With all its cables and pulleys, it looked more like a machine than and instrument of death.
The sheikh gloated, “You see that, Mr. Diamante? That is the instrument of your death, and that should honor you. It is the most expensive bow in the world. Custom made from the same materials that the American stealth fighters are made of. Over thousands of British pounds are in your hand. But I doubt your limited vocabulary and your exclusion from society would allow you to appreciate that monetary sum. And since you are a young man of action and few words, I guess a demonstration is in order.”
The sheikh snatched back his bow from Jeremiah, gestured to his valet who then gracefully slid an arrow out of the fine leather quiver and gently handed it to his master. Sheikh Al wielded the arrow like a swordsman handling a foil. And after a few stylish twists of his wrists, the sheikh thrust the arrow at the jungle boy, halting the arrow’s tip dead between the wild lad’s eyes. The jungle boy did not flinch, as he looked cross-eyed down the length of the arrow’s shaft.
Sheikh Al continued, “The arrows are made from the same materials as the bow, but the tip was especially designed by me to do as much damage as possible to flesh.”
The braggadocios Arab loaded the arrow on to the bow, the pulleys and cables of the compound bow were silent as he pulled back and took a picture perfect pose. He took aim at the main wooden doors to the encampment and the crowd of men parted like the Red Sea.
The sheikh whispered, “See that praying mantis sitting on the deadbolt?”
The jungle boy and all the men turned and looked as the arrow was set free. And all trembled as the arrow decapitated the insect and pierced the six-inch thick wooden doors with a thunderous clap that echoed within the tall walls of the compound. By the time everyone looked back at the sheikh, he already had another arrow loaded and drawn back in his bow and pointed at the jungle boy’s heart. The jungle boy took a step back as the sheikh’s aim tilted down to the boy’s hefty manhood. The wild lad instinctively puckered his groin and shielded his manhood with his hands as the sheikh pulled back on the bow’s cable.
Sheikh Al commanded, “Open the main doors!”
The island master seconded the command, “Yes, open them!”
A guard with a set of keys ran over and unlocked the doors. He shoved them apart while trying to avoid the arrow that was stuck into them. The doors slapped the outer walls with an impressive thud.
The sheikh stared into the jungle boy’s eyes, “You have five minutes to run, boy. Five minutes before I hunt you down. Now, run!”
Sheikh Al shot an arrow between Jeremiah’s feet, the nimble lad jumped back.
“Run!” The sheikh said with a smile as his hand gestures to forest beyond.
The sheikh quickly loaded another arrow and shot it between the boy’s feet again causing the wild lad to hop back and walk backwards towards the doors. The jungle boy dared not to turn his back to the Arab. When he reached the doors, the jungle boy stopped and stared at the arrow sticking through the wood. A third arrow pierced the soil right beside his foot causing him to jump to the side.
The sheikh, almost laughing, yelled, “Run, damn you, RUN!”
The two exchanged glances for a moment. And then like a squirrel the jungle boy, Jeremiah, sprang into action and sprinted towards the forest and promptly disappeared into the brush.
Skeptical of the sheikh’s strategy, the master of the island turned to his guest, “Are you sure you want to give him a five minute head start?”
The sheikh stared out the main doors and the started to walk towards them as he reconsidered his tactics. Along the way, he picked up his arrows that were shot into the dirt. He tapped the tips clean on the bottom of his boots and handed them to his valet who holstered them back into the quiver. He stood at the doors looking into the thick foliage looking for a sign of his prey. The jungle was gently stirred by a tropical breeze and covered the boy’s tracks. A pensive look swept over his face.
The sheikh sighed, “Well, maybe you’re right, that may be enough of a head start, I guess.”
Sheikh Al grabbed the quiver from his valet, “I may have my work cut out for me. Wait here, if I’m not back by nightfall, shine the helicopter’s searchlight straight up so I can find my way back. Just in case.”
The sheikh bolted into the plant life, disappearing into the same spot as the jungle boy did before. The valet, Regis, stood guard by the doors and began the long wait for his lord to return.
Much later that day…
Within the caldera of a dormant volcano, an exhausted jungle boy emerged from an ancient lava tube that opened up into a thicket of trees and grasses. Tired from running all the way across the island and up the mountain, he stumbled through the foliage and then stood at the shore of a lake that filled the volcanic basin. It was an ominous sight as eerie tendrils of gasses gently hovered over the fluoresced green water surrounded by a towering ring of mountains. The lake had been tested by his captors when they first came to this island and deemed it too toxic for human use. But what their instruments didn’t tell them is something that Jeremiah knew from experience. Those brave enough to withstand the initial alkaline sting of these warm waters would discover the healing powers of this prehistoric and mystical setting. The jungle boy took a moment to gaze up at a distant rainbow that offset the gloomy waters. A sight that even this primitive man could appreciate even though he was aware of the pain that he was about to endure.
The jungle boy gingerly walked into the water, wincing as his body submerged one inch at a time. The water fizzled and hissed against his skin. He grimaced and whined when the plump head of his penis made contact with the lake, his member felt as if it were on fire. And with a rebel yell, he plunged the rest of his body into the water. The water became turbulent as it boiled around him, his body thrashed about wildly just under the surface. He jumped out of the water with a blood-curdling yell, his arms clenched tight against his chest; the pain was as intense as he could bear. And just as quick, he dove back into the churning waters. As the waves broke across the entire surface of the normally placid lake, the jungle boy’s body became still and floated to the surface. Facedown, he just laid there, his broad back and bulbous derrière broke the surface of the water while the rear flap of his loincloth settled into the deep cleavage of his buttock. One minute, then two passed as his body remained still.
Three minutes passed, and he was still motionless. His seemingly lifeless body floated nearer to the shore. His face still underwater came to rest in the soil just below the gently lapping waters of the shore. Dead? He might as well be. A stiff breeze pushed its way through the trees and strafed the lake, pushing the jungle boy’s body away from the shore. And just as that raft of muscles was set adrift, his right arm swung high out of the water and splashed down on the shore. His fingers planted deep into the wet soil and clenched tight as his left hand leapt up beside his right and dug into the shore as well. His arms seemed to have a will of their own as they started to pull the rest of his body out of the water. And as his nose and mouth cleared the water, his arms flexed as his legs came to life, pushing the lower half of his body out of the lake. His legs continued to push until he was on all fours and safely out of the water. His back arched high, his stomach constricted and his mouth became a gapping maw as he purged the healing waters from his lungs. A second purge was followed by a third gush of water. He spat out what little remained and growled as he rose tall onto his feet.
The jungle boy gasped, “I am…Jeremiah.”
His hands slid across his body as he examined himself. All the scars, wounds and soars that had once marred his beautiful body were gone. His skin was once again as pristine as the day he was born, and his beleaguered spirit was revived. His hands skimmed back and forth across his nipples and the sensation was wonderful. His fingers pried between his firm buttocks and flirted with his anus. Yes, his glorious asshole was once again tight and pain free. His hands roamed forward across his hips, then his thighs, then slipped beneath his loincloth and caressed his ample manhood. Oh yes, that felt good! It had been countless days, months, since he was allowed to touch himself like that. And his cock was equally glad to be back in his tender embrace and became fully erect within three beats of his heart. So wonderful was it to have his body to himself again that he took full advantage of the moment and started to please himself.
This was not mere masturbation; it was a rebirth, and a true expression of the love and lust that he had for his own precious body. Jeremiah’s hands meticulously traced out every one of his muscles as his body swayed and twisted as the tropical breeze swirled around him and brushed the hairs of his puberty. His body contorted effortlessly from one extreme pose to another while his fingertips danced up, down and all around the thick girth of his extensive cock. One hand took control of his cock while he licked the fingers of the other. The spit-slick digits dropped from his mouth, slid back down, around, and between the firm mounds of his buttocks. And there, each finger took its turn plunging up into his tight but receptive manhole. A dollop of pre-cum oozed from the bulging head of his proud appendage and was quickly spread around his raging hard-on by lively fingers. And the more his fingers painted his cock with his clear shellac, the more his cock drooled. Dizzy with ecstasy, Jeremiah fell to his knees, and then fell on his back; planting his heels and his shoulders and the back of his neck into the soil while throwing his hips into the air. His fingers never missed a beat as they feverishly stimulated his throbbing cock and puckering manhole. His body trembled and quaked with the full force of his virility as his grunts and groans became a yell that echoed of the walls of the caldera. And then as his body went absolutely spastic, his left hand fell out of his ass and joined the other on his volatile cock.
It had been months, maybe a year, since he had an orgasm under his own terms. As much as he wanted his sperm to purge from his loins, he needed it as much as any lifesaving procedure. Like a lifeguard desperately performing C.P.R., both hands wrestled feverishly with his exaggerated member until all of a sudden, he froze in place and his yells choked back in his throat. His hands fell away and grabbed onto the soil; so dizzying was his ecstasy that he felt as if he might fall off the planet. And how he loved a hands free orgasm; to feel nothing but the sensation of a viscous fluid surging through the deep channel of his reproductive system and forcing its way to the top of his cock. It felt as if his cock was about to explode from the blood pressure alone. Jeremiah collapsed flat onto the ground as a geyser of sperm shot out of Jeremiah and straight up into the sky and splashing back down all over his rippling muscles. His body arched up again as a second jet of semen blasted out of him. A third blast of sperm set him on his heels and the top of his head, only to launch a forth, a fifth, and then a sixth torrent of his precious fluid rocketing into the heavens and crashing back down on his rejuvenated flesh. The outflow of his sperm throttled back to a low volume as he collapsed onto the earth. Not since this volcano was last active had there been such an eruption on this island. His body shuddered as his hands coaxed thick white pools of his cream across his body. Pure bliss washed over him and a broad smile grew across his face as he let out a joyful roar. It had been quite some time since he had anything to smile about and the muscles responsible for his grin ached. His body slowly became still and his cock shot out one last parting volley.
Streams of sperm rolled of his sides and dribbled onto the ground. Looking like Gulliver subdued by Lilliputians, pearlescent ropes of his seed tethered his body to the ground. When his sperm saturated hands raised a drop of his milk to his lips for a taste, Jeremiah smiled. He hummed delightfully as he licked the rest of his semen from his hands like a child enjoying an ice-cream cone on a hot summer’s day. After the last drool of his seed percolated from the still proud head of his robust cock, he scooped up the deepest pools of his milk off his body and with his broad palms and rung his hands dry over his mouth quenching a thirst that had gone unsatisfied for quite some time. With his craving indulged, he rolled over into one of the fresh water creeks that fed the lake and let the cool water cascade over him and wash him clean.
After the creek rinsed him clean, like a tiger he crawled out of the creek and crept into a thicket of tall grasses. There in the shade of a palm tree he laid his body down to slumber, a body with its beauty and strength restored. But his steadfast cock still demanded more attention and refused to let him sleep. Jeremiah gracefully curled up into a fetal position as he easily guided the engorged head of his resilient and extensive erection up to his lips. And like a rambunctious teenager, he began a make-out session with his cock. He smiled as his tongue tickled at the open end of a dark and deep tunnel, a tunnel that connected his two large jewels to the outside world and again was flooded with the clear broth of his manhood. His tongue folded down the middle as it found its way down into the long and narrow cave that coursed through rock hard meat. As his mouth slipped over the plump red head of his cock, his lips concealed the French kiss he was giving his cock.
Inches more of his meat disappeared and his phallus became lovingly planted deep into his mouth. And after endless heavy handed and vigorous oral stimulation, the gentle clear flow would turn into a raging torrent of white countless times. He spent the rest of the afternoon passionately embracing his body and celebrating his unchained manhood by pollinating the lakeshore with his fertile seed. And when Jeremiah’s pent-up precious bodily fluids had at last all been released, his balls were aloud to recharge as he dined on the low hanging fruit of the mango tree that shaded him. Then as the sun inched down behind the rim of the volcanic crater he peacefully drifted off into a deep sleep. Oh, and he snored, like really loudly, it even scared the birds into silence. His snoring even attracted a lovelorn wild boar that thought he had found a mate that was calling to him. The hoofed creature walked up and sniffed at the pheromone rich genitals of a snorting and grunting, Jeremiah. And when the oversized hog started to hump him, Jeremiah woke unperturbed since he was use to being molested and fucked by huge degusting pigs. And while he was flattered by the attention of the lower life form, bestiality just wasn’t his thing. He stirred just long enough to push the protesting boar off to one side. The disappointed boar had to be content with cuddling as those two creatures of the jungle curled up beside each other for a long and noisy siesta that lasted into the night.
But as wonderful as this time of self-love was for Jeremiah, it was not enough. He would soon risk his life just to feel the tender embrace of one particular sex slave, to press his lips against the lips of a fellow prisoner. To penetrate and to be penetrated by the one and only man he had ever loved.
Hours later, after the sun had set…
A beam of light pierced the night sky and cast a glow over the compound that was normally dark post meridiem. The sheikh’s valet stood guard alone at the open gates waiting for the return of his employer. Not even the occasional naked man traipsing about in the background distracted his gaze from the jungle. He perked up as some of the brush started to rustle and footsteps got closer and closer. He took a few steps beyond the gates as sheikh Al stumbled in to the clear and shuffled within the glow of torches. Sheikh Al’s usual elegant prance had become a sloppy; his valet quickly moved to greet him and relived him of his gear.
The exasperated sheikh breathed heavily, “Thank you Regis, my good man. I am tired and hungry, fix me something while I refresh myself.”
Regis asked hesitantly, “And what of the jungle boy, my lord?”
The Arab got snarky, “Do you see his body draped over my shoulder, or his severed manhood in my clutches? Do you see any of that?”
A conciliatory Regis, “Sorry my lord, I did not mean to …”
The sheikh interrupted, “No, no, I am the one to apologize. You’re just being as obsequious as ever and I am tired and frustrated. That filthy beast has proven to be very elusive.”
“Then this will truly be a hunt worthy of you. And the prize will be all the sweeter.” Regis reassures.
The sheikh smiles, “My revenge will be spectacular.”
As the two sauntered in for the night leaving the doors open behind them, they are followed in by a shadow that silently hugged the walls. Regis turned off the helicopter searchlight and ushered his master into the guesthouse. The sheikh’s servant lowered the blinds and dimmed the lights just as the muscular shadow of a young man slid across the moonlit walls of the dwelling. Silhouetted against the moonlit stucco, the barefoot figure silently slid by and away from the bungalow and floated over to the slave’s barracks. The athletic profile used a discarded stack of crates and pallets to climb up to the second floor, and grasping onto the slim detail of the windowsill, swung over to the second window to the right. With his hands clenched to the windowsill, a single finger reached out gently and tapped the glass. A light from inside turned on and the window swung open.
Standing inside the window was Tiago Vidal, the same young man who was publicly humiliated and abducted by a corrupt and perverted San Diego cop. (Re; “The Balboa Triangle”)
Tiago had been fashioned into a sex slave and imprisoned on that forsaken island some years ago. Worse for ware, Tiago’s modeling days were over thanks to the scars he earned from tortures of a sexual nature. Put there by wicked men to remind him of how dark the human heart can be. And the tattoos that graffitied his perfectly smooth flesh were a permanent reminder of his subjugation, the worst of which was the tattoo across his face that read, “COCK SUCKER” and “CUM SLUT”. His lush wavy black hair had been sheered clean from his scalp. And though the deepest scars ran across his soul, they were not all encompassing. A glimmer of hope and compassion survived and was reenergized every time the fashion model found himself in the strong yet tender embrace of the jungle boy. Tiago had been considered completely broken by his captors and was occasionally rewarded for his subservience by being allowed to roam the island freely. But instead of roaming the island, Tiago would sneak into the jungle boy’s cell. And there together, the two young men would find reason enough to carry on as they shared brief stolen moments of tender compassion and unparalleled passion. And when the jungle boy was chained to the boulder, Tiago would bring him cups of water and something to eat. And if Tiago couldn’t tend to him personally, he would at least sabotage or hide the instruments that were used to torture the helpless jungle boy. And when ever he could, Tiago would sneak in and give a brief English lesson to the wild boy from the jungle.
When Tiago opened the window and saw his beloved, he was barely able to hold back a scream and almost started to cry.
Tiago whispered, “Oh, thank God.”
And though one of Tiago’s ankles was shackled to the frame of his bed, the chain was long enough to allow him movement around his tiny room. He helped the jungle boy in through the window and onto his feet as their lips automatically found each other’s. Tiago shut the window and closed the tattered drapes while their bodies entwined. Kisses rapidly fired back and forth as their tongues danced together and their voices mingled.
Tiago breathed out, “I was afraid, so afraid he killed you, Jungle Boy.”
“Jeremiah, I Jeremiah. Call me Jeremiah.”
“You mean that bastard is right, your name is, Jeremiah?”
“Yes, I think now. So far ago. Jeremiah…Diamante”
Tiago stopped kissing just long enough to look into his lover’s eyes, “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jeremiah Diamante.”
Jeremiah liked how Tiago’s Portuguese accent fondled his name. The wild boy smiled, “Say again.”
Tiago smiled, “Hello, Jeremiah.”
“I love you… Jeremiah.”
And for the first time in his life, Jeremiah giggled… Just a little.
Jeremiah inhaled, held his breath, and then exhaled, “I love, Tiago.”
As they resumed their passions, blood surged to their groins. Jeremiah’s cock swung out from behind his loincloth and up between their colliding bodies. Tiago’s cock pressed painfully against the cock-cage he was required to wear at all times and that was padlocked to a chastity belt. The jungle boy, Jeremiah placed the little padlock between his hands and gave it a quick twisting jerk. Tiago flinched as the lock broke off and fell in pieces to the ground.
Tiago let out with a campy sigh of relief, “Oh, my hero, you have freed me.”
Jeremiah pushed Tiago back onto his tattered mattress, grabbing the leather chastity belt as he fell and effortlessly slid it off Tiago’s hips and down his legs. Tiago’s manhood stood tall as Jeremiah flung the belt across the room and circled around the bed like a tiger circling his prey. Tiago loved being looked at like that, like some innocent prey about to be devoured by the hungry beast. Jeremiah stood beside the bed and savored the sight of his lover’s body laying naked and ready for him. Jeremiah started to remove his loincloth, but Tiago stopped him.
Impishly, Tiago requested, “No, leave it on. I like you in your little loincloth.”
Tiago fashioned the loincloth to drape over the side of the wild man’s raging hard member and then pulled on the tattered piece of wild boar hide, drawing Jeremiah’s cock to his lips. Jeremiah surrendered as the ripe apple of his manhood was plucked by Tiago’s tongue. Jeremiah’s head fell back as his body swayed forward. The wild lad looked down and watched as inch after inch of his huge cock slowly disappeared behind Tiago’s lips. Then as Tiago pulled back, Jeremiah’s cock reappeared inch-by-inch, wet and glistening in the light of a dim bulb. Tiago’s mouth repeatedly traveled the length of his cock as his hands slid up the inside of Jeremiah’s thighs and gently cradled his family jewels. And with a gingerly tug on his scrotum, Tiago pulled Jeremiah down into his bed and on top of him. Jeremiah’s face planted deep between Tiago’s thighs, his lips up tight against his groin and his tongue pressed deep against his lover’s glorious hole. How Tiago so much loved the feel of Jeremiah’s beard bristling across the inside of his thighs. After a while, the tongue of the wild boy slowly traced out the contours of Tiago’s equally proud member, sliding across the back of his sack and then up the front. Jeremiah’s tongue lazily traveled up the length of Tiago’s cock and then easily ushered his lover’s member down his throat, one inch after glorious inch at a time. Jeremiah and Tiago, the quintessence of mutual fellatio as two become one in the search for love and pleasure. So dizzy with ecstasy were they that neither knew which way was up or who was on top. And as far as they were concerned, that stained and tattered mattress was the Garden of Eden.
And that mutual embrace lasted most of the night and was only interrupted by sessions of deep passionate kissing. The kissing never stop even as they fucked each other. “Fuck”, such a crude word for the pure act of love that was taking place between them. Top or bottom had no meaning here as each joyfully took turns at having the other’s cock plant deep inside of him. And their fervor for each other was so great that they even continued recklessly as the sound footsteps beyond Tiago’s door seemed to get closer and then fade away. Never had two tried so hard to be one. So intense was their need for the other’s affection that they threw caution to the wind. And sure enough, their love and lust caused them to be careless enough. Shortly before the dark of night gave way to the faint glow of a sunrise, the two young men became exhausted by their extraordinary passions mid-stroke and faded into a blissful slumber, falsely secure in each other’s tender and penetrating embrace.
Early the next morning…
As the sun crested over the dormant volcano that once ruled the island, the sheikh arose with a tent pitched in the sheets over his groin. Though it pleased him that his member was working fine, it troubled him that he was busting a nut thinking about the jungle boy’s ass, the best ass to ever be violated with his cock. Then he actually became a little regretful when he remembered he was compelled to hunt down that very same ass, that beautiful jungle booty, and slaughter him. As he started to stroke his cock, he imagined the jungle boy, beaten and bound on his knees, choking on his hairy cock.
No way was he wasn’t going to let a good boner go to waste. With a clap of his hands, he summoned his valet, Regis.
As Regis entered the room, “Yes, your highness?”
Sheikh Al coyly commanded, “I have need for servicing. Have the island master send me his best cocksucker slave. And make sure who ever he sends over is wearing a loincloth just like the one that jungle boy wears.”
Without an a hint of judgment or approval, Regis bowed on his way out, “As you wish, your highness.”
Within seconds, Regis was in the island master’s quarters and personally conveyed the sheikh’s request.
The master smiled, “Hmm, Tiago, he’s my best fellator. The sheikh will be most appreciative of his skills. I’ll send one of my men to fetch him and costume him as requested.”
Back in Tiago’s room, the two young men were a perfect still-life study in the art of man-on-man afterglow as each of their souls recharged in the docile presence of the other; their limbs clung to each other or the threadbare bedding. Their heads touched as their breaths mingled together. One would exhale, as the other would inhale, unconsciously performing a spiritual resuscitation on each other. And as they had fallen asleep in the middle of their passions, Tiago’s semi-erect cock was still happily planted inside Jeremiah’s warm posterior. And when their serenity was disrupted by Jeremiah’s snoring, Tiago would smile in his sleep, as he would place a finger on Jeremiah’s chin and delicately close his mouth. As Tiago would fade back into unconsciousness, he would secure his cock deeper into Jeremiah’s ass with a single gentle thrust. Their quiet slumber and their loving connection remained undisturbed until… Curly showed up, the biggest and most brutish of the guards entered the room in his usual attire, a leather harness, cockring and boots, and nothing else. The former competitive bodybuilder and habitual steroid abuser turned henchman cast his wide shadow over them as he stood at the foot of their bed. The homosexual part of him treasured the sight of the two studmuffins tightly fitted together and spotlighted by the morning sun that beamed in through the gaps of the tattered curtain. Even a brute like him could feel the warm glow of their love. But after a moment of voyeurism, the nefarious part of Curly realized he had a job to do and that he was going to enjoy bring down the hammer on these two lovebirds.
The guard’s deep voice rumbled, “Well, well, well, isn’t this sweet.”
The two lovers woke in shock and tried to make a run for it, but before they could move more than an inch, the guard leaned in and grabbed them both by their balls. The young men screamed as the guard dragged them down to the end of the sperm-soaked mattress and towards him. And when the two lads were close enough, they both slugged the guard in his crotch with their fists. The guard fell to the floor as the Tiago and Jeremiah jumped to their feet. One other guard who heard the commotion had started to run towards Tiago’s room. The young lovers could hear boot stomping feet make their way towards them. Jeremiah dashed at the window and turned back for Tiago.
Jeremiah pleaded, “Come, now! We go!”
Tiago had a little more trouble recovering from his nut crunching and was slower to his feet, one of which was still shackled to the bed. As Tiago passed the guard they downed, Curly reached up and snared Tiago by his chain. Jeremiah rushed over to help by kicking at the guard’s torso, but Curly’s grasp was firm. Just then, another burly man barged into the room. Jeremiah grabbed a chair and swung it to keep him at bay while Tiago struggled with Curly. Tiago’s athletic sports car of a figure was no match for the bulldozer brawn of the guard; the bear-like man swiftly engulfed his naked body. Then even more guards piled into the room and stormed their way towards Jeremiah. The wild lad had no chance against the sleuth of bears that were attacking them.
Tiago urged him, “Jeremiah, RUN! Damn it, RUN!”
Jeremiah yelled back, “I not leave you!”
Just then, one of the guards snatched the chair away from Jeremiah allowing the others to swarm him. The men thought they had the wild boy subdued not realizing Jeremiah was pressed up against a rickety window. The glass gave way, shattering into a hundred shards as Jeremiah and two of the guards fell out of the window and two stories down to the pile of pallets below. The two guards took the brunt of the fall and lost their breath, but the much more nimble Jeremiah was quick to his feet. As even more men poured out of the buildings, Jeremiah realized any attempt to rescue Tiago would have to wait until later. Jeremiah catapulted himself at the nearest of the guards, flew into the air and planted his crotch in the guard’s face. Jeremiah’s junk pelted the man’s face as he pinched the guard’s head with his thunderous thighs and twisted his waist with a jerk.
Crack went the guard’s neck, and he was dead by the time he hit the ground. And as that guard went thud, Jeremiah leapt up into a flying kick, his flailing phallus swung up and slapped him in the abs as his foot planted hard in the face of another guard, taking out that dastardly foe.
Trying to evade the guards, Jeremiah found himself backed up against the open window to Sheikh Al’s bungalow. Sheikh Al spotted his intended prey from the comfort of his bed. The hunter and the hunted had a split second stare down that seemed to last a lot longer than that. Jeremiah bolted away as the sheikh jumped naked out of bed and to his feet, grabbing his bow and arrow along the way. The sheikh leaped out the window, tucked and rolled across the dirt and up onto his feet, and quickly took aim at the evasive Jeremiah and fired.
The sheikh growled, “Game over, you brat!”
Even with his back to the sheikh, the encroaching guards did not distract Jeremiah from the arrow that was just launched towards his groin. Jeremiah instantly fell back to his wild instincts, jumping straight up higher than any thought possible, the arrow passed between his legs, its synthetic feather fletching brushing against the back of his balls.
The jungle boy landed with his feet already in motion and bolted towards the main doors. Some of the guards were quicker to the doors and slammed them shut before the wild lad could reach them. The guards thought for sure they had him as Jeremiah continued to charge at them and the doors they guarded. And much to everyone’s surprise, even Jeremiah’s, the jungle boy jumped up onto their shoulders using the guards bodies like a springboard, grabbed the top of the main doors and flung himself over them in a perfect summersault. Even a Russian Olympic judge would have given him a ten. As he fell out of sight, the men yanked the doors back open just in time to see the boy disappear into the jungle’s brier and bramble. Some of the guards gave chase, but none of the men could even come close to laying an eye on him, yet alone catching him.
Stunned, the men turned back to the compound where they were halted by the sight of their illustrious guest standing naked with a scarred boner bobbing to the beat of a frantic heart.
The sheikh scowled at them, “What is the matter with you all? Haven’t you ever seen a naked Arab with a boner shoot a bow and arrow before?”
The island master finally came out of his quarters to investigate and is alarmed not only by the ruckus, but also by the condition of his special guest.
The master demanded of his men, “What is going on here?”
Sheikh Al calmly imposed a response, “It would seem our jungle boy spent the night here right under our noses.”
The master was dismayed, “What? Why that impudent little shit. I apologize for this my lord. I will post a night watch from now on.”
Sheikh Al mused, “Yes, post your guards as a precaution, but I doubt he’s brazen enough to try that again.”
Their attention is taken by a number of men filing out of the slaves’ barracks with a naked Tiago, his arms held out to each side by two of the guards. They throw him to the ground in front of the sheikh and the master. The once successful male model was a naked crumpled wreck of a man on the ground, battered and bloodied from his skirmish with the henchmen.
The sheikh commanded, “And what do we have here?”
Curly stepped forward, “It would seem or favorite little cock sucker here was harboring the jungle boy last night. I discovered them in a loving embrace.” The guard mocked.
The master rebuked, “You know the rules, Tiago, no intimate relationships between the slaves unless ordered to. You will be severely punished for this and for aiding that jungle bastard.”
Tiago just laid there as he stared at the dirt, “His name is, Jeremiah.”
Curly kicked him right between his butt cheeks, “You do not correct the master, you filthy cock sucker!”
Curly turned to the master, “And look at what we found in his room.”
Curly gestured for one of the other guards to step forward. The other guard swung a sack from over his shoulder and spilled the contents on the ground beside Tiago. A collection of torture devices clanged and clattered as they were spread out across the ground. The master knelt down and picked up the set of oral spreaders that had been used on the jungle boy.
The master was disappointed, “Tiago, I can tolerate a lot, but hiding these things just to protect that jungle boy you’re infatuated with. Not only have you broken my rule about slave on slave action, but that you have relations with that feral man-beast is unpardonable.”
Tiago lifted his face from the dirt, “Jeremiah is not a beast! No matter how hard you have tried to break his spirit, he still has a beautiful soul and a big heart capable of a love and tenderness beyond your comprehension. And not only does he have the biggest cock on the island that you’re all jealous of, but he knows how to use it in a way that not only fills me with his seed, but fills me with joy and hope and rejuvenates my spirit. You all could take lessons from him on how to be a real man!”
The master was dismayed, “Such insolence. This is truly unforgivable. I wonder if you and your crotch will survive the judgment that will be hammered down upon you?”
Sheikh Al ordered, “Set this slave on his knees.”
Curly grabbed Tiago by his upper jaw and lifted him until he was up on his knees. As curly let go, he slapped Tiago up the side of his head with the back of his hand. Tiago nearly fell over until he was slapped from the other direction up the side of his head. The sheikh leaned in for a closer look and then stood back. Regis rushed up to the sheikh with a robe for him to put on, but the Arab just merely waved him off. Sheikh Al actually enjoyed being on display even if only to prove to all that his once severed penis was working just fine.
Sheikh Al quizzed, “Why does he have those words inked into his face?”
The master answered, “To humiliate and ruin him. And to let everyone know where they can get there cocks sucked. He truly is a master in the art of fellatio. There are no words adequate enough to describe the pleasures his slithering tongue can bring. As a matter of fact, I had sent for him to service you.”
The sheikh used the end of his bow to prod Tiago look up at him, “Your feral boyfriend obviously has a hiding place. Where is it?”
Tiago snarled, “I don’t know.”
The sheikh calmly took a bow from his quiver, held it by its fletching, raised his arm high into the air and whipped Tiago across the face. The arrowhead left a deep gash across his cheek and nose. Tiago reeled back on the ground and tried slither away with his hands cradling his face, but there was only so far he could go until he bumped into a guard.
The sheikh was ferocious, “Where does he hide!”
Tiago screamed, “I don’t know!”
The Sheikh stepped in and took another strike at Tiago. The tip of the arrow split the skin of his left pectoral and nipple.
“Where!” The sheikh demanded.
Tiago insisted, “I don’t know!”
Another whip put a gash on the other side of his face. And then one more whip tore across his buttocks and another carefully aimed lash across his balls.
Tiago cried out, “I don’t know! And even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell a slimy cockroach like you!”
Frustrated, the cold Arab proclaimed, “Well then, you are of no use to me.”
It was the cold and lifeless expression in the Arab’s face that told Tiago it was over for him. And that is when the spirit of bravery possessed the body of a former male model. Historical acts of valor added a new name to its list, that of Tiago Vidal. Tiago did in fact know some of the locations of Jeremiah’s hiding places. When he saw the sheikh flip the arrow around in his hand to hold it like a knife, he knew his life span was down to a few seconds. As the sheikh cocked his arm back, Tiago could have saved himself by shouting out one of Jeremiah’s hiding places, but instead kept silent to save the life of his lover. And as he watched the tip of the arrow thrust towards his body, he braced himself and prayed within a long life to his lover.
Sheikh Al stabbed Tiago.
The arrow pierced Tiago’s body just below his rib cage and through the vital organs inside. The pain was so intense; Tiago lost his breath and could not scream as his abs constricted forcing him to fold over. The sheikh leaned in, grabbed Tiago by the back of his neck, raised him up to his level and looked him square in the eye. Tiago’s face turned red as the cruel Arab slowly twisted the arrow around inside his body. Tiago coughed and sputtered blood; he licked his lips and tasted his blood as it welled up in his mouth. As the blood trickled down his chin and dripped onto his chest, Tiago smiled. The sheikh was confused and disturbed by that expression and wanted to ask the enslaved fellator what he was smiling about. Tiago’s smile was that of victory. Despite the arrow sticking out of his body, he knew he was the true victor, and that the man who had stabbed him was in fact a pitiful thing. But then, Tiago’s expression faded as his eyes went blank and stared towards the infinite horizon. His so-called highness let go of Tiago and the fashion model turned hero fell back onto the soil of this unholy island. The arrow made with stealth technology stuck out of his body as his head hit the ground and his legs flopped out from under him. Tiago’s beautiful body lay still at the feet of the cruel men that stood around him. The deep pools of his eyes became shallow as his eyelids closed over them. And the blood that poured from his newest wound quickly meandered through the sculpted contours of his torso, down his side and then soaked into the soil beneath him. And though his body lay bloodied and scarred, he still managed to be a creature of beauty inside and out.
The murderous sheik stood over his prey and callously ripped out he arrow from Tiago’s body. The ribbon of blood that tethered the arrow’s tip to the model’s motionless body was shook off with a flick of Sheik Al’s wrist.
Sheik Al inspected the tip of his arrow as, “Wonderful, the tip is still good. I was afraid I nicked it on his spine.”
Meanwhile, high up in one of the palm trees that overlooked the compound, hidden in its dead fronds was Jeremiah paralyzed with grief and fear. His hands so tightly clenched the thorny stem of a palm frond that blood ran down his arms. His vision blurred as a deluge tears streamed down his face. He bit his arm to silence his anguish. He considered surrendering just so he could hold Tiago’s body one more time, but all he could do was watch. How the boy of the jungle wanted to cradle his lover one more time, but as a creature of the wild, his instinct for survival dominated his actions; an understandable and forgivable character flaw. He watched as the men walked away from the naked body of his lover, leaving Tiago to bake in the tropical sun and to be eaten by the flies that were already strafing his sweet flesh. Jeremiah watched as the sheikh selected another slave to service him and went back to his room. He watched as the island master stood over Tiago’s body and casually lit a cigar. Jeremiah’s righteous anger boiled as Curly rolled Tiago’s body over onto it’s stomach and slapped the bodacious buttocks of the motionless male model. The brutish and callous guard used his heavily booted foot to spread Tiago’s ass cheeks apart to gaze once more at the model’s glory hole.
Curly mused, “I’m sure gonna miss fucking that.”
The master added, “And that mouth, such a talented cock sucker.”
Curly bent over and with cruel disregard shoved a finger into Tiago’s ass, “Hmm, he’s still warm.”
The island master hesitated to ask, “So?”
That was all the interest the island master dare express, any more would reveal the true level of affection he had for Tiago, thereby exposing an Achilles heal that could be used to compromise his authority. Despite all the humiliation and subjugation that Tiago was put through, that noble male model managed to hold on to some of his puckish charm and appreciation for beauty. Many a night after Tiago was done with his duties as a spermatorium did the island master invite him in to his plush accommodations for a night of mutual fellations followed by a glass of wine and the screening of a classic film. And sometimes, regardless of his peccadilloes, the island master just wanted to cuddle up to an appealing form such as Tiago and bask in his sunny disposition.
Curly shrugged, “So, I say it ain’t necrophilia until their cold and stiff.”
Pokerfaced, the master countered, “I say it’s when their heart stops beating. Has his heart stopped beating?” The island master hesitated to ask.
Curly used his foot to roll Tiago’s over onto his back again and picked his limp body up off the ground by his armpits. The overinflated mountain of muscles held the model’s body aloft as it dangle like a broken toy. After a brief once over, Curly flung Tiago’s body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, placing the model’s buttocks close enough to his face to give it a kiss.
Curly smiled as he walked away, “I’ll let you know if I feel a pulse when my fact cock is up his ass.”
As the master puffed on his cigar, he held back any emotion he may have had for Tiago, “Whatever.”
Hidden back in the trees, Jeremiah was frozen with grief and disgust as he watched Curly take his beloved Tiago away. His lover, now a slab of meat being carried off for some perverted feast. And that’s what it took to sap the last bit of hope out of Jeremiah’s heart and to make his blood turn black with vengeance. Jeremiah committed to memory the face of each man that laid a hand on his beloved. And for the rest of the day, Jeremiah stayed up in the tree focused on the small patch of blood stained soil that marked the spot where his precious Tiago last defied his captors.
And long after his tears ran dry and a full moon had replaced the sun, Jeremiah stealthily slinked down from the tree and looked back at the compound with clinched fists and the leer of a bloodthirsty animal.
With a resolute heart and a raised fist, Jeremiah quietly growled a solemn oath, “I make them dead. All dead.”
And even though Jeremiah’s rugged exterior was that of a primitive, inside were the brain of an intelligent strategist and the heart of a vengeful lover. He knew he would have to wait for the right time and place of his choosing to unleash his vengeance. Slowly, the emotionally wounded man-beast turned away and walked the walk of the undead into the dense jungle under the cover of a very dark night.
TO BE CONTINUED…