It’s been an hour since the hunter left the river clearing, leading the captive jungle man towards the trail which will take them to the drop-point many miles away… where a companion will meet him with transportation. The hunter looks behind occasionally to watch the Tarzan’s restrained rippling muscles as he leads his “catch of the day,” by the chain attached to Tarzan’s collar and ball shackle. The cumbersome weight, approximately five pounds, attached to the ball shackle, dangles heavily and swings wildly between Tarzan’s legs, bouncing off his powerful upper thighs… making it difficult to walk at the hunter’s quick pace down the narrow jungle trail. To the hunter’s surprise, Tarzan now sports a raging hard-on – a good-sized one, at that – his cock steely hard and thick, with a flow of pre-cum on its tip… though at a noticeable downward angle, which can’t be helped. I guess restraint and domination is a sexual arousal for Tarzan, surmises the hunter as he gives the chain a hard tug causing the big jungle man to stumble and almost fall face forward. “You kind of like being restrained and dominated don’t you, big boy,” mocks the hunter. He picks up the pace, forcing the big man to struggle harder as he is forced to walk even faster down the jungle trail.

The hunter is in a hurry to reach the pick-up point and Tarzan is yanked forward by the chain fastened tightly to his balls and strong neck; the tugging on his balls is undeniably painful, and Tarzan is desperate to keep up with his captor to avoid further pain.  

Tarzan is also drenched in sweat, his dick rock hard, and breathing laboredly through the wide, flat nose hole of the confining gorilla-faced hood, unsteadily following the hunter blindly through the jungle, who is relentlessly pulling him forwards by his balls. The hunter smug-proudly looks back at the harnessed Jungle Lord he parades behind him… naked, and masked like a dumb ape, with satisfaction… knowing that Tarzan will never again know what it means to be a “lord” of his jungle. The hunter smiles and yanks the chain hard, and yells, “I said pick up the pace, gorilla boy!” Tarzan tries to obey, vaguely hearing anything, and walks faster—but the dangling weight from the ball shackle, bouncing off his powerful thighs, disrupts any sort of rhythm for a quicker pace. The nose-piece of the gorilla mask is small, and it is difficult for Tarzan to draw air into the hood.

Many hours later, after a continuous march with no breaks, the hunter reaches the clearing that is his pick-up point. The clearing is empty as the hunter leads a thoroughly exhausted and sweat-sheened Tarzan stumbling and staggering into the area. The hunter stops suddenly and whirls the big jungle man around 180 degrees, and then releases his grip on the chain that runs between Tarzan’s balls and collar. The blind man does not see the maneuver coming and the big man goes down hard backwards with a thud onto his arms that are restrained behind his back. “Take a break, gorilla boy,” commands the hunter, as Tarzan moans through the ball gag and slowly rolls onto his stomach to relieve the pressure on his restrained arms. Tarzan is thoroughly exhausted from the hard march, drenched with sweat, and breathing very raggedly through the nose hole of the hood. Tarzan’s muscled chest rises and falls heavily and quickly, desperate to draw sufficient air into the hood and catch his breath.

The hunter takes his canteen from his belt and takes a long cool drink of water and wipes the sweat from his brow with his long sleeve. He looks down at the restrained naked man lying face down exhausted in the grass. “That was a long walk, hey, gorilla boy,” snickers the hunter as he takes another cool drink. “I’ll bet you’re thirsty, Tarzan,” observes the hunter as he checks his watch. “I hope so – get used to being thirsty and hungry,” the hunter says coldly to Tarzan, who cannot hear him in the leather hood.  

To be continued…