Eight hours have passed since the hunter brought down the young jungle man with a tranquilizer dart. The hunter is sitting in the clearing near the river with his back up against a tree watching his slumbering captive’s powerful upper body rise and fall with each breath he draws. In his hand, the hunter holds a heavy black steel weight half the size of a small cannon ball with a small chain attached. The hunter smiles as he examines the weight and then looks at Tarzan menacingly. Tarzan is taller than the safari logs indicated – easily close to 6 and ½ feet tall. Tarzan is an impressive man – blue eyes, long blond hair and a fair-ish complexion. Tarzan is definitely what they call a ten: chest, arm, and leg muscles all well-developed and perfectly proportioned, accented finely by his fair skin, naturally tanned to a rich golden brown.

The drug should wear off anytime now, thinks the hunter. Tarzan is lying naked in the morning sun, face down but to the side, on the sandy ground of the river bank where the hunter drugged him. His powerful arms are now tightly buckled in leather restraints behind his back. A wide leather strap runs from the wrist restraints up the length of Tarzan’s broad back and is fused with a big steel rivet into a constraining leather collar. The collar is snugly wrapped and buckled tight around his strong neck. Tarzan’s right buttock has a black and blue bruise where the hunter’s dart struck. Per his client’s instruction, the hunter has secured the grotesque tight-fitting black gorilla faced hood over Tarzans’ head. The full-faced leather hood is zipped closed and laced tightly with a leather cord interwoven into the back of the hood, and tied off making the hood rather conform to Tarzan’s handsome face. The cruel hood has only a nose and mouth opening, robbing the Jungle Lord of his sight and normal hearing. The mouth opening with its fat, oversized gorilla lips are spread open and have a large black rubber ball inserted deep into Tarzan’s mouth cavity. The mouth gag is secured in Tarzan’s mouth with leather straps that also buckle together behind the leather hood.  As well, attached to the base of Tarzan’s hefty testicle sac is a small shiny steel shackle, with a length of chain attached to the top of the shackle. The hunter holds the end of the chain and tugs on the metal ball-leash occasionally, pulling at the young man’s manhood, trying to arouse the captured stud back into a state of consciousness.

“Come on, sleeping beauty. You’ve got a long, hard walk ahead of you, jungle boy,” jokes the hunter as he roughly tugs the chain-leash again several times. Tarzan groans through his mouth gag as his body shifts slightly in the sand, and his biceps flex impressively as he pulls weakly at the leather restraints holding his arms folded fast behind his back.

Good – he’s starting to come around, thinks the hunter. He’ll put up a fight for a while, muses the hunter, watching the downed big man twist slightly in the sand as the drug begins to wear off. But I’ve handled big men before. Besides, it’s pretty obvious this gorilla boy is all brawn and no brains… no education, or formal upbringing, I’d guess. Doubt if he can even talk well, having grown up out here on his own. Wonder how he even ended up here… plane crash – lost when he was a kid? Abandoned on purpose?

“Who knows – who cares?” decides the hunter. His own emotions detached and cold as steel; unflinching, not warmly human, concerning his task. A contract is a contract. Mr. Martin hired me to capture this jungle man he has been become obsessed with, and I did. I just have to break the jungle boy before I hand him over to him. The contract calls for a “tamed” jungle boy. The quickest way to break this stud is to show him who’s in control, now – and that’s me!

To be continued…