Date: Sat, 9 Mar 2024 18:59:14 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance - Chapter 38 Disclaimer: I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot. I always appreciate your feedback and would love to hear your ideas. Please support Nifty with donations of any size to help them provide a platform for so many fascinating stories. Please use this link to donate: http://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter 38: The Shadow Master Revealed-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com Chapter 38 - The Shadow Master Revealed Baron von Richter's presence was palpable as he emerged from the shadow of the barn, clad in his imposing leather attire. The sound of his boots against the earth echoed through the clearing, each step carrying an air of authority that demanded attention. Harrington, Blackwood, and Hargrove, though accustomed to power and privilege, were momentarily rendered speechless by the arrival of this formidable figure. Alden, on the other hand, vividly recalled their previous encounter in the abandoned slaver's camp. He understood the level of respect that von Richter expected, even demanded, from those around him. The baron was not a man to be trifled with, and his presence here signaled the gravity of the situation. Von Richter's black leather ensemble exuded an aura of dominance, from the spike-studded codpiece to the chest harness that emphasized his powerful physique. It was a stark contrast to the more refined attire of the other men, a visual representation of the baron's unyielding authority. As von Richter approached, the men halted their activities, their attention now squarely focused on the cruel master before them. The overseer, too, felt the weight of von Richter's presence, though he was not unfamiliar with the dynamics of power and submission. He understood that this was a man to be obeyed without question. With measured steps, von Richter circled Tarzan, his movements deliberate and purposeful. He positioned himself as close as possible to his kneeling archenemy, the proximity between them almost electric. The baron's spiked codpiece hung mere inches from Tarzan's face, a potent symbol of the power dynamic that now existed between them. The scent of von Richter, a heady blend of leather and dominance, washed over Tarzan, triggering a visceral reaction. It transported him back to the state he had experienced in his last dream of the baron, a potent mixture of submission and arousal. The proximity of his old enemy, now a cruel master, was a stark reminder of Tarzan's newfound place in this twisted hierarchy. Silence hung heavy in the air, the tension between the men palpable. Von Richter's gaze bore into Tarzan, his eyes gleaming with a cruel satisfaction. He relished this moment, this opportunity to assert his dominance over the once-mighty jungle champion. For Harrington, Blackwood, and Hargrove, this was an introduction to the full extent of von Richter's ruthlessness. They were faced with a man who brooked no opposition, who demanded unwavering obedience from those in his presence. It was a stark awakening to the depths of cruelty that existed within the baron's soul. As the seconds stretched into minutes, von Richter's presence loomed large over the group. It was a tableau of power and submission, of the shifting dynamics that now defined their interactions. The Alpha Ascension, with von Richter at the helm, promised to be a spectacle unlike any other, a brutal ballet of dominance and submission with Tarzan as its unwilling star. And so, in the heart of the jungle, a cruel master and a brainwashed submissive slave faced off, their destinies intertwined in a dance of power and control. The stage was set, the players in position. The atmosphere in the clearing was charged with an intensity that seemed to vibrate through the air. Tarzan, blindfolded and vulnerable, was acutely aware that a formidable presence stood before him. The scent of a true alpha master was unmistakable, a heady mixture of leather and dominance that sent shivers down Tarzan's spine. Baron von Richter, though still unknown to Tarzan, moved with purpose. The spike-studded codpiece on his leather attire brushed lightly against Tarzan's face, sending waves of sensation through the kneeling slave. It was a sensory overload, a physical reminder of the power dynamic that now existed between them. As the baron continued to press the spikes against Tarzan's face, his actions became more deliberate. He looked up, eyes piercing through the gathering, locking onto Alden with a silent command that was all too familiar. It was a gaze dripping with authority, a reminder that the baron expected a level of respect that transcended words. Harrington and Blackwood, though accustomed to power, could not help but feel a sense of deference in the presence of this cruel master. They exchanged nods with the baron, a silent acknowledgment of the authority that emanated from him. Hargrove, however, was met with a narrowed gaze, a silent warning that did not go unnoticed. With a purposeful thrust of the spike-studded codpiece against Tarzan's face, von Richter took a moment to survey the men before him. The air hung heavy with unspoken tension, each man keenly aware of the shifting dynamics at play. The Baron's touch was deliberate, a gloved hand firmly pressing the back of Tarzan's head forward into the spike-studded codpiece. It was not a gesture of brutality, but rather a calculated move to imprint the overwhelming scent of an alpha master onto the kneeling slave. The leather and dominance enveloped Tarzan, seeping into his senses and leaving an indelible mark on his psyche. Tarzan's world had shifted. This was not a form of brutality he had encountered before. It was a calculated dominance, a reminder of his place in the hierarchy of power. The blindfold kept him in the dark, both literally and figuratively, as to the identity of the cruel master before him. All he knew was the scent, the touch, and the undeniable presence of a force to be reckoned with. The Baron's actions were not lost on those who bore witness to the scene. Harrington, Blackwood, Alden, and Hargrove stood in silence, each acutely aware of the power dynamic playing out before them. It was a display of authority, a reminder that in the realm of dominance and submission, there were levels that transcended the mundane. As the moments stretched on, the Baron's influence lingered. It was a scent that clung to Tarzan, a visceral reminder of the encounter. In time, he would come to associate that intoxicating aroma with the cruel master who had guided his dreams, a connection forged in the crucible of dominance and submission. The jungle, with its symphony of sounds, seemed to hold its breath. Nature itself bore witness to the convergence of power, the interplay of forces that would shape the course of events to come. The Alpha Ascension loomed on the horizon, a testament to the unforgiving dance of dominance and submission that awaited them all. With a calculated touch, the Baron brought Tarzan to a state of heightened awareness. The blindfold remained, a shroud that shielded him from the visual truth, yet left him vulnerable to the potent forces at play. The entire extended moment was a sensory overload for Tarzan. As he first caught the scent of the master, his jaw dropped beneath the blindfold. The spike studs brushed over his face, their cold, unyielding texture gliding over his lips. The pressure on the back of his head increased, pressing his face further into the leather-clad dominance. It was an intimate, overwhelming experience, one that left Tarzan struggling for breath beneath the mask of the codpiece. The scent of leather and dominance filled his senses, seeping into the very core of his being. The Baron's touch was deliberate, a calculated assertion of authority that left Tarzan both awed and humbled. When the Baron finally stepped back to survey his handiwork, the imprint of his presence lingered. Tarzan could still taste the leather, feel the phantom pressure against his face. The blindfold shrouded him in darkness, leaving him acutely aware of the profound encounter he had just experienced. As Tarzan knelt in the clearing, the other men exchanged glances, their raised eyebrows silently acknowledging the residue of drool that clung to the spike studs. It was evidence of the visceral impact of the Baron's dominance, a physical manifestation of the power dynamic that played out before them. The jungle seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, the symphony of sounds gradually resuming its natural cadence. Nature itself bore witness to the convergence of forces, the interplay of dominance and submission that had unfolded in the clearing. Tarzan remained in a state of heightened awareness, the physical and psychological memory of the encounter etched into his very soul and his arousal evident as it pressed its bulge against his loincloth. The blindfold shielded him from visual truth, yet it could not diminish the indelible mark that the Baron made on him. The clearing seemed charged with an electric energy. It was a space transformed, forever imprinted with the echoes of power and submission. The men, still in silent contemplation, grappled with the weight of what they were witnessing. The Alpha Ascension loomed on the horizon, a formidable reckoning that would test the limits of their resolve. The brutal ballet that awaited them all was now etched into the fabric of their existence, an unyielding vision of the unforgiving dance of dominance and submission. Tarzan, still blindfolded, knelt in the midst of it all. His senses were heightened, every fiber of his being attuned to the indelible mark left by the cruel master. The taste of leather lingered on his lips, a tangible reminder of the encounter that forever altered the course of his journey. The clearing, once a tranquil oasis, had become a sacred space, forever imprinted with the echoes of power and submission. The Baron stepped forward again, pressing his superior manhood against the lowly slave. Tarzan's world narrowed to the sensation of the codpiece against his face. It was both a barrier and a connection, a tangible link to the dominant force that held him in thrall. The words of direction, imprinted upon his subconscious through relentless training, echoed loudly and clearly: "Serve." "Obey." In that moment, thought ceased to matter. His purpose was clear, his path unyielding. He was here to obey his master, to serve his superiors, to please the strong alpha males who held dominion over him. It was a role he embraced with a fervor that bordered on religious devotion. As the codpiece pressed firmly against him, a strange unity formed between them. It was as if the inanimate leather and the eager slave were engaged in a dance of their own. The spike studs, polished by the fervent press of Tarzan's eager face, met the master's pressure with a kind of eerie synchronicity. Tarzan's jaw, dropped in awe, was now filled by the scent-producing codpiece. Every inhalation drew him further into the intoxicating aura of the cruel master. It was a scent that seemed to seep into his very pores, embedding itself in the fabric of his being. As his mouth engulfed the master's codpiece, the scent of dominance was augmented by the taste of the master's leather-clad manhood. In this moment, Tarzan felt a profound sense of completion. He was one with his purpose, bound to the relentless pursuit of service and submission. He longed for the day when he would be graced with the sight of this perfect, muscled, domineering master. It was the culmination of a journey that had shaped his destiny, a destiny now fully realized. As Tarzan knelt in the clearing, blindfolded and bound to his purpose, the jungle seemed to hold its breath. Nature itself bore witness to the convergence of forces, the culmination of a journey that had led Tarzan to this pivotal moment. The imprint of the Baron's dominance was a lingering echo that reverberated through the clearing. The other men watched in reverent silence, aware that they bore witness to something extraordinary. The Alpha Ascension, once a distant horizon, now loomed closer than ever. In the midst of it all, Tarzan remained, his world defined by the leather-clad dominance that enveloped him. He was a vessel of purpose, a slave bound to serve, to obey, and to find fulfillment in the unyielding dance of dominance and submission. And so, the clearing stood as an alter to the transformative power of the cruel master's presence. It was a space forever marked by the echoes of power and submission, a sacred ground where destiny had been forged. As the jungle reclaimed its symphony of sounds, the men were left with a profound sense of awe. They understood that they had been granted a rare glimpse into the heart of Tarzan's journey, a journey that would culminate in the unforgiving ballet that awaited them all. And in the midst of it all, Tarzan knelt, forever changed by the cruel master who bestowed upon him a destiny realized. The blindfold, a shroud of darkness, could not diminish the indelible mark that now defined him. Without a word, the Baron retreated, his departure as calculated as his arrival, a silent exit that left an indelible mark on the clearing. Silence descended upon the clearing, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant calls of the jungle. Tarzan remained blindfolded, his senses heightened in the wake of the baron's presence. He was left with a lingering awareness of his place, the memory of the spikes against his face seared into his consciousness a stark reminder of the submission that now defined his existence. As the moments stretched on, the men exchanged furtive glances, each grappling with the weight of what they had just witnessed. Von Richter's visit was a stark foreshadowing of the Alpha Ascension, a tableau of power and submission foreshadowing the brutal ballet of submission and dominance that would leave an indelible mark on them all. Alden, in particular, felt the weight of the baron's gaze, a silent directive that echoed their previous encounter. It was a reminder that von Richter brooked no opposition, that he commanded a level of respect that demanded unwavering obedience. The jungle, with its cacophony of life, seemed to bear witness to the unfolding drama. The stage was set, the players in position, and the Alpha Ascension loomed on the horizon. In the stillness that followed, the men exchanged knowing glances, each bearing the weight of their own thoughts. Tarzan, still blindfolded, remained in a state of heightened awareness, the Baron's scent mingling with the earthy fragrance of the jungle to sustain his arousal. The Alpha Ascension drew nearer, an impending reckoning that would test the limits of their resolve. The clearing, once a tranquil oasis, now bore witness to the convergence of power. And in the heart of it all, Tarzan knelt, forever changed by the cruel master who had left an indelible imprint on his senses. * * * * * END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT------------------------------------- Thanks for the emails! I always appreciate hearing your reactions, including your constructive criticism. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .