Date: Tue, 21 Nov 2023 00:26:42 -0700 From: tarzan Subject: Tarzan and the Dance of Dominance Chapter 9 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 9: Merchandise -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com As the shackles clanged around his wrists and ankles, Tarzan stood resolute, his arms outstretched in submission. The cold steel bit into his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the jungle that surrounded them. The assistants worked swiftly and efficiently, their movements precise. One of them pulled Tarzan's hands up behind his head, ensuring his arms were fully extended. This not only showcased the raw power in Tarzan's frame but also presented him as an enticing piece of merchandise for the upcoming auction. The other assistant knelt at his feet, securing the restraints to his ankles, effectively tethering him to the heavy wooden block. Tarzan's chest heaved with each breath, his powerful muscles straining against the unyielding chains. His loincloth clung to him, the simple garment both a reminder of his primal existence and a symbol of his impending fate. The crowd that had gathered for the auction stared with a mix of anticipation and greed, their eyes fixed on the magnificent specimen before them. Kessler, hidden behind his disguise, watched with a sinister satisfaction. His plan was falling into place perfectly. Tarzan, bound and helpless, was soon to be his most valuable prize. He chuckled to himself, relishing the imminent success of his scheme. For a fleeting moment, doubt flickered in Tarzan's eyes. He glanced at Kessler, a seed of mistrust taking root. There was something in Kessler's demeanor that didn't sit right, a darkness that threatened to overshadow their supposed alliance. But the plan had been set, and Tarzan had committed himself to the ruse. Kessler had spent days training Tarzan to behave like a compliant slave, his authoritative commands and cunning manipulation molding Tarzan into the perfect pawn. Now, as Tarzan stood bound and on display, he drew upon that training. He focused on his breathing, on the bigger picture--the freedom of all the slaves he aimed to rescue. With renewed resolve, Tarzan pushed the doubt from his mind. He would play his part to the hilt, biding his time until the opportune moment for action presented itself. As the crowd's murmurs and whispers washed over him, Tarzan's gaze remained steady, his eyes gleaming with a fierce determination. In this moment, the chains that bound him were nothing more than physical restraints. His spirit, wild and untamed, remained unbroken. Tarzan, the king of the jungle, would not be a captive for long. He would fight for his own freedom and for the freedom of all those who suffered under the tyranny of the slavers. * * * * * Bound and helpless, Tarzan's senses heightened, attuned to every sound, every whispered exchange, every approaching footstep. The jungle around him seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the unfolding drama. His gaze swept over the crowd, searching for any sign of Kessler, any indication that their plan was still in motion. But the minutes slipped away, and uncertainty gnawed at him. What was taking Kessler so long? The auction would begin soon, and Tarzan's fate would be sealed. As the crowd gathered around him, some stood below the stage, peering up with a mixture of curiosity and greed. Others, bolder, ascended the stage, eager to inspect the prized merchandise up close. They circled him like vultures, their eyes raking over his bound form. Tarzan's jaw clenched, his muscles coiled with tension. He knew he had to endure this degrading scrutiny for the sake of their plan. Each bidder examined him with a different focus, assessing his potential value as a slave. They commented on his strength, his physique, and, inevitably, his loincloth--a symbol of his impending subjugation. One bidder, a tall man with a scar across his cheek, leaned in close, his eyes gleaming with a sinister hunger. "You'll fetch a fine price, savage," he sneered, his words dripping with contempt. Another, a woman with a shrewd glint in her eye, circled Tarzan, her fingers lightly tracing the contours of his arms. "Strong, but will he obey?" she mused aloud, directing her question to the surrounding crowd. A third bidder, older and more calculating, scrutinized Tarzan with a critical eye. "He's got spirit, I'll give him that," he remarked, a hint of grudging respect in his tone. Tarzan's gaze remained fixed straight ahead, a mask of stoicism concealing the roiling turmoil within. He swallowed his pride, reminding himself that this was a necessary step toward their ultimate goal. But the humiliation of being examined like a piece of property gnawed at him. He held onto the hope that Kessler would reappear, that their plan was still in motion. He could only trust that his ally was working diligently from the shadows, orchestrating the rescue of the enslaved souls. Minutes stretched into eternities as Tarzan stood bound, a sentinel of defiance in the face of impending captivity. The jungle, usually a source of solace and strength, felt distant and indifferent. It was a test of willpower, a trial by fire, and Tarzan steeled himself for what lay ahead. ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ The slave market bustled with activity, the air thick with the scent of sweat, leather, and the anticipation of potential buyers. Tarzan stood tall, his proud defiance radiating from every sinewy muscle. His tanned skin bore the marks of a life lived in the wild, a life of strength and resilience. Shackles bound his wrists, but they could not shackle the untamed spirit that burned in his eyes. Prospective buyers, draped in rich fabrics, circled him hungrily, eyes sharp with scrutiny. They examined his physique, running their fingers over the contours of his powerful arms and chest. Murmurs of appraisal and interest rippled through the crowd, for Tarzan was unlike any other slave they had seen. A portly merchant with a voracious appetite for luxury approached, his gaze appraising every inch of Tarzan's form. "Impressive, isn't he?" he mused to his companion, a shrewd smile playing on his lips. "A specimen of strength and vitality. He would make a fine addition to my estate." Tarzan's jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He understood every word, but his spirit remained unyielding. He was not a beast to be owned, but a king of the jungle, a force of nature. A stern-faced matron, her bearing regal, stepped forward, her fingers circling his hard nipple protruding from his mighty pec. "He seems defiant," she observed, her voice tinged with intrigue as she flicked at his nipple mischievously. "A challenge, perhaps, but one that can be overcome with proper discipline." Tarzan's nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling with controlled fury. He knew the world he faced now was vastly different from the one he knew, but he refused to submit. A tall, lean man, cloaked in the garb of a seasoned warrior, appraised Tarzan with a keen eye. "He's got the look of a survivor," he remarked, his voice gruff. "There's fire in those eyes. He'll fetch a high price among the gladiators." Tarzan's gaze met the warrior's, a silent acknowledgment of their shared understanding. In the heart of every fighter, there existed a primal connection, a recognition of the untamed spirit that dwelled within. A wizened scholar, his robes concealing a keen intellect, approached, his gaze fixated on Tarzan's every movement. "An intriguing specimen," he mused, his voice filled with scholarly detachment. "I wonder how the untamed mind of a man raised in the wilds would fare in the realm of intellect." Tarzan's mind remained sharp, his senses attuned to every detail. He knew that to survive, he would need to adapt, to learn the ways of this new world, but he would do so on his own terms. With the bidding poised to commence, Tarzan's fate hung in the balance. The voices of the crowd melded into a cacophony, each offering a proclamation of his worth, a measure of the awe he inspired. In the midst of the fervor, Tarzan's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his spirit unyielding. He was not a possession to be owned, but a force of nature, a king without a crown. And in that defiant stance, he vowed that no matter the chains that bound his body, his spirit would remain forever free. * * * * * One bidder, a man of ostentatious wealth and an eye for detail, approached Tarzan with an air of calculated curiosity. He bent down to examine the loincloth, his fingers delicately tracing the fabric. "Interesting," he mused, his voice tinged with an air of detached fascination. "The material is coarse, clearly crafted for durability rather than comfort. It speaks of a life lived in the wilds, consumed with survival." Tarzan's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his jaw clenched in silent defiance. He was acutely aware of the scrutiny, but he would not yield. The bidder's fingers continued their exploration, assessing the size and texture with clinical precision. "A simple garment, yet it tells a story," he said, scrapping at the dried residue of some recent excitement. "The stains and wear suggest a life of hardship, of battles won and challenges faced." Tarzan's loincloth bore the marks of countless journeys through the unforgiving terrain of the jungle. Each tear, each stain, evoked the trials he had overcome. A subtle wrinkling of the bidder's nose betrayed his assessment of the loincloth's scent. "A distinct aroma," he commented, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It carries the earthy scent of the wild, a reminder that this man is of a different world altogether." Tarzan's senses remained keen, attuned to every word, every movement. He understood the value of this inspection, for in every thread of the loincloth lay the essence of his untamed spirit. With a final, appraising glance, the bidder straightened, his assessment complete. "A humble garment, yet it carries the weight of a life untamed. It will be a fascinating addition to my collection." As the auctioneer's gavel struck, the bidding was on the verge of beginning, the loincloth serving as a tangible reminder of the untamed spirit that dwelled within Tarzan. In that simple garment, a story was woven, a story of a man who defied chains, whose spirit remained forever free. END OF CHAPTER NINE ----------------------------------------------- I always appreciate hearing your reactions. If you have any feedback or input, please contact me at tarzanstud1@gmail.com .