Date: Thu, 18 Apr 2024 22:59:55 -0700
From: gayD <gaydic@gmail.com>
Subject: Teen Brothers Play Tarzan - Chapter 3

What the fuck are Kent's "torture tools?" How far is this going? Is Morton
going to get hurt? And, more importantly, what is Kent getting out of this
Tarzan game? BTW, we have another Tarzan story on GayTies.com.

Teen Brothers Play Tarzan

Part 3 of 4

"We'll see," Kent said, and he got off of him and began to gather up what
Morton thought would be his "torture tools."

Morton's mind was buzzing with curiosity and excitement. He was only a
little afraid, but he trusted his little brother.

Kent returned, was back on the bed, and took out more candles again. He lit
one and held it over Tarzan's bare skin, which, of course, was almost
everywhere. He let the hot wax drip onto his captive's chest. The wax was
hot, but the candles were wisely held high enough so that the droplets of
wax didn't burn when they landed on Tarzan's skin. It was more of an erotic
pain. Tarzan moaned and writhed around on the bed. This was the first time
he had done this. It seemed like they both got into it. It was almost dark
by then since Kent hadn't turned on any lights in his room, making the
candlelight look like a primitive, ritualistic ceremony.

The combination of the dim light, the candles, and Tarzan's shiny, sweaty
skin made it very exciting. Tarzan could feel his dick getting harder and
flexing under the soft, thin, sheep skin loincloth. In the hour that Kent
had Tarzan stretched under the tree, he had had two or three separate
hard-ons and had been grateful for the extra concealment provided by the
two layers of thin leather covering his dick. Yes, two layers. The
underlayer wrapped around his groin, going from his ass to his belly,
covered his dick once, and the outer layer flaps that hung down over the
bootlace waist tie covered his dick in a second layer. Now, lying flat on
the bed and stretched out in a spread-eagled position like he was, there
wasn't much Tarzan could do to conceal what was happening under his
loincloth. It was still two thin layers covering his dick, but he was so
stretched out he seemed more vulnerable and more easily exposed at Kent's
whim. Hopefully, Kent would remain totally unaware of his boner.

All this time, Kent was dripping hot wax onto Tarzan. Kent was asking him
repeatedly whether he was ready to talk yet. Tarzan kept telling him no,
but Kent kept asking. This was part of their common ritual in these games,
the repeated asking if the captive will surrender, and the captive saying
no ... that is, as long as the captive could hold out. Kent really liked
this part. It may seem repetitive and boring, but each repeat of the
question reminded Tarzan that he was Kent's prisoner and possession. Kent
could do anything to this mighty and powerful King of the Jungle.

After he went through half a dozen tiny birthday cake candles, Kent got
bored and quickly brushed the now cool wax off Tarzan's skin. In doing so,
he once again "accidentally" brushed his fingernails over Tarzan's nipples,
repeatedly, pretending that wax was stuck on them. Tarzan moaned a few
times, and Kent pretended not to notice. Then Kent seemed to get an idea,
and he jumped up. He went over to his desk and returned with two
drumsticks. Yes, he played the drums for school. He was back on the bed
again and squatted over Tarzan, placing his knees inside of Tarzan's spread
knees.

Then Kent used his knees to pressure Tarzan's thighs to spread even
wider. They really couldn't spread much more. They were already spread near
the max. But ... his pressing to force Tarzan's legs wider, just that
moderate pressure, caused Tarzan to feel more vulnerable. Every man wants
to control their own dick, be protective of his very private parts and be
able, at any moment, to cover them up. Now, Tarzan was being forced to
spread his knees, even a half inch wider, which made him feel that his dick
was a thousand times more vulnerable. It also was an undisputed signal that
Kent, and Kent alone, was now 100% in control of Tarzan's loincloth-covered
dick and balls.

Kent did something that caused Tarzan to sharply suck in his breath and
hold it. Kent flipped up the front flap of the loincloth. At this point in
their game, Tarzan was coming down from a full erection and was still half
hard. Kent grinned at his captive and then took one drumstick in each hand
and started to lightly tap a rhythm on the now single layer of THIN sheep
skin stretched over Tarzan's cock! Kent could see the outlined bulge of his
full cock shape under the thin skin.

"Talk!" Kent ordered as his drumsticks tapped danced on the dick covering.

Tarzan grimaced, took in another deep breath, and held it. "No!" he told
him. "Never!" And the tapping increased in tempo and strength. After a
minute or so, Tarzan was sure that his dick was well on its way back up to
a full-mast hard-on, and there was nothing Morton could do being tied
spread-eagle.

"This is a great torture, isn't it?" Kent asked, concentrating on his
rhythm and not missing a beat. Tarzan didn't answer but held his breath as
he expanded his chest and tensed his calf and thigh muscles against Kent's
anchored knees that unyieldingly held his legs apart. Morton pulled on the
four ropes that tied off his ankles and wrists to the bedpost corners. In
fact, it was a great torture. Tarzan was considering giving up. But the
mighty Tarzan wasn't about to let little bro know that or give up ... yet.

After about five minutes of loincloth drumming, Tarzan's cock achieved its
maximum size and firmness, and it began to jump and twitch under its
restricting skin "blanket." Kent stopped and got off the bed suddenly. He
threw the drumsticks down and left his room, disappearing down the hall
toward the bathroom. When he returned, he stood next to the bed and started
undressing.

Slowly, like in a striptease, Kent removed his shoes, socks, tee shirt, and
jeans, then got back up on the bed wearing just his underwear. He straddled
Tarzan's body again, but this time his thin underwear-covered ass sat right
on the jungle's man's trapped, aching, twitching boner. Kent wriggled his
ass around on Tarzan's big stiff bone, which sent shivers of pleasure and
erotic pain through the mighty King of the Jungle. Kent was smiling that
evil smile again. He put both hands palm down on Morton's chest, playing
with his nipples.

"You gonna talk? Tarzan?" he asked for the hundredth time. "Where's the
`hidden treasure'?"

Morton had to remind himself that the treasure was what all this game was
supposed to be about. "Tarzan never tell, no matter what you do!" He said
boldly.

Kent took his hands off his captive and scooted his ass back down to kneel
again between Tarzan's wide-spread knees. Now the loincloth-covered dick
was right there in front of Kent's face. He traced the outline of Tarzan's
hard dick with both his hands and then squeezed his dick between his thumbs
and forefingers. His right hand squeezed Tarzan's dick just above his
balls, and his left squeezed it just below the mushroom head. Tarzan sucked
his breath in sharply again and pulled on the ropes with his arms. His
whole body tensed.

"Don't! Kent," Morton told him. "Don't do that!" For the first time, Morton
called his brother by name. Was he slipping out of character? But Kent
didn't stop. He continued to squeeze and roll his thumb and forefinger as
they gripped the base and head of his captive's cock. Kent was teasing
Tarzan's big, hard, thick dick. This was certainly out of bounds for any of
their past games, including this one. But why didn't Morton cry "FOUL!" or
"CHEATER!"? Why did he remain silent?

"You're my prisoner," Kent said in almost a whisper. He didn't yell or
speak loudly. He didn't need to. "I can do anything I want to
you. Understand, Tarzan?" he said, emphasizing his question with a final
hard squeeze of his dick. "I've got great ideas for new tortures!" he
added. The bootlace knot was exposed with the front flap now flipped
up. That one knot in the rawhide bootlace that served as the waistband for
Tarzan's loincloth was all that held this jungle garment on.

Kent started teasingly playing with the rawhide's knot, "Last chance,
Tarzan. You gonna talk? Where did you hide your paper ... I mean `hidden
treasure'?" Kent asked for the 100th time.

Morton had no doubt that he was going to do it. He could avoid it easily by
giving up. All he had to do was to say, "I'll talk!" Kent would win, and
Morton would lose, but the game would be over. Did either one want this
particular game to end? Now? This was new territory. Not the bondage and
domination elements they had experienced before, but new were these sexual
feelings and erotic sensations they were each feeling. That never entered
the games previously. It likely came into this game because the boys are
older and hornier and because of the sexy, skimpy loincloth Morton was
wearing. It took Morton about five seconds to go over all this in my mind,
and then, for some reason, he said, "No! Tarzan does not talk! I'm fucking
Tarzan, King of the Jungle!"

"Great!" Kent declared, "I was hoping you'd say that ... Tarzan!"

Kent undid the knot and slowly, almost sadistically, pulled on one end of
the leather shoelace, pulling it out and dropping it on the floor. Morton's
dick jumped to attention straight up. It was still mostly covered by the
thin skin but now set loose. His covered dick looked like a sturdy pole
holding up a tent. At this point, Kent could just exhaust a big breath and
blow the sheepskin material off Morton's pole-like dick. Why didn't he? Did
he want to linger or maybe... wallow... in his new sense of power? Control?

"Oh wait," Kent said and got off the bed slowly so as not to disturb the
loincloth tent. He left the room. Cautiously, Morton stayed absolutely
still. He did not want to twist or jerk his body and have the loincloth
slip off his dick. What a sight! Morton, tied securely, spread-eagled with
his erect dick creating a tent!

Morton locked his arm and leg muscles to stay in that exact position, so he
would not inadvertently shake off his dick cover. What an odd feeling
Morton had. He did not want Kent to see his big, stiff dick laid bare. No
one was being fooled. Of course, he had a big hard-on, but he didn't want
Kent to actually see it. He was assuming, hoping, that Kent would end the
game now and not do anything with his stiffy or even uncover it. Why was
that so important to Morton? Who knows? It's all so confusing.

Prior to this movement, Morton had tried to get free. That was an important
element in all their capture games. He had been pulling and jerking on the
ropes, shaking his entire body in the process. But, now, he has ended all
his efforts to even move. He'd feel so embarrassed if he wiggled his body
as he jerked to get free, and his "dick cover" slipped off his boner to
salute Kent when he re-entered the room. How stupid is that thinking? Did
he really think Kent was not going to strip him bare? Wasn't he already
completely naked, sort of?

"Oh, there you are, Tarzan. I'd been looking all over for you," Kent
joked. Standing there, he looked at his buddy, "Say, you got quite a boner
there, Tarzan," sounding as if he hadn't noticed before. "Did some sexy ape
come in here, or was it some big-busted gorilla that caught your fancy?" He
laughed. "Don't feel embarrassed. No one will know." Then he took out his
cell, which he must have brought in just now, and took some flash photos.

Morton stared wide-eyed, trying to figure out what to say. He did not want
to be photographed and did not want to quit ... yet. Rather than appeal to
his capture, he sought out his little brother. Morton mumbled something
like, "Please, Kent. Oh, please, oh, please, don't, please. We're best
buds. Best bros. Tie my loincloth back on and get on with your better
tortures. OK, Kent? You can't do this to your best friend." But it was
barely audible. Kent probably did not hear it because he was in a lusty
daze. With a singular focus on that sheepskin "tent," his mind was not
entertaining any extraneous notions, such as getting sexual with his
brother. Those rational thoughts could not disturb his current carnal
appetite.

On Morton's part, he could have yelled, "GOD DAMN IT, KENT! YOU FUCKING
STOP THIS RIGHT NOW, OR I'LL TELL MOM!" That would have stopped Kent and
the game, and Morton would have lost. But ... that loud and clear message
was never uttered.

Kent had also returned with a small rolled-up towel, which he set on the
bed. He slowly and very carefully climbed back up on the bed, got between
Morton's wide-spread legs again, and knelt there. Seemingly, Kent did not
want to remove Tarzan's loincloth completely or have it slip off Morton's
rigid dick. How odd. Why didn't he leave the bootlace tie fastened around
his buddy's waist as it was? Morton did not understand what was going
on. This was so different than anything they had ever acted out before.

Did Kent decide to just tease his older brother, in a mind-fucking way, and
not uncover his dick after all? Yes, that's it. This was another clever new
torture he thought up as part of the game to get Morton to reveal where the
treasure was. YES! He was going to make Morton talk using this sneaky
ploy. Perfect! And, indeed, clever.

"OK, I am ready to have you tell me where the `hidden treasure' is,
Tarzan."

"Tarzan?" Morton was mentally jerked back into the game, being Tarzan and
being interrogated. "NO, I will not. You've done your worst; you never
broke me. Let Tarzan go. You lost!" Morton spoke loudly.

Kent reached for the towel and unrolled it. Tarzan could see nothing in his
reclined position until Kent held up a couple of black feathers, about 10
inches long. Were they from a costume or something? He held them up for
Tarzan to get a good look. "Change your mind?"

"No, you already tickled me, and Tarzan withstood your torture. You
lose. Tarzan win. Let me go now."

You have to visualize this clearly. Tarzan is tied spread-eagle and fairly
well stretched in all directions. He can't move much at all. Tarzan's big
boner is standing tall, lightly draped over by a thin layer of
sheepskin. That material is so precariously covering Tarzan's dick. The
sheepskin would have been blown off if the ceiling fan above the bed was
turned on. That's why Tarzan was making every effort to remain motionless,
so he wouldn't blow his cover, so to speak.

Kent takes a feather in each hand, slides them under the sheepskin, and
slowly saws them back and forth along each side of Tarzan's dick. Kent
can't actually see the covered dick, but ... Tarzan's dick begins to bob
and twitch.

Tarzan has his eyes closed. He can't help but moan. "Please ... ooohhh,
please sta ... Oh fuck ... don't ... plea ... oooohhh."

"And the `hidden treasure' is where?" Kent giggles, while Tarzan just
moans.

Morton didn't want Kent to stop -- IT FELT SO FUCKING GOOD! - but he must
pretend as he does. He wants to come across as feeling very uncomfortable.

Kent now moves the feathers up and down the side of his captive's
dick. Tarzan's body jerks, and his dick twitches and bobs. And, now,
Morton's hips are thrusting up and down uncontrollably. For some reason,
Kent takes the small white towel, emptied of what he carried inside it,
loosely folds it, and gently places it over Tarzan's eyes. Since his eyes
were closed already, he did not notice the towel on his face. Tarzan was
too lost in the erotic sensations. He continued his heavy breathing and
soft moaning, oblivious to anything but the wonderful sensations on his
dick.

Now Kent took the feathers and angled them downward, one to saw all around
Tarzan's balls and the other he used to tickle Tarzan's asshole. For sure,
his captive was unaware of anything but the erotic sensation all over his
dick, balls, asshole, and perineum. Slowly, Kent slipped off Morton's
loincloth, allowing Tarzan's dick to freely bobbing and jerk. It was done
so gently that Tarzan didn't know his entire naked body was on full
display. Kent could really begin the final torture of The King of the
Jungle.

Putting the feathers down, he picked up a bottle of baby lotion, which was
among the items he had brought in the towel. He put some lotion on his
hands and coated Tarzan's dick with it, but he did it lightly. His
captive's dick twitched. He had never seen his older alpha brother
erect. And he never had an opportunity to own it like now. He was
fascinated. Kent was only 16. His big brother was 18. He was experimenting
on his brother. He had, of course, often played with his own dick, and a
few times, he even had a couple of sleepovers that included quickie
jerk-off sessions with friends. But that really was kid stuff. There was no
interest in exploring different subtle touches and techniques. It was just
the mechanical friction and blasting off, followed by embarrassment and
guilt ... and feelings of not wanting to do gay stuff again.

This was so fucking different. This was so fucking awesome! Kent always
looked up to Morton as the older and wiser brother-protector. They
respected each other, but here Kent had his "alpha-protector," with his
nicer built body, all tied to his bed. Their parents would not be home for
hours. And Morton was not going anywhere. And more important, it was
obvious that Morton didn't want to go anywhere or even have Kent
stop. Well, he wasn't gagged; he could say something but didn't.

Kent looked at Mortin's body on the bed, and he no longer saw Tarzan, only
his good old big brother Morton. And there in his hand was Morton's
fabulous dick. "Hey Morty, you OK?" Kent whispered. But Morton only moaned
in pleasure. "I hope you are OK because I have a great new torture for
you."

Kent placed his hand over Morton's dick but did not tightly close his
fingers around it. He used a very, very light grip and slowly, very slowly
moved his oily hand up, up, up all the way to the tip, making tiny light
circles on the edge of the head, and then moved his hand down, down, down,
so slowly all the way to the base. He repeated this light, slippery sliding
movement with almost no friction on his brother's dick skin. Again, Morton
bucked his hips upward. Oddly, the tight bondage kept his arms and legs
secure in their exact positions, but his hips could lift up, he guessed
eight to ten inches. "Perfect," he thought.

But he wondered if Morton's thrusting movements were voluntary or
involuntary. In other words, was he consciously thrusting his hip upwards,
or was his nervous system just taking over without him consciously doing
it? So Kent experimented on different touches to his big brother's body. He
placed his thumb and index finger near the top of the head of Morton's
dick, just below the corona flange, with his thumb on the side of the dick
closest to him and the index finger on the side away from him. Then he
separated his fingers about a half inch away from the towering dick. If the
dick twitched up, it would touch Kent's index finger, and when it twitched
back, it would touch his thumb. He read about this in a women's
magazine. To start the dick twitching, he lightly touched it with his index
finger. The dick twitched, and he touched it with his thumb. It twitched
again.

According to the magazine, he remembered to touch the dick extremely
lightly. Then, keep the two fingers about a quarter inch from each side. As
the article said, "When the dick starts to twitch, hold your hand still,
the dick will twitch to "kiss" one finger and then switch back to "kiss"
the thumb, and back and forth."

BINGO! It worked. He could not believe it! The beautiful dick was
involuntary, twitching back and forth, touching each finger and then the
other ... all on its own. It was bobbing. It was craving attention. The
twitching caused it to bounce from one finger to the other. Morton, he
guessed, could not stand it. He wanted, or, more accurately, his dick
wanted, more friction. Morton began to thrust his hips. He was fucking air
in an attempt to jab into something solid so he could feel friction so
could climax. But Kent was not going to let that happen.

To be continued...

Well, there is only one more chapter to go. How will his end? Will with
"boys" become change men? Let me know your thoughts. Write me, Bruce
Darkforce, at gaydic@gmail.com