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Chapter 39: Wet Dreams May Cum-------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 39 -- Wet Dreams May Cum
The Outpost Exclusive: A Mysterious Encounter Unveiled By Alden Stone
Darlings,
Oh, do I have some electrifying news for you! Just when I thought the jungle couldn't get any wilder, a clandestine rendezvous unfolded right before my very eyes. The steamy secrets are burning holes in my notebook, and my dear readers, I promise you're in for a tantalizing treat.
Imagine, if you will, a scene straight out of a forbidden fantasy. The jungle, shrouded in secrecy and heat, concealing desires and intentions deeper than the underbrush itself. Our illustrious tarzan, blindfolded and at the mercy of an unknown force. The air crackling with tension, the scent of raw power permeating every leaf and vine. Oh, my dears, it was a sight to behold.
This enigmatic figure, shrouded in leather, moved with a purpose that sent shivers down my spine. The silent command that passed between them spoke volumes. A dark dance, a primal ballet, where every movement was a note in a symphony of dominance and submission. And dear readers, I must say, I've never seen tarzan quite like this before. His response, a blend of obedience and reverence, held a raw and primal beauty that left me breathless.
Who is this figure, you ask? Ah, that, my loves, is the best part. Our mysterious maestro has chosen to remain incognito, leaving us all to wonder about the enigmatic force that has shaken our beloved jungle hero to his very core. But, rest assured, dear readers, I have my theories.
Could it be an old nemesis? A specter from the past, seeking retribution or perhaps, a rekindling of old flames? The tantalizing mystery behind this clandestine meeting has my mind swirling with possibilities.
Whatever the case may be, my darlings, one thing is for certain - the Alpha Ascension promises to be an event of unparalleled excitement and intrigue. And oh, the secrets it might yet reveal! I, for one, shall be waiting with bated breath.
Until next time, my dears, keep those eyes wide open and your ears finely tuned. You never know what scandalous secrets might be lurking just around the corner.
Yours in gossip and glam,
Jonathon Alden
Our faithful gossip columnist is in a bit of turmoil. His experience with both tarzan and Baron von Richter have awakened feelings long buried deep in his subconscious. After publishing his latest narrative on the spicey meeting between a blindfolded tarzan and the dominant baron, Alden's dreams are alive with his deepest thoughts.
In Alden's dream, he finds himself in a surreal jungle, the air thick with humidity and the sounds of wildlife echoing in the distance. Before him stands Tarzan, his powerful physique illuminated by dappled sunlight filtering through the thick canopy. Tarzan's loincloth, a simple garment made of rough-hewn fabric, clings tightly to his form, emphasizing the sinewy muscles that ripple beneath.
Alden approaches Tarzan, his heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and desire. He reaches out tentatively, his fingers grazing the fabric of the loincloth. It feels coarse against his skin, a stark contrast to the smoothness of Tarzan's bronzed flesh. Alden can't help but be captivated by the way the garment accentuates every contour of Tarzan's powerful body.
He leans in closer, inhaling the earthy scent that seems to emanate from the fabric. It's a heady mix of sweat, jungle foliage, and something uniquely Tarzan. Alden's heart races, his breath hitching as he presses his lips gently against the fabric. It's an intimate gesture, an unspoken acknowledgment of the connection between them.
As Alden kisses the loincloth, he can feel the heat of Tarzan's body radiating through the fabric. It's as though he's tasting a part of Tarzan's essence, an essence that is primal, untamed, and undeniably alluring. He lingers there, savoring the moment, the world around them fading into the background.
In this dreamlike encounter, Alden feels a sense of vulnerability and intimacy that transcends the physical. It's a moment of connection with Tarzan, a silent understanding that needs no words. As he pulls away, he looks into Tarzan's eyes, seeing a mixture of surprise and a glimmer of something deeper.
The dream leaves Alden with a sense of longing, a lingering awareness of the magnetic pull he feels towards Tarzan. It's a moment that will stay with him, a fantasy that blurs the lines between reality and the uncharted territories of desire.
In Alden's next dream, he finds himself in a grand chamber adorned with opulent tapestries and flickering torches that cast dancing shadows on the stone walls. At the center of the room, a figure stands tall and imposing - Baron von Richter, a man of commanding presence and unyielding authority.
Alden approaches the Baron, his heart pounding in his chest, a mixture of trepidation and an inexplicable attraction swirling within him. He gazes down at the Baron's polished leather boot, the fine craftsmanship gleaming in the ambient light. It's a symbol of power, an emblem of dominance that Alden can't help but be drawn to.
With a mixture of reverence and a touch of daring, Alden bends down and presses his lips to the supple leather. The taste is rich and intoxicating, a heady blend of leather and a hint of something uniquely the Baron. It sends a shiver down Alden's spine, electrifying his senses.
As he kisses the Baron's boot, Alden can feel the subtle pressure of the leather against his lips, a silent affirmation of the Baron's dominance. It's a gesture of submission, an unspoken acknowledgment of the hierarchy between them. In this dreamlike moment, Alden surrenders to the allure of the Baron's power, relishing the heady rush that courses through him. When Alden pulls away, he looks up at the Baron, meeting his piercing gaze. There's a glint of satisfaction in the Baron's eyes, a silent approval of Alden's act of submission. It's a moment of unspoken understanding, a connection forged through the language of dominance and submission.
The dream leaves Alden with a lingering sense of exhilaration, a vivid memory of a moment that blurs the boundaries between reality and the tantalizing realm of fantasy. It's a dream that will stay with him, a secret desire that pulses beneath the surface of his waking thoughts."
Awake and inspired by his dreams, Alden tiptoed into the stable, the moonlight casting long shadows across the straw-covered floor. His eyes fell upon Tarzan, slumbering peacefully on his hay pile. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest captured the serene respite he was finally able to enjoy.
Alden approached with the utmost care, each step calculated to avoid any sudden creak or rustle that might disturb the sleeping figure. He couldn't help but admire the powerful, sculpted form of the jungle-born man. The sinews of his back and arms, the way his loincloth clung to him -- it was a sight to behold.
As Alden drew closer, he reached out his hand, fingers gently grazing the edge of the rough fabric that covered Tarzan's loins. He felt the latent energy that emanated from the man, an energy that spoke of a life lived close to nature, attuned to its every rhythm.
Alden lingered for a moment, his touch light and reverent. He marveled at the juxtaposition of strength and vulnerability that Tarzan embodied in that moment. Here was a man who could command the wild, yet here he lay, in peaceful repose.
A slight shift in Tarzan's breathing caught Alden's attention. He froze, holding his breath, hoping he hadn't disturbed the sleeper. After a moment that felt like an eternity, Tarzan settled back into deep slumber, unaware of Alden's presence.
Relieved, Alden withdrew his hand, taking a step back. He cast a lingering look upon Tarzan, the moonlight playing upon his chiseled features.
Alden's breath caught in his throat as he watched Tarzan shift in his slumber. The motion of his powerful leg caused the loincloth to adjust, revealing a sight that Alden had yet to see. His eyes widened, fixed on the unexpected revelation.
In the soft moonlight, Alden's gaze was drawn to the exposed form before him. He had never witnessed Tarzan in such a state of vulnerability, the contours of his body laid bare. The sight was both breathtaking and mesmerizing, a vision of the raw, untamed beauty of the jungle-born man.
Alden's heart raced, his pulse echoing in his ears. He couldn't tear his eyes away, captivated by the intimacy of the moment. It was as if he had stumbled upon a secret, an unguarded glimpse into Tarzan's private world.
Time seemed to stand still as Alden stood there, the world around them fading into insignificance. In that suspended moment, he felt a connection, a shared intimacy with Tarzan that transcended the boundaries of their respective roles.
Eventually, the reality of the situation settled in, and Alden knew he had to leave before he risked waking the slumbering stud. With great reluctance, he tore his gaze away, taking a step back from the hay pile. His heart still pounded in his chest, the memory of what he had seen seared into his mind.
As he turned to leave, Alden couldn't shake the feeling that he had glimpsed something truly extraordinary. It was a moment he would carry with him, a secret shared between him and the sleeping man in the stable.
With a final, wistful sigh, Alden turned and made his way out of the stable, leaving Tarzan to his dreams.
Outside, the night air embraced him, carrying with it the scents of earth and foliage. Alden couldn't help but feel a sense of quiet contentment. He had stolen a moment, a fleeting glimpse into the world of the enigmatic Tarzan. It was a memory he would cherish, a secret shared with the silent night.
Secrets Unearthed: A Glimpse into Tarzan's New Reality
Dear Outpost readers,
In the realm of hidden treasures and clandestine encounters, one rarely expects to stumble upon a revelation so profound, it defies both expectation and explanation. Such an experience transpired recently, leaving me with no choice but to share it with you, dear readers.
I found myself in the stable, where the once mighty Tarzan sought refuge in sleep. The moon cast its ethereal glow, painting a delicate portrait of the jungle-born legend. As my eyes fell upon him, an unexpected sight unfolded, one that would forever alter my perception of this storied figure.
In that moment, the veil of Tarzan's untamed past was gently peeled back, revealing a vulnerability and intimacy previously concealed. It was as if I had been granted access to a world unknown, a privilege I do not take lightly. His form, bathed in moonlight, bore testament to the raw, unbridled beauty that defines this jungle-born marvel.
Yet, it was more than his physicality that captured my attention; it was the undeniable transformation he had undergone. The once indomitable hero, now ensnared in the trappings of servitude, presented a stark contrast to the Tarzan of old. It was a poignant reminder that even the mightiest among us can be humbled by the relentless march of time.
In this moment of revelation, I was acutely aware of the weight of the responsibility that lay before me. As a chronicler of secrets and a keeper of tales, it is my duty to share this glimpse into Tarzan's new reality. His breeding capacity, a mirror of the strength that courses through his veins, bears witness to the undeniable truth of his enslavement.
Dear readers, it is with great humility that I offer you this glimpse into the hidden world of Tarzan. Let it serve as a poignant reminder that none are immune to the capricious twists of fate. As we navigate our own journeys, may we do so with empathy and compassion, recognizing that the veneer of strength often conceals a tapestry of vulnerabilities.
Until next time, may our paths be illuminated by the truths we uncover, and may our hearts be open to the revelations that lie in wait.
Yours in discovery,
Jonathan Alden Columnist, The Outpost -- The Gay Newsweekly
Later that night, in the hush of his private sanctuary, Alden carefully unfolded the cherished letters he had tucked away beneath his pillow. These were his hidden treasures, words that spoke of passion, desire, and a shared longing for something more.
One letter stood out, its prose flowing like a river of molten desire. The writer spoke of tarzan with a reverence that sent shivers down Alden's spine. "To imagine those sinewy muscles, taut and glistening with sweat, beneath the fabric of his loincloth... it's a vision that consumes my every waking moment," the writer confessed. Alden couldn't help but feel a kinship with the writer's fervor.
Another letter danced on the precipice of taboo, exploring the unspoken desires that pulsed beneath the surface. The writer painted a vivid picture of stolen glances and secret touches, of a passion that dared not speak its name. "In the shadows, where no eyes can see, there lies a world of untamed yearning," the writer mused. It was a sentiment that echoed Alden's own hidden desires.
One particularly daring letter delved into the realm of dominance and submission, a dance of power and surrender that left Alden breathless. "To imagine tarzan on his knees, yielding to the will of a master, it ignites a fire within me that refuses to be quenched," the writer declared. It was a fantasy that Alden had often entertained in the quiet depths of his mind.
And then there was the letter that spoke of vulnerability, of the raw intimacy that came with baring one's soul to another. "To see tarzan stripped of his bravado, laid bare before a lover who knows him in ways no other ever could... it's a revelation, a sacred trust," the writer wrote. Alden couldn't help but be moved by the depth of emotion in those words.
These were the letters that Alden held close, words that spoke to the hidden recesses of his own desires. They were his sanctuary, a reminder that he was not alone in the depths of his fantasies. As he read and reread these letters, Alden felt a connection to the writers, a shared understanding of the intoxicating allure of tarzan's enigmatic presence.
With the letters fueling Alden's dreams, Alden's night danced with images of dominating tarzan with just as much authority as the baron demonstrated. The chance to exert such power over tarzan made Alden's heart race.
In this dream, he was not a mere observer, but an active participant, a master of his desires. The command rolled off his tongue, authoritative and sure, as he beckoned tarzan to kneel before him. The loincloth shifted, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of what lay beneath, a sight that made Alden's heart race.
He did not hesitate to take control, guiding tarzan's movements with a confidence that belied the reality of their roles. Kicking his legs apart, he positioned tarzan in a stance of submission, a born slave yielding to his natural superior. The power that emanated from tarzan was palpable, a magnetic force that drew them together.
Alden's hands traced the contours of tarzan's form, a dance of exploration that left no muscle untouched. He marveled at the dichotomy of strength and vulnerability, the raw sensuality that pulsed beneath the surface. Every touch was a revelation, spotlighting the depths of their shared desire.
As the dream surged towards its crescendo, Alden felt an electrifying surge of pleasure, a culmination of his most intimate fantasies. It was a release that echoed through the chambers of his mind, leaving him breathless and sated.
When he awoke, the remnants of the dream lingered, a heady cocktail of passion and longing. Alden couldn't help but smile, knowing that in the secret recesses of his mind, he had found a place where his desires could run wild, unencumbered by the constraints of reality.
The dried juices on his chest and abs seemed born of the imagery he had conjured in his mind. In the velvety depths of slumber, he found himself transported to a realm of unrestrained passion, where fantasies took on a life of their own.
In yet another dream, Alden found himself standing in a vast, dimly lit chamber. Shadows danced across the walls, creating an eerie ambiance that sent shivers down his spine. He glanced around and realized he was not alone. Baron von Richter stood before him, clad in his imposing black leather attire, exuding an aura of dominance.
Alden's heart raced as he met the Baron's piercing gaze. There was an unspoken understanding between them, an acknowledgment of their respective roles in this dream scenario. The Baron took a step closer, his eyes never leaving Alden's.
With a confident yet commanding tone, the Baron began to speak. His voice held an undeniable power, sending vibrations through the very core of Alden's being. He outlined the expectations he had for Alden, emphasizing respect, submission, and unwavering obedience.
Alden, feeling a mixture of fear and desire, nodded in acknowledgment. He knew that in this dream, he was expected to adhere to the Baron's every command. It was a thrilling, forbidden fantasy that both terrified and excited him.
As the dream unfolded, the Baron used his words to guide Alden into a state of complete surrender. His orders were concise and direct, reminding Alden of his place and reinforcing the power dynamic between them. Alden willingly obeyed, his subconscious yearning to please the enigmatic Baron.
In this dream, the Baron's presence was palpable, his essence overwhelming. Alden was acutely aware of the scents, the textures, and the sensations that the Baron's dreamworld exuded. It was a realm where fantasies and desires converged, a place where Alden could explore the depths of his submissive nature.
Throughout the dream, Alden found himself lost in a dance of power and submission, a ballet of emotions and desires. The Baron's enigmatic allure, his cruel yet seductive demeanor, left an indelible mark on Alden's subconscious.
As the dream neared its end, the Baron stepped closer to Alden, his gloved hand reaching out to touch him. The sensation sent shockwaves through Alden's body, a visceral reminder of his place in the Baron's world.
With a knowing smile, the Baron bid Alden farewell, his voice echoing in the recesses of Alden's mind. As the dream faded, Alden awoke, left with a profound sense of longing and intrigue.
It's time we hear the dream of a true alpha master as his subconscious focuses on his old arch enemy. The Baron reads Alden's column, and the letters ultimately lull him to sleep, where his surreal visions take over.
As the Baron lay in bed, the room was cloaked in a hushed stillness, broken only by the flickering shadows cast by the candle's flame. His mind was a sea of calculated plans for the approaching day. Each nuance of the training regimen was etched into his thoughts, from the snap of the whip to the precise commands that would direct Tarzan's formidable presence.
He envisaged the sprawling fields, the steadfast plow, and the overseer's unyielding guidance. Tarzan, once a sovereign of the jungle, now reshaped into a mere instrument for the alpha's will. The Baron knew that every action, every word, held critical significance in sculpting Tarzan into the realization they all envisioned.
The night seemed pregnant with purpose, the air tinged with anticipation. His fingers traced phantom lines in the air, a rehearsal of the orders he would give, the expectations he would set. In his imagination, the earthy scent of the fields mingled with the tang of sweat, igniting his determination.
As his eyelids grew heavy, sleep stole gently over him. In his dreams, Tarzan moved with an obedient precision, tilling the fields under the watchful eye of the overseer. Each crack of the whip, each command, was met with a response that stirred something primal within the Baron.
The sight of Tarzan, once a tempestuous force of nature, now tamed and shaped, satisfied the Baron's unwavering resolve. The training was more than just a means to an end; it was a metamorphosis, a revelation of the heights that true dominance and submission could attain.
In the tranquil embrace of the night, the Baron's breaths slowed, matching the steady beat of his resolute heart. Tomorrow was not simply another day; it was a step closer to the realization of their collective vision, a proclamation of their willingness to go to any lengths to mold Tarzan into the paragon of submission.
And as the night held its breath, the Baron's dreams wove a tapestry of authority and compliance, a vision of Tarzan, now a vessel of might, poised to confront the Alpha Ascension with a power that exceeded even his most extravagant fantasies.
In the Baron's dreams, the scenes unfold with a vivid clarity, each tableau a celebration of his mastery over Tarzan. The first image is of Tarzan, stripped of his former grandeur, clad in the humble garb of a slave. The Baron stands tall before him, a cruel glint in his eyes.
He leans in, his voice dripping with disdain, and utters,
"You were a king in the jungle, weren't you? A ruler of beasts. Now, look at you -- a mere pawn in my game."
The next image paints Tarzan bent over the plow, his powerful sinews straining against the toil. The Baron's voice is a whip-crack of command,
"Forward, slave! This field will bow to my will, and so will you."
As the dream shifts, Tarzan is blindfolded, the world reduced to a canvas of darkness. The Baron's words are a sinister murmur,
"You'll learn to dance to the rhythm of my whip. Left, right, forward, stop -- every command etched into your flesh."
In the next scene, the Baron gazes upon Tarzan, his body glistening with sweat, the whip held with unyielding authority. He speaks with a cold precision,
"You'll remember this, Tarzan. The sting of obedience, the taste of submission. It's the only path you have left."
The dream takes a more intimate turn, the Baron's hand firm upon Tarzan's shoulder. His words are laced with a venomous triumph,
"You were a legend, a myth. Now, you're nothing but a shadow -- a tribute to the power I hold."
In the final tableau, Tarzan kneels before the Baron, his once-mighty form reduced to supplication. The Baron's voice is a symphony of dominance,
"You were a challenge, Tarzan. A thorn in my side. Now, you're mine. A symbol of the inevitable triumph of true authority."
In the Baron's dreams, the imagery signifies his dominance, each word a calculated stroke to etch his authority into Tarzan's very soul. The scenes play out in a macabre ballet, a dance of power and submission, leaving no doubt as to who reigns supreme.
In the Baron's dream, the night transformed into a vivid tapestry of dominance and submission, his cruel alpha nature unfurling with each scene.
The Whip's Command: Tarzan stood, muscles taut and glistening, before the overseer. The Baron's words, dripping with authority, echoed in the air.
"Kneel," he commanded.
Tarzan obeyed, sinking to the earth, surrendering his former might to the Baron's will. The whip's lash cracked in the background, a reminder of the consequences of disobedience.
The Plow's Obedience: The Baron watched as Tarzan's powerful frame strained against the plow's resistance. His voice was a whip of its own as he barked,
"Forward!"
Tarzan heaved, his submission evident in the sweat-soaked determination etched across his face. The Baron reveled in the sight of his once defiant enemy brought to heel.
The Oath of Submission: Tarzan knelt before the Baron, his gaze lowered in servitude. The cruel master's words pierced the air like a dagger.
"You belong to me now, Tarzan," he declared.
The former jungle lord could only nod, the weight of his submission settling upon him like a shroud.
The Pleasure of Obedience: In a more intimate tableau, Tarzan knelt before the Baron, his loincloth shifting in anticipation. The Baron's command was soft, but firm.
"Serve," he whispered.
Tarzan's obedience was palpable, his devotion to his new master on full display.
The Master's Whispers: In the final scene, the Baron leaned close to Tarzan, his lips brushing against the slave's ear. His voice was a seductive caress as he murmured,
"You exist to please me."
Tarzan shivered, caught in the web of the Baron's dominance.
As the dream wove its cruel narrative, the Baron reveled in each moment of power and submission. In this realm of subconscious desire, he was the unquestioned master, and Tarzan, his willing, compliant subject.
END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE-------------------------------------
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