Disclaimer:
I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from this story. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain.
Tarzan, King of the Beasts
Chapter One--Stud Stampede
Something's not right. Tarzan can hear it. The interruptions in the peaceful jungle sounds wake him from his day dream. It is not the native princess' leg he is straddling, but a tree branch high above the jungle floor. And it is not her ruby lips wrapped around his manhood.
He pulls his hand out of his loincloth as he slowly rises to his feet, looking far through the thick jungle to a wispy haze of dust, a sign of an unusual amount of traffic on the trail nearly a mile from where Tarzan had been enjoying a midday cat nap. Even here, beyond the snaking river that marks the entry into the territory of a string of hostile tribes that repeatedly challenge Tarzan's authority, despite constantly losing to the jungle king--even here, in country he tries to avoid, he knows something is wrong.
Tarzan leaps up from the branch, grabbing a dangling vine from a higher tree and swinging his legs to propel himself forward, silently flitting through the trees, his arms pumping as they carry the mighty ape man closer to the trail.
He begins to see figures moving through the distant trees. A man up ahead to the right. Another a hundred yards to the left. Two men still another hundred yards farther to the left.
Tarzan swings closer to the trail and is just about to leap down in front of two men hurrying along the trail when a whole crowd of men, women, and children come into sight, excitedly heading north along the trail toward the village outpost at the sea's edge. Tarzan silently lands on a tree branch, straddling it with his legs, leaning down on the branch, blending in as he watches this procession.
Leading the crowd is a buff young man, smooth and tan. His black leather gloves match his vest, leaving his tan, smooth chest bare. He is a striking figure in the middle of the jungle, in his black sheer tights and black leather pirate boots, a whip at his side.
Tarzan doesn't recognize the man, but he is well known through other parts of the jungle as the popular trader, Long John Leather. He brings the most exotic goods to the jungle, from all corners of the world, easily enticing the jungle natives to part with their treasures. Even if Tarzan knew that Long John Leather was a trader, even if he knew his familiarity with the black market, he could never guess what goods the confident young stud plans on securing. Had any of the growing crowd following him known his true intentions, he would be walking alone in the deep jungle.
But the crowd is following, just as Leather knew they would. It is a fearsome crowd, with some of the jungle's best known warriors hard at Leather's heels, and dozens of different tribesmen, men and women, young and old, strong and stronger, all eager to see their champion match up against the other tribes.
They have never heard of such a contest. They know too well the confrontation between tribes, the mortal combat, the brutal violence of kill-or-be-killed conquests. But a competition without warring, a respectful gathering of the tribes, all with the irresistible climax of crowning the jungle's strongest stud--this is something new to them. To their credit, they are cautious, but once they see the bejeweled medallion Long John Leather says he will crown the ultimate champion with, they have to see who will claim this unprecedented honor.
Long John Leather can't keep the smile off his face as he leads these incredible jungle specimens toward the portside village and its long beach. He visualizes the savages harnessed in leather, imagining the satisfaction in building up their bodies after breaking their spirit.
So far so good. He just can't be greedy. One medallion. One champion. And leave them begging for his return.