Congo meeting



Contents

1. Marksman 3

2. Mike 4

3. All this muscle! 5

4. Expert help 7

5. Crossed paths 8

6. Reunion 9

7. Belt 10

8. Helping out 11

9. Or Tarzan gets it 13

10. Proxy 14

11. Patsy 15

12 No way out 16

13. Rope-work 18

14. Gutsy 20

15 Just a job 21

16. Stroked 23

17. One-by-one 24

18. Hostage 27

19. Pissing me off 28

End 29

1. Marksman

The two things happened in the same second. The sound of gunfire and a burning sensation as splinters of wood slashed across his face. Shocked out of concentrating on the scene he had been watching. So shocked that Tarzan was nearly thrown out of the tree. So shaken by the element of surprise that he was falling downwards and Tarzan had to grab for the branch to stop himself from plummeting to the earth below.

Rapidly coming to his senses, throwing legs over the branch to stop himself from falling to the ground on and gripping with his hands, Tarzan hung upside down. Fast he craned his neck backwards to asses the danger. And found he was looking straight down the barrel of a rifle below. He froze.

“Now, why don’t you come down here and join me?”

The twang in the voice sounded South African but Tarzan took in only the broad chest and the big man hidden behind the gun.

“Slow, mind you. I could have blown your brains out already”.

Tarzan scaled slowly down the trunk, thinking every bit of the way of evading the next bullet. Deeply aware of the rifle focussed on the centre of his broad back . Realising as he descended, it would have been easier to hit him in the chest than to splinter the wood and shock him out of the tree. Whoever was below handling that rifle was an expert marksman. A man good at his job.

Tarzan’s feet touched the ground just as he heard men crashing towards them through the undergrowth.

“Hold it right there”, the voice said ordering Tarzan not to turn round.

The South African voice called out.

“’S all right, guys. It me, Hannes. Over here. Got ourselves a visitor. A special one by the look of it”.

2. Mike

Mike owed lots of people. And he was paying back by the ton. For weeks and months he’d lived in the worst conditions this hard continent could offer, he’d experienced the poor’s degradation and disgust at first hand. He was determined to make a difference. Others had done it for him. Mike, not the name he was born with but Mike wore his new name with pride. In honour of the church school which had given him the heaven-blessed start in life since his parents were killed in that war. He owed his teachers the motivation, the chance in life, the education in the US. So he was paying them back. Back in Africa, fighting the corner for poorest ordinary people. Battling corruption and endemic self-interest. Secretly combating evil warlords and their foul trade, determined to shame the international corporations whose global reach and convenient habit of looking the other way were condemning to a lives of degradation, stench and decay ordinary men who wanted nothing more than to feed their family.

But Mike had made enemies. And they had coming hunting him down.

Tarzan was able to make out the conversation between Mike and the man who had had his mates tie Mike up under the tree. Hands roped above his head, Tarzan from his vantage point in his tree could make out Mike’s defiant sneers. Mike’s body language saying he was not to be messed with. The brave look in his face was spitting back anger at the man gripping him by the chin.

Tarzan was too far away watching to catch any of the conversation. But he did hear the pained whoof of air smacked out of Mike’s guts. His attacker had Mike by the chin but his power arm thudded unexpectedly hard into Mike’s stomach. Korak’s childhood-friend was thrown backwards by the force. Shock swept his legs from under him. Just as another thud pounded into his stomach and doubled Mike in two, face contorted with pain, swaying under the force.

A pair of stinging backhanders caught Mike across his cheek while he was still reeling from the shock. Even as Mike was spluttering and gasping for air, Tarzan heard Mike’s attacker’s voice raised in anger. But what he said remained unclear. What was going on was still a mystery. Tarzan, father of Mike’s childhood friend , watched worried hidden in his tree. Concerned for Mike, Tarzan cast an eye up at the sky. Hours before it was dark. With a half-dozen armed men down there, there was nothing Tarzan could do for Mike till he had the cover of darkness. Mike was going to have to last out.

3. All this muscle!

“Go to hell!”

Masters’ hand stung like crazy from the violence of his slap into the prisoner’s face. But looking at him now, his face creased into pained shock, it had been worth it. Flushed with power, for no other reasons than this bastard wasn’t gonna stop him and it was going t make masters feel good, he grabbed at the neckline of the T-shirt and yanked. It took another three yanking tugs till the material gave way. Feeling good at stripping this defiant bastard and showing him, Masters tore the shirt away, right down to the waistline.

Mike’s head was reeling. The thuds to his guts had come out of the blue, giving him no chance to flex. The slaps had been so hard they had whipped his head round to the side, cracking his neck painfully. And being caught and roped up this took had taken im by surprise. Under the circumstances, pain and shock to his system were a dangerous mix. Hands tied together, arms pulled up overhead and roped to the branch above. He had no doubt what this was all about. And that made him nervous, very. He needed to keep a clear head. Quickly he made himself come back to his senses hearing wolf-whistles and cat-calls ringing in his ears.

“Look at you!”

Mike had kept his place in college in the States by an athletic scholarship. Inter-college wrestler. Proudly too he’d shown the Americans that an African could hold his own in the college football squad. Since back home, he’d kept in shape, lost none of the definition. And weeks sweating it out in that hellholes called mines had kept his physique hard.

“Quite the muscle-hunk, aren’t we?”

Mike ignored Master’s taunts. The attempted claw-grip into his Mike’s abs failed because of the strength Mike managed to tighten there. He looked up at the rope snaking over the branch overhead. Yanked strongly to test it for weakness. But around he could tell from the cat-calling that a physique like his was not going to be the end of it. The way he looked was going to turn more into provocation than a mere fact. Men like these saw him as the pain-in-the-ass that needed putting in his place. Men like these liked nothing better than putting the muscle-hunk in his place. Especially when they’d got him tied up like this.

As if in confirmation, Masters’ the back of hand kept tapping away at Mike’s exposed abs as he talked.

“OK, muscle-head, this is how I see it”.

Masters was up-close. His eyes had taken in the naked power pounding for air in his prisoner’s black honed guts. His eyes prickled with excitement at the prospect of taking the strength in that broad ebony-muscled chest down-a-peg. Wiping that defiant smirk of his cocky face. This job could almost be fun! And well-paid too.

“We’ve ransacked your hut. Nothing there. Stripped down the laptop already. No sign of the data. Where’ve you sneaked it away?”

Masters’ knuckled fist tapped hinting at Mike’s tensed muscle-hard stomach. Almost appreciatively. Glad of the challenge that such strength was going to put up. So much better a contest than that idealistic flabby environmentalist they’d done-over before.

“We can make this easy. Or you can make this fun”, Masters sneered.

“Go FUCK yourself”, Mike snapped back.

“Don’t put ideas in my head”, Masters leered back. The others behind laughed.

Masters deliberately circled his prisoner. Watching closely, making him nervous. Sizing up the captive power strung up under the tree. Psychologically putting this amateur-activist in his place. Giving him thinking time. Till he’d torn Mike’s T-shirt off, Masters hadn’t notice how he was built. Now standing behind, Masters saw like for the first time, the breadth across the shoulders. The trimness down to narrow waist and hips. Masters liked a challenge in his victims. It was more than he could do to stop himself. Masters grabbed at the ripped shirt and tore it to strips off the back. “Man, you’re built!

Hands stroking at the thickness of his muscled lats made Mike squirm to shake them off. In response, Masters’ hand formed a claw and squeezed. Hard.

Voices around were sniggered. Laughing at the wince of pain on Mike’s face. He shot a glance in their directions of the others laughing. Seeing them sizing him up. He could only guess at what they were thinking.

“Think this can save you? All this muscle?” he gave Mike’s flaring lat another painful squeeze to underline the question.

Masters was right up close, his own chest pressing into his prisoner’s bare back.

“Think you’re tough?” Masters whispered into his captive’s ear. “Think again!”

4. Expert help

Now that the attacker was behind Mike, Tarzan could make him out. But he didn’t know him. This wasn’t his jungle anyway, Tarzan was out of his normal world when he thought he’d look up Korak’s old friend. Tarzan could see that, in a fair fight, he would easily take Mike’s attacker him down. Trouble was, there were six of them, armed with guns, it couldn’t be a fair fight. Tarzan would have to wait. Till dark was on his side.

From the vantage up in the tree, Tarzan again craned his neck to hear. Trying to work out what they were saying. Concentrating hard to understand what this was all about. Tarzan had been just passing through. But he wanted to say thanks to Mike for encouraging Korak. Got him that job in the American summer camp for tough city youth. It had changed Korak’s life. Inspired, Korak was back raising money for a camp like that in Africa to work with street boys robbed of family by HIV. Korak was a changed man. Following in Mike’s footsteps was the best thing that could happen to the boy, Korak had earlier been going off the rails. By chance, trip, the funeral of an old friend had brought Tarzan’s this way, gave him the chance to say a big thanks.

It looked like Mike needed more than thanks. Tarzan had found Mike’s new home-village, a hovel, in the poorest of places, very remote, almost hidden away. Mike was due back, the villagers had said, they had expected him back the day before. Nothing unusual in getting held up, though. Travel with the war going on was not the easiest thing. But worryingly, Mike’s place had been ransacked. The place had been taken apart. Things were missing, including his laptop. It was a mystery, robbery and that kind of thing didn’t happen here.

Tarzan had tracked Mike down. In trouble. Perched in his tree, he wondered if this was all connected - his capture, the theft - but he couldn’t hear a thing. Mike’s attacker was right behind him, almost whispering in his ear. No matter how hard Tarzan concentrated, he couldn’t make anything out.

“You’ll tell us anyway”, Masters sneered.

“Over my dead body”, Mike shot back, not even spinning round to face his attacker.

All conciliatory, Master cooed down Mike’s ear,

“No need to talk like that. Not if you behave yourself”.

Mike shook himself free of the finger tracing down his bare backbone. But the finger re-asserted itself. Tracing up the hard column of muscle that framed the knobbly spine.

“We’ve got someone special coming for you. A new friend for you”.

Masters ran his fingers up Mike’s neck.

“Maybe not one you’re gonna like to meet”.

Involuntarily Mike found himself shivering at the intimacy of the touch on the back of his neck. He clenched his hands together overhead in a fist to control his temper as the fingers splayed in his hair at the back of Mike’s skull.

Suddenly the fingers clamped into a claw. The hand in the hair yanked Mike’s head hard back. “You’ll be fucking pleading to let in all out”.

Twisting Mike’s head sideways into Master’s sneering face.

“A kinda expert at loosening men’s tongues. Soon be spilling the beans”.

The grip tugged painfully at Mike’s scalp.

“Or your guts”.

The sound of gunshot. Suddenly burning material splashed across Tarzan’s chest. Scorching splinters slashed hot across his face. Shocked Tarzan nearly fell out of the tree. Grabbing at the branch to stop his fall, Tarzan clung in upside down. Twisting his head over, he was staring down the barrel of a rifle.

5. Crossed paths

Tarzan stood as ordered, at the foot of the tree with every nerve primed, hands pressed as told against the trunk. Working on his options, muscle-twitching, ready to go on attack. Still facing the tree as ordered. Painfully aware that an expert marksman had a rifle aimed at the middle of his broad back.

Sounds crashed through the trees and broke into the clearing.

“Hannes, what the f…”.

“Just a second, guys. Hold it right there”.

Even without turning his head, Tarzan knew that the men he had been watching from the tree had joined them in the clearing.

“Just need to deal with our visitor here”, the Afrikaner twang sang.

“OK, you. Hands behind your head”.

Tarzan breathed in deep, crushing the thud of adrenalin in his chest.

“Now, dumbshit. In my time not yours”.

Tarzan knew he had no choice. An expert marksman and now another unknown number of armed men had joined them.

“And turn round. Slowly. Unless you want a bullet in the leg”.

Four of the six men he had been observing, Tarzan noticed as he turned, had rushed to see what was going on. Tarzan saw them looking at a near-naked man, his hands behind his head, all of them armed, all looking surprised. The big man squinting down the rifle took control.

“On your knees. NOW!”

Tarzan stared into the barrel of the gun with a look of defiance but he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

“Any of you got some rope? Tie his hands while I keep him covered”.

A voice broke from the group.

“Hannes, who the f…”.

The gunman cut him short.

“Explanations later”, he snapped. “Get his hands”.

While he submitted to the rope binding his wrists over each other, Tarzan stared hard at the gunman covering him with the gun. And before he lowered the rifle, Tarzan had worked it out. The accent narrowed it down. The unusually powerful build helped. Tall, barrel-chest, defined arms poking out the shirt, tight narrow cinched-in waist. They’d never come face-to-face but their paths had crossed. As he jerked at the final yank of the knot and even before barrel was lowered to reveal the face, Tarzan knew that he had finally met up with Ruuders.

6. Reunion

Tarzan could have wished that Mike had not let on.. But they hadn’t met in years. And to see Korak’s father being jostled into this clearing, hands tied, was a shock for Mike. Blurting out his name

“Tarzan?”

Ruuders never missed a trick. Tarzan saw him nod. To himself. As if confirming what he had guessed. The identity of the uninvited stranger.

“Know each other then?”

He looked from one captive to the other. His gaze settling on Tarzan.

“I thought as much. Good to meet at last”.

And he smiled. A cold calculated smile. Quickly gathering his resentment against this near-naked man and putting it together into a neat plan.

“Tie the apeman up. With his friend. Nice and close.”, he grinned.

Tarzan warned Mike with a look to keep his mouth tight shut. His hands were bound overhead, a rope snaking over the same branch that kept Mike in place.

“Nice and tight”, Ruuders repeated. “Mates together.”

Tarzan twisted his head round to the Afrikaner while they were tying his front to Mike’s chest. Ruuders winked. Evidently pleased by this chance. The chance to settle dues.

“You know, the pair of you just might be able to help each other out. Like buddies do”, Ruuders watched Tarzan pull on the overhead rope to test its strength.

“Sort of made for the occasion”, Ruuders smirked, knowingly.

Tarzan scowled back at the South African. Understanding. On the same wave-length.

Tarzan frowned at Mike, trying to tell him to hold his tongue. They were both chest-to-chest now. Almost nose-to-nose. The humidity between close-trapped chests quickly released sweaty trickles down their bare fronts.

Ruuders twisted his fingers in the back of Mike’s hair and yanked the neck back. Talking quietly into the upraised face.

“Been brought here to get to know you. Mind if I call you Mike?”

Ruuders didn’t wait - or care if Mike did.

“Seems someone wants that information you’ve been putting together”.

Despite the angle of his head being twisted back, Mike managed to spit out his reaction.

“Fuck you!”

Ruuders hesitated.

“Surprise you to know it wouldn’t be the first time someone had wished that?” he asked.

Ruuders lied. No one had even got that close. They’d be dead first.

“How about you, college-boy?”

Ruuders was not loathe to try any trick

“Taken it up the arse yourself? A first time for everything”.

Mike’s eyes slitted in rage. Telling this stranger not to try anything on. And covering up the flare of anxiety in his guts.

“Me and your mate Tarzan here, now we’ve sort of had dealings before”, Ruuders continued. “Got history, haven’t we ape-head?”

Tarzan ignored him. He kept Mike fixed in his gaze. Telling him to keep stumm.

“But sorry, I should introduce myself”.

Another yank tugged back on Mike’s scalp till he was looking at the sky. A slight grunt betrayed the pain.

“Been sent here, I have, because you’ve been poking your nose into where it doesn’t belong. You’ve got it all written down. And you’re gonna give it to me”.

Mike shook his head to free himself of the clutch in his hair.

“Fuck yourself! Over my dead ….”.

Mike yelped in surprise when a fist hammered into his kidney.

“No need to talk like that”, Ruuders spoke soothingly into the neck trembling from a knuckled punch.

“Not unless you carry on pissing me off,” Ruuders offered.

7. Belt

“Nice thick belt you’ve got there”, Ruuders said enigmatically.

Mike looked confused. He felt the finger tracing a path between the waistband and his skin. Mike frowned into Tarzan’s face for meaning. But Tarzan anticipated exactly what Ruuders meant. His next words confirmed it.

“Useful too”.

Ruuders had filled Mike in, Tarzan already knew of Ruuders’ biography. South African secret police, black ops, torturer. One of their best. Tarzan knew it to be true. This was one dangerous bastard.

Ruuders was always pleased to tell his story. Using it to intimidate Mike.

“Freelance now, of course. Better paid, too”, Ruuders explained. Tracing his finger down the sharp ridge of muscle to the side of Mike’s athlete’s spine. Tarzan could feel nerves growing hot against him in Mike’s groin. A sign of the trouble Mike knew he was in. The nervous truth was getting through.

“Of course, that means a businessman like me has got a reputation to maintain. Standards to uphold”, Ruuders complained in mock-concern at the businessman’s stress.

”Always chasing the next buck. Your next fee is only as good as the last job well-done.”, Ruuders explained. “Business is business, as they say”.

His fingers were hooked in the waistband in Mike’s back.

“You’re only as good as your last success”.

Ruuders’ fingers slicked in the sheen of sweat inside the waistband of Mike’s shorts.

“Never failed yet”.

His forehead butted into the back of Mike’s skull. Hard. Mike yelled in shock. His forehead smacked Tarzan in the face.

“Hear me, arsehole?” Ruuders warned. “NEVER - FAILED - YET”, Emphasising every single word.

Over Mike’s shoulder, Tarzan fixed Ruuders with a glare even as he blinked the pain of the head-butt out of his head. Ruuders stared back equally hostile. But somehow dispassionate. Eyes full on Tarzan while his words were for Mike.

“Could come in useful, a belt like that”, Ruuders concluded enigmatically. “How say we relieve you of it?”

Despite the thumping in his head, Mike resisted the hands squeezing in-between him and Tarzan, trying to undo the thick buckle. Squirming, pressing his hips up against his best friend’s father. But a pair of body-crippling punches into his side soon had Mike yelling. Twisting off the pain, diverted. The buckle undone, Mike felt himself being jerked and pulled about as Ruuders yanked his belt out of the loops.

Suddenly he froze, steeled himself. Hearing the whoosh of leather cutting through the air. But no contact. He sweated out a big sigh of relief. A crack of thick leather again made him jump but still his belt made no contact with his flesh. But he could feel the heat surging between his chest and Tarzan’s. And the surge of anxiety growing embarrassingly in his crutch. He was in the hands of a professional torturer. His belt hadn’t been removed for fun.

Ruuders was up-close again. Mike could feel his breath on his ear from behind. The heat of Rudders’ hard chest against his own bare shoulders.

“You seem to be working up a sweat there, college-boy”.

Suddenly fingers were in the waistband ,, jerked about Mike felt his shorts yanked down over his narrow hips. His jockeys went the same way. Falling in a pile at his feet.

“That feel better? Get some air to yourself, eh?”

Ruuders’ gesture was not lost on Mike. He was naked now. Ruuders had his thick leather belt in his hand. With a plea for understanding, Mike’s eyes sought out Tarzan’s. Both knew, in front Mike was showing his fears. Mike’s embarrassed eyes went to Tarzan. In apology for the growing hard-on of fear that was getting trapped between.

8. Helping out

“Don’t know what you’re talking about”.

Mike looked defiant despite his prickling fears.  And rising nerves.

The first crack of leather across his bare backside made Mike splutter into Tarzan’s face with shock.  He’d never been strapped before.  In his life.  And Ruuders didn’t mess about.  The second burst unwanted tears from his eyes.

Ruuders had his claw-like grip in Mike’s hair again.

“Never failed.  Never once failed to break my man.  D’ya hear me, college-boy?”, he snarled into the sweat trickling down Mike’s neck.

“Think ya, tough?  Think ya can take it?  There’s many a guy’s thought the same”.

“You think I’d tell you if I did?”  Mike retorted, after some hesitation.

At the third swipe, despite himself, he yelped.  A high-pitched yelp of shock.  Shock at the pain.  He didn’t know what was worse, the stinging bite of leather across welting flesh.  Or the way the force jarred his now-full boner down against Tarzan’s leg.  It felt like it nearly broke off.

Ruuders highlighted his words, back to yanking on Mike’s hair and twisting the head round.

“NEVER  -  FAILED”.

Spoken slowly.  Full of confidence.

“Done-over some hard some hardcases, too.  Think again, college-punk.  I’ve eaten tougher nuts than you for breakfast”, Ruuders snorted.  “And then I spat the pips out”.

Ruuders lifted his gaze.  Over Mike’s shoulder.  He smiled.  Changing tone.

 “Tarzan!”

His eyes illuminated.  Like meeting an old friend.

“Good we could catch up on each other at last”.

Tarzan simply stared back.  Strongly.  Giving nothing away.  He knew what Ruuders was capable of.  He did indeed know Ruuders had failed before.  At least that once.  They had history.  When Tarzan had mounted a rescue and broken Ruuders’ 100% record.  Got Ruuders’ victim away.  Unfinished business,  -   score to settle maybe for Ruuders.  But Tarzan’s look gave nothing away of any such thoughts.

Ruuders had gone round the side, his hand now sliding in the back of Tarzan’s neck, grabbing into the scalp.  The grip twisted in Tarzan’s hair.  Suddenly, Tarzan’s head was being yanked sideways, arching his neck over.

“So glad you could come along, apeman.  Come to help your friend here out”.

The tug pulled their eyes into close contact, Ruuders and Tarzan.  Face-into-face.  Eyeball-to-eyeball.

“It’s like this, college-boy”.. Ruuders spoke into Tarzan’s eyes even as his words were meant for Mike.

“Word is, you’ve got your hands on incriminating evidence.  Certain parties don’t want it given out”.

His other hand snaked out fast and clutched on Mike’s throat, interrupting Mike before he got a word out.  Squeezing tight.  Throttling him.  Arching him backwards with the force of the push.

“….  And before you start shouting about “over your dead body” ,….  It’s not yours we’re talking about”.

Ruuders’ words hung heavy in the air.  To make sure Mike understood, Ruuders yanked painfully back on Tarzan’s head, pulling his torso backwards too.  Forcing the two prisoners into pressing into each other at the hip.  Ruuders’s cold eyes now filled Tarzan’s.  Tarzan also felt Mike’s torso pressed against his front stiff with nerves.  Worried the young man was not coping with this kind of attack.  And Mike probably not yet realising where Ruuders was going with this.  Tarzan had worked it out, though.  Not over Mike’s dead body.

“But it’s not going to come to that ….  Is it, Mike?”

Unexpectedly the grip in Tarzan’s hair twisted his face into Mike’s.  The pair of Ruuders’ victims eyed each other, their situation now dawning.  One the scapegoat, the other being blackmailed.

Mike’s backside was on fire.  A teat of pain was trickling down his cheek as he was forced to face his friend’s father like this.  And conscious of that embarrassment filling space between them.  Then suddenly he saw Tarzan was tugged again by the hair, head twisted straight into Ruuders’ snake-eyed gaze.

“It doesn’t have to be like that”, Ruuders added talking to Mike.  Calm and quiet.  But glaring cold into Tarzan’s face.

“Good bit of luck,   ..  don’t you think,  …  your friend here turning up in the nick to time?”

Ruuders’ eyes briefly hardened and smirked into Tarzan’s snarling face. 

“Save a lot of unnecessary pain”.

Tarzan’s knowing eyes slitted in warning, ignoring the extra twist in his hair.  He fought to hold on to his temper, he knew what this kind of man was capable of.  He knew from the man he had rescued that time what Ruuders could do, what Ruuders had put that man through.  Instinctively Tarzan knew to keep his wits about him, too.  He wasn’t going to show fear.  It wasn’t sound to show a man like Ruuders fear, with types like Ruuders weakness only got them going.

“You see, college-boy, …. “.  Talking to Mike but Ruuders’ glare never once wavered from the threat he bored into Tarzan’s face twisted over to face him.  Eyes fixed, returning coldly Tarzan’s gaze.

“  …  Your hide is just too precious.  You’ve got what we want, you’ve gotta stay fit to make it over”.

A extra tug in Tarzan’s hair arced him backwards, jamming his hips into Mike’s.  His breath broke into a more rapid pace.  But Tarzan managed to stare back defiant.

“Your ape-friend here, though,   ..  Ape-shit here  ..  is a different matter entirely”.

Ruuders gave a slight snort.  The sadist’s snort.

“Dispensable,  ..  that’s the word”.

Mike’s face flashed in recognition of the fact.

“Useful  ..  don’t you think,  ..  ape-shit turning up?”.

Mike cried out in shock.  Ruuders slammed Tarzan’s face into Mike’s.  Forehead cracking-into-forehead.  Head-butted.  The crack of lightning.  The smack of pain.  Thunder in both their heads drowning out Ruuders’ words.

“The apeman’s hide?  Surplus-to-requirements!”

 

9. Or Tarzan gets it

“Listen, kid, I’m not here to bargain with you. You give. You tell where you’ve stashed the stuff. Or your friend here gets it”.

Ruuders waited. Barely a few seconds, though,

“Suit yourself”, he leered down Mike’s ear. Like that was exactly what he wanted to hear. No answer. Just the excuse he was looking for.

Mike was out-of-his depth. There seemed no way out for him. And he knew it. Oddly, he felt comforted by having Tarzan there. Tarzan was going to be better in a situation like this. Yet Mike could not afford to betray the damning evidence he had. Thousands of lives depended on him. Getting the message out.

On the other hand, here he was being blackmailed into giving them all up to save the man who tried to rescue him. Tarzan, the father of Mike’s best friend, was going to take a beating instead. To make Mike talk. Mike was being made responsible for Tarzan being beaten up. When he’d started this investigation, he’d known there’d be risks. But he hadn’t anticipated anything like this, Mike was way-out-of-his-depth.

Mike’s belt caught Tarzan across the bare skin on the side of his loincloth, Smacking pain across his backside. Force driving his front into Mike. Shudders of pain reverberating into Mike’s front. Mike trembled at what his stubbornness had done. The first sign that Ruuders was not all hot-air, he wasn’t messing around.

The leather again sang evil as it cut through the air. Tarzan’s back exploded with shock. The surprise smacked his front hard into Mike. The sting was reverberating through Tarzan’s big body and shuddering through Mike’s. Harsh thick leather slammed across the muscled breadth of a strong back.

Already the promise of more was whistling on the wind. Catching Tarzan on top of the reddening stripe. This time Tarzan went rigid. The bite of pain shot him upward, reverberations oscillating down every muscle of his back, seeking escape.

Another evil growl on the way. A heat burst into flame across the shoulders made even broader as muscle pulled on the overhead rope in preparation for the strike. Knotted muscle cramped and spasmed. A violent muscular shudder ran in flames down the full length of Tarzan’s back. His head shot back, pain slammed itself into the back of tight-clenched teeth.

Ruuders had got his eye in. The first blows had held nothing back. But now he really piled on the force. Every whoosh through the air landed home with everything Ruuders’ body could unleash. And Ruuders had spent a lifetime in the gym pushing weights. The force slammed Tarzan forward, thudding his chest inescapably into the whipping post that was Mike. Each blow delivered straight out of a twist unleashing bodybuilder’s power. Tarzan felt pain wrack his entire body. Smacking him hard against Mike. Sweat poured between them. Heat soared. Pain burst into fire across layers of his skin.

Torture threw Tarzan’s head from one side to the other under the blows. Shaking out the pain. Shaken by the pain. Till another thunder-flash burst across his bare flesh. Till another burst of fire sizzled through his sweat. A burst of fire that erupted with the force of a thunder-flash. Crackling through Mike’s body, torturing his resolve.

10. Proxy

“Let him be, you fucker!”

Mike spat the words out. Even though the weight of their consequence filled his guts with dread. Beginning to get the measure of the man lined up against him. As warily he eyed the weapon that Ruuders could turn on him.

“It’s me you want. Not him”.

Ruuders had made it clear already. “Too valuable, college-boy”.

Mike’s hide - or what he had in his head - was too important to let him take a beating.

“Besides, your friend here came along to help. Least you can do is let him try his best”.

Tarzan’s was still shuddering against Mike after the brutal belting his back had taken. His chest sweated against Mike, rising and falling in heavy labour lifts as his body pumped back strength-restoring air. A viscous glue of waxy sweat bound their chests to each other. Concerned, Mike looked into Tarzan’s eyes asking forgiveness. Guilty at the pained eyes, the hair matted with sweated pain across Tarzan’s forehead.

Ruuders had reached into his rucksack and pulled on a glove. Black leather. Demonstratively he made a play of spreading his fingers out as he fitted them on. Aware he was being anxiously watched. By both his victims. Standing out to the side so that the pair of them could see, Ruuders made a fist of his hand. Displaying the strips of hard plastic that covered the fingers and the back of the hand. Strips of white plastic mounted with hard studs. Playfully he shook a fist so they could see clearly for themselves the plastic knuckle-duster.

“’Course you could always tell me what I came for”, he added conciliatory. “It doesn’t have to be like this”, he said as he eased on the other glove. The white strips of punishing plastic caught the light. Tarzan’s eye met Ruuders’. He’d known it would come to something like this. From the first moment.

“What d’ya say, college-boy?”

Ruuders was up-close behind Mike’s back.

“Are we gonna let ape-head here show what he’s made of?”

Before Mike could get a word out, he yelled out in shock. An explosion of agony burst on his back ribs. Shock spat pain into Tarzan’s neck. The force of Ruuders’ punch in the back slammed Mike into Tarzan’s front. A trial fistful so Mike knew how it felt. Pain took Mike’s knees out.

In the States, Mike had gone out drinking with friends. To make the money to see him through college, he’d gone into the cage to slog it out with rough-necks. He’d taken knocks in those no-holds-barred cage-fights, he’d reeled from some crackers. But that single blow from Ruuders had taken his legs out from under him. Astonishingly one single punch had knocked the stuffing out of him.

“Just so’s you know what you’re letting friend-Tarzan here in for”.

Ruuders had his hand on Mike’s shoulder from behind.

“Are ya up for it, college-boy?”

Mike felt the hand on his shoulder go tense. Then pain exploded in his back again. Right over his kidney. Pain that burst out of his eyeballs and shot him upwards. Rigid. “Or are we gonna let ape-head here prove how much he can take?”

Mike was still gasping over Tarzan’s shoulder.

“Don’t you worry your head about me, though, college-boy. These gloves are padded on the inside. Helps. Lets me keep this up for hours”.

Ruuders had moved round to the side. His gloved hand was stroking playfully over Tarzan’s cheek, hard plastic studs caressing their victim. A slight leering smile played in his eyes. Sweating still from the belting to his back, chest pounding for air still against Mike’s, Tarzan read the unspoken thoughts running through Ruuders’ mind.

A score to settle, you and me, apeman.

11. Patsy

Afterward the beating, Tarzan still grimacing from the second brutal beating his back had taken, Ruuders stood behind Mike. Sweat trickled off his hair, the shirt dark to his back. He grabbed at the back of Mike’s neck and squeezed. Hard. Making him stare at Tarzan. Suffering from the punching Ruuders had dished out.

“Tell you what, I’m gonna take a swim. Cool down before the workout really gets going. Give ya a bit of thinking time, too, eh college-boy”.

Ruuders winked cheekily through Mike’s upraised arms into Tarzan’s grimaces.

“Ten minutes do you, apeman? Give you a bit of a break, eh?”

Looking at Tarzan like Ruuders’ cared! He did, hadn’t reckon he’d get a chance like this.

Tarzan had already taken that long session with the belt across his back. It had felt on fire, he was going to be badly bruised when this was all over. And then Rudders’ studded fists had taken on belt-lashed muscle. It hurt like crazy from the first blow.

Hard plastic studs straight into Tarzan’s backbone. Thrown determined with the power of a body-builder. Slammed into the backbone to make Mike talk. Force so hard Tarzan was made to grunt. A thud so sharp his eyes shut tight at the pain. Ruuders gave it hard. He let every punch spread and burn, gave each precious fist its full force. He waited till the muscles had absorbed the full hurt. And then he thwacked the hard-muscled back again. Five times. Five hurtful times. Pain exiting through Tarzan’s nose.

“Second thoughts, college-boy?”

Mike had more than second thoughts. He was racked with indecision. He was agonising with guilt. His friend’s father had taken the belt for no reason. Taking it again for no reason. It felt just like Mike was torturing Tarzan himself. Mike didn’t reply, he knew he couldn’t, daren’t. In response, Tarzan’s chest slammed in pain into his own. There was no escaping Ruuders’ force. Pain billowed out his cheeks against tight-clenched teeth. Ricochets of Tarzan’s punishment reverberated against Mike’s own front.

“Doesn’t have to be, ya know”.

It did, to Mike it did. Tarzan was breathing hard against Mike’s chest. The punching had stopped for a while. A couple of dozen now Mike reckoned. The breathing over his shoulder was fast, laboured. Billowing out the cheeks as the pain was blown out of the sweat-drenched body pressed into his own. Tarzan had not given Mike one look. No sign of anger that Mike was putting him through this. No accusation, not plea. But Mike didn’t need a look. He was riven with remorse. Tarzan was the patsy, Tarzan was being beaten up to get Mike to break. And Tarzan didn’t even know why.

“Suit yaself”.

The pain had built up. Hard studded knuckles slammed into whip-lashed muscle. Tarzan’s loud grunt was inevitable. He was hurting, more than hurting. An explosion of pain. A cry burst out from his back. Long sharp cry, torso hard pressed into Mike’s chest as it guilty absorbed more of Tarzan’s hurt. Then feeling the reverberations shuddering through his torso as Tarzan’s pain spread. As pain ate Tarzan’s strength.

“Stop it!” Mike yelled. Unable to take any more.

“Nah, ape-shit here can take it”, grunted Ruuders with relish dishing out another punch.

To Mike, this was torture. To himself, to his friend’s innocent father. All too unfair.

“So you got something to tell me?”

Ruuders wiped a sweaty forearm over his forehead.

Mike couldn’t afford to tell. Too much hung on it. Too many lives depended on it.

“Take ya time, kid”

A punch landed on Tarzan’s backbone. He burst with a cry Tarzan could not contain.

“Ape-man here’s a tough old bird”.

Pain from the next punch slammed Tarzan’s head down. Cracking it into Mike’s.

“He can take it. Cant ya?” Ruuders’ exertion exploded with a grunt.

Nothing for it, Tarzan bawled with the next knuckle that jarred agonising down his spine.

12 No way out

Tarzan swivelled his head out towards the river. Ruuders had taken a break. “To give your friend here some time to think”, Ruuders had gone to cool down. Naked after his swim Tarzan could see he looked just the part, his eyes saw why Ruuders’ blows could hurt so much. The man was built, he was strong, knotted, striated. Born powerful, he’d spent a lifetime building himself up for just this kind of work. Indefatigable he looked. He’d push himself to the limit physically before he tired. Looking every bit the torturer he had always been, - as Tarzan’s body now well knew. But not one was that invincible. Not the infallible master he claimed to be. That gave Tarzan some hope. Tarzan had out-smarted Ruuders once before and got a high-profile prisoner free. He’d shown Ruuders could be beaten. Could he do it again?

You mean ….?”

Mike didn’t want to believe what Tarzan was suggesting. His doubts were met by a steely determined stare back from his friend’s father. Confirming what he did not want to contemplate.

“No other way, Mike”, Tarzan affirmed strongly, feeling Mike’s reluctant head resting in dismay against his upraised arm. “The only way to play it”.

Mike had filled Tarzan in. Coltan. Tarzan had never heard of it. A mineral indispensible to the ever-spiralling demand for electronic goods, laptops, mobile phones. In plentiful supply in the Congo. It had been like a gold-rush, men pouring in from everywhere. Poor men working in miserable conditions but making the sacrifice to fight their way out of poverty. But then the warlords had moved in. From the Congo, from neighbouring states, a country in turmoil, a failing state. Monopolising the trade, signing contracts with the multinationals to deliver coltan. Selling it to purchase the latest arms for their militias who kept their miserable personal wars alive. Reducing the workers to near-slaves working in death-traps called mines. Working for peanuts. Then the market price for Coltan had collapsed. Fathers were forced to drag in their young boys to help survive. Rotting in a climate of child-labour, teenage prostitution, rape and violence.

Mike had the evidence, he had himself sweated in the death-traps, for months he had shared in the workers’ degradations and stench. He’d grabbled desperately in the earth when the earth caved-in. He’d dragged out the dead body of 12-year-old boy-worker buried alive when a tunnel collapsed. Mike had collected enough proof to shame the multinationals into breaking the warlords’ grip. If he could get the word out. But he was young, naïve. He’d been found out. The warlords had sent men to hunt him down. They’d ordered special delivery, sending a professional torturer to lose the evidence. And then to lose Mike.

Coming out of the river, Tarzan watched Ruuders sweeping both hands over his head, swiping the water out of his full long hair. The move only emphasised the strength in those powerful shoulders. The bodybuilder’s physique combined with the torturer’s gifts. And a sadist’s mind. A devastating combination as the pair of them had already found. The arms peaked to impressive strength. Broadening the already massive chest and lifting the force in the power-block of Ruuders’ abs.

Tarzan knew what his words were letting himself in for. When he told Mike they had to play by his rules. He’d already been on the receiving end of those fists. His back had felt the force those shoulders could unleash when a belt slammed into his back. And Mike too had cringed with guilt as he felt how Tarzan’s muscled torso had been thudded into him when Ruuders gave it to Tarzan in the back. Tarzan knew Mike’s history, Korak had regaled him with stories of the “big brother” he worshipped. Mike was a college wrestler, no stranger to blows. But could he take a hammering like that from Ruuders? Earlier just those few punches from those bodybuilder shoulders, those fists into Mike’s kidneys reinforced by studded gloves had left Mike gasping. And Tarzan himself knew full well what these punches had cost. Robbing him of strength. Tarzan was in no doubt what his plan was letting himself in for. Another look over at Ruuders pulling his pants over tree-trunk legs confirmed it. The man was all-power. This had already hurt, this was going to hurt much more. To get out of this, though, they’d have to try something, however risky. What other choice did they have?

“You’re going to have to agree to show them where you stashed everything away”, Tarzan had explained.

Mike had objected whispering in his ear about the explosive material he had collected. How it showed the levels of corruption right through to the top. Global companies funding warlords, enslaving thousands down in the mines. Virtual slave labour underground to get out the Coltan. Photos, video witness statements. It was the one chance to return the resources to the people. Give them the chance again to work their way out of enduring poverty. Free from the warlords’ grip.

“It’s our only chance”, Tarzan replied strongly, whatever the consequences. “Tell them you’ll do it. Give them the stuff. Lead them off, Ruuders is bound to keep me back, as hostage. Keeping you on best behaviour. Split them up. Either you escape. Or I overpower Ruuders”.

That prospect did not look too promising as Tarzan looked at Ruuders. Shirtless, scornfully returning Tarzan’s stare, breaking into a knowing smirk, sizing Tarzan up too. He was a big bruiser. Even free, Tarzan would have a hard time winning one over on Ruuders.

“Not yet, though”, he’d whispered at Mike. “You can’t afford to give in yet”.

Mike had fixed him in the eye. Wondering if he had understood Korak’s father.

“You can’t make it look too easy for them”.

“You mean …?” Mike hesitated.

Tarzan nodded meaningfully.

“No choice. You can’t hand it to them on a plate”.

Tarzan looked determined. His eyes were saying more than his words. Knowing the cost, assessing the risk.

“We’re going to have to make them for work it”.

“Risky, isn’t it?”

Mike was suspicious. Uncertain this was going to work. And the pain it was going to cost Tarzan.

Tarzan stretched his back slightly. A sudden pang stabbed him in his lower back. Reminding him of the beating . He bit on his lip.

“Got any better ideas?”

He let out the held breath. His body released a slight tremor of residual pain. Knowing there was plenty more to come.

The background to the story, Mike’s report on the exploitation of coltan, is based on fact. Anyone interested can check:



13. Rope-work

Mike was trapped. One the one hand he had his friend’s father taking hell of a beating from a professional torturer. And on the other, he had a chance to break this cycle of corruption and criminality that had blighted hundreds of innocent people’s lives. If only they could release the report to the world. But first they had to get themselves free. Tarzan’s idea of tricking them didn’t sound like much of a chance to Mike. But what other plan was there?

“Stinking climate in this part of the world”, Ruuders offered.

He’d had his swim to cool off, put his pants back on,. But he stayed topless. The humidity already covered his broad hard chest with a sheen.

“And trouble is, working under these conditions, in the stinking jungle, you have to compromise”.

He was right up-close behind Mike. Almost whispering in his ear. But his eyes were full on Tarzan at the same time, looking over Mike’s shoulder.

“Ya see, college-boy, if I had you where I would have had you - y’know, before the shit hit the fan and you black guys thought you knew how to run a country - we’d have had so many more little inventions to use, great tricks-of-the-trade to call on. Ever had your balls wired to a battery? I tell ya, boy. It concentrates the mind, makes ya think. I’d soon get ya to change your mind”.

Ruuders wandered over to his rucksack, hand exploring inside.

“Like I said, ya have to compromise when ya’re out in the field”.

A muscled forearm swept sweat off his forehead after his hand extracted a rope from the bag.

“Might take a bit longer. Might mean sustaining a degree or so more effort for longer. But things can still work. You get there in the end”.

The rope dangled almost innocently from his hand as he chatted. Both Mike and Tarzan were watching, examining it warily. A length of thick rope folded over three or four times. Dangling about a metre in length. And knotted its whole length, every foot or so a knot tying the strands of rope together. Murderous ugly knots. A whip of rope, a bludgeon for pain.

“You bastard”, Mike spat out. “You can’t ….”.

Ruuders just stared back at him, like he was confused.

“Err, … ‘Scuse me? I thought this was all your idea? Letting ape-shit-here take this for you. Your patsy-friend”.

Mike threw Tarzan a look, a guilty look. Feeling unbelievably squeamish at the fact that the buck stopping with him. It was down to him to put Tarzan through this. OK, that had been agreed, it was Tarzan’s plan. But had he reckoned on that rope? Tarzan had already taken the belt. Those studded gloves had done the job eventually. There had been cries of pain, Ruuders had battered shouts out of Tarzan’s tortured back. Incredible that his friend’s father had taken as much as he had.

And now that evil looking rope. To bludgeon Mike into giving up. A bludgeon used on Tarzan’s back. Tarzan returned Mike’s look. Strong, emotionless, no sign of fear. Giving no sign of reproach, just signalling his determination, telling Mike Tarzan took nothing back. They had reached an agreement, this had to be. Not going to be easy, though, Tarzan knew that. He was just hoping the damage would not be so great he couldn’t grab the moment, seize the chance to break free when that moment came.

Tarzan steeled himself, he breathed deeply. But he was no fool. What that rope was going to cost him, Tarzan would have to take the brunt. But he also knew what conflict this play-acting was going to take out on Mike. He couldn’t afford to weaken, however much it cost. Mike had to last out, not giving in too easily, however much punishment Tarzan had to take. Make it believable when he did give in. Make these men grateful that they’d won at last, tempting them to drop their guard Tarzan had made Mike responsible for lasting out, to make it a convincing job. When they’d agreed that, though, Tarzan hadn’t seen that rope. But if it wasn’t the rope, it would have been something else. Sternly Tarzan’s gaze ordered Mike to stay strong. Tarzan was taking the beating. But Mike was going to feel it was his fault. They couldn’t afford for Mike to crumple. Tarzan knew it was going to hurt. Like hell. But it might be worth it if Mike didn’t give in. They had to give it a try.

Mike was already scared stiff. Tarzan could feel his nervous tension. He could feel it physically pressing against the top of his thigh. Mike, embarrassed, - on top of everything else - gave Tarzan a slightly twisted look, apologising. Tarzan blinked back, silently communicating he understood. It happened. In situations like this it happened.

It was a hammer, a hammerblow. The weight formidable. The force that rocketed off Ruuder’s shoulder was awesome. Into a back already beaten. There was no holding back the pain. The might of knots thudding into damaged muscle jarred Tarzan forward. His chest slammed into Mike’s front. He shuddered there, shaken by pain. The cry he held crunched in his throat trembled and escaped through every pore on his skin. A long ragged guttural groan reverberated. Passing down over Mike’s chest. Ruuders took his time, he let the force of that pain ricochet through every cell in Tarzan’s body. He waited as the crippling pain from just one blow shuddered against Mike’s front. Seeped into his shocked soul. Like a sharp knife, it twisted viciously at his stubbornness and tore at his guilt. For submitting a man to such pain.

Ruuders saw Tarzan shake his head, clearing his hair of the pained sweat. Shaking the last vestiges of that impact out of his head. Ready for more, apeman, he thought? Try another one for size.

It seemed the knot would drive right through his back and smash all the life-force out of him. Tarzan’s breath exploded out of his chest. With an unearthly bawl. Just two blows. Force smashed his body into Mike, threw his head hard back. An inhuman roar ripped ragged out of his throat and smacked at the sky. Eyes popping in shock. Body slow-spasming in horror. A thunder-flash cracked in his head. Agony tore through to his soul. From his head, writhing wildly in soul-crippling recoils, Tarzan broke in an unstoppable cry. Of body-breaking agony. Violence retching the life-force out of him. Mike shuddered. This was inhuman, this was unbearable. But Tarzan had given him the task. To make it plausible, to last out. As long as he could. As long as Tarzan could.

Ruuders watched. Closely. He’d done this before, many times. Few could manage to sustain so much pain, not many blows like that, not for long, it always worked. Seven times now. Tarzan’s raised arms were turned to iron, hands clenched together into trembling fists to beat the pain. A pain that threatened to overwhelm him. As soon it would, Ruuders knew. Drown him. Crush him. This ape-shit had quickly given up his first cry. The first, more to come. Struggling to beat it, agonisingly fighting back on the rivers of pain, Tarzan’s breaths were drawn gasping down his throat with moans of agony. Unbearable, incomprehensible agony. Five more times, five more excruciatingly horrific times Ruuders’ knotted rope had hammered the life out of him. Five more times, Ruuders had targeted Tarzan’s broad muscled back, the vicious knot growling blurred in the light, its terror pulverising the strength crippled there. Five more times the knot had splattered pain intolerably down Tarzan’s backbone. Smashed his chest hard into his fellow-victim. Burdened with an awesome guilt.

Again Ruuders relentlessly slashed agony through Tarzan’s torso. Again he sent that body spiralling into ragged spasms of horrendous pain. Smacked brutally into Mike’s guilt, whipping viciously at Mike’s stubbornness. Breaking him down. Insufferable agonies shuddering against his front. All this because of him. Excruciating tortures. His fault, his blame. Torturing his friend. Torturing the college-boy who callously was letting this happen. Tarzan’s arms were pain-filled rock. His back clawed raw by talons of agony. His head, released from its straitjacket of shock, was suddenly thrashing wildly around. The mark of human flesh that could take no more.

Got something to say, college-boy?

14. Gutsy

“Let’s have a good look at you”, Ruuders had said almost consoling, his hand trailing down the fire scorching over Tarzan’s back.

To the other men standing around, Ruuders snapped, “Turn the apeman around”.

Ruuders was frankly astonished at Tarzan’s capacity. He was up there with the best, he should have broken, under the rope. Ruuders had hoped he’d plead with the boy, argue with him for being such a callous brute. But he hadn’t. Too much of that punishment, though, - and there’d be too much damage. Ruuders would have nothing left to work on with the boy. Time to change tactics.

The others jumped to it, spinning Tarzan around in his bonds, his worked-over back gluing to Mike’s chest. The college-brat’s hardness surprised Ruuders, he was a pig-headed little asshole. Astonishing that he was so callous he’d put this friend through this and show little sign of regret. It took a special kind of guts to stay hard when your friend was taking it like this. Frankly Ruuders wouldn’t have credited the brat. But early days yet, the brat would cave in, that was a cert. And besides, not so bad, this Tarzan had earned Ruuders’ rewards, it had been a long time coming. And truth-to-tell, Ruuders was one to bear a grudge. Ruuders caught his eye, they stared at each other, hard stares that said no one was backing down.

Ruuders broke the silence. “Feel good, does it?”

Tarzan frowned not understanding.

“Having a buddy’s hard-on sticking in your arse?” Ruuders explained.

Shit! thought Tarzan. He was shattered, breathing hard, dowsed in his own sweat. The sweat from those unbearable pains. Bludgeoned out of him by that rope. But animal instincts knew danger when he smelled it. Nothing escaped this bastard, he was on to every chance, Tarzan realised. Ruuders had noticed. Behind, he felt Mike stiff against his own backside. Just the sort of thing a man like Ruuders would turn against you.

Mike was going crazy with guilt, he was dripping with sweat. Sweat at the responsibility he bore for this brutality. The sweat pouring down him off Tarzan’s tortured heat. Made to sweat it out by Tarzan, not allowed to give in too easily. For a seeming eternity of guilt Tarzan had been pummelled into Mike’s front, Mike had not dared look Tarzan in the eye. Ruuders’ beating was savage, relentless and had showed no signs of ending. Ruuders seemed tireless. He’d not stop, not till Mike said so. Mike too was hurting. From having Tarzan’s muscled chest thudding into him. From the hard-on of nervous tension in his front worked over. That too had hurt, from being jerked and bashed as Tarzan’s hips were slammed into him. But it hurt nothing like Mike’s guilt. Or the punishment Tarzan had taken as part of his plan.

Ruuders’ bare torso was covered in sweat, too. But he seemed untiring, the impact of each blow never seemed to let up. Each one just as punishing as the first, an eternity of enduring agonising. Mike hadn’t seen the damage till now, but he’d heard the grunted pain. He’d felt the impact thudding through Tarzan’s brutalised torso into his. Mike and Tarzan had an agreement, this was the way it had to be,. But did it? Did this have to be like this?

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Apeman, you getting soft, Ruuders smirked to himself? Joking. Ruuders knew what the rope-beating had cost. Astonishing Tarzan was still able to take any more of anything, not a sign of begging at all. Not even when Ruuders had had him turned round and started on him again, this time going for him in the guts. Not a look in Tarzan’s eyes that even indicated the dread, oh no, not starting again! Demonstratively Ruuders had eased his gloves back on, giving the victim’s pain-clouded mind time to remember how the studs had opened up the hurt in Tarzan’s back. How he had exploded inside, like bomb that tore through his kidneys. Dozens of blows to his abs, he’d taken now. All over. Coming out of a twist, Ruuders’ shoulders threw years of power-building behind every blow. The apeman was built, Ruuders would give him that. But after a beating to the back like he’d taken, he was weakened, Ruuders doubted he himself would have found the strength to flex. Tarzan had tried, Ruuders had felt the resistance to his fists. At first, Tarzan had squeezed hard to ward off the force, crushed strong muscle into bands of steel to fend off the weakening burn of those studs. He couldn’t keep it up though, Ruuders doubted he himself could have either. After all, that was the point of the rope-work, Ruuders had seen how it could shatter even a tuff-ass like this man.

For a moment, to catch his breath, - and to cock an eye at pig-headed college-boy to see if he had anything to say - Ruuders’ eye trailed over the furnace burning on Tarzan’s abs. Not so admirable that 8-pack now, apeman, eh? His spiked gloves had scraped the skin raw on his muscle-taut stomach. It burned a crimson red. The power of Ruuders’ mighty shoulders never let him down, he’d kept himself at the peak of male perfection for years, just for a work-out like this. Letting him relentlessly drive deeper and deeper into Tarzan’s belly. More and more pained grunts were now being pounded out of Tarzan’s pulverised guts. The college-boy had looked strong in the abs, lean, athletic. Tarzan was much stronger, dense, work-built. But it was only muscle, the apeman was only flesh. But he was Ruuders - and he was built for stuff like this. He had seen all this before, tough hard-cases who first thought they could take it. Just like this Tarzan. Ruuders, though, had the muscle power and stamina to break any tuff-ass. He had the force that could cave in all that strength and he was showing the apeman what real gut-pain felt like. Experience told Ruuders he was nearly there, he read the signs. Another devastating blow took the apeman in the bulls-eye, right on the evil blotch of pain in the middle of his belly, beaten and battered, it snarled swollen and red.

Of course, Ruuders reminded himself, it was college-boy he had to break. Pig-headed sonofabitch, he was proving to be. The way he was letting the apeman take it for him. He had guts, Ruuders gave him that. And Ruuders hated to admit it, he himself was tiring, this damped heat, the humidity took it out of you. Throwing all his power behind each and every blow to break that muscle down had started taking his toll. The apeman was a tough bastard, too, second-to-none. Ruuders could have handed over to the others to take a turn. But that was not his style, breaking men was his job, what he did. And he did it well. Besides, he liked a challenge and the apeman was turning out a challenge-and-a-half. Plus, it was satisfying in other ways, the apeman was suffering, Ruuders was getting through. Question was, would Tarzan break before college-boy?

Only one way to find out. Well, ya black bastard, how much more ya gonna let friend-Tarzan take? Rested, Ruuders threw everything behind the upper cut in under Tarzan’s ribcage. Again Tarzan was lifted by the impact, he was twisting now off each-and-every blow, contorting with the pain and slammed by the force backwards into college-boy, behind, wide-eyed with shock. But keeping stumm. Tarzan convulsed and shuddered under the force of another crippling blow to that 8-pack, so hard Ruuders expected it to weaken his knees.

Ruuders was getting through, he knew the signs. First the rope and now the guts. Even a body as strong as this apeman was not made to take this kind of punishment. Buoyed up by the prospect of seeing Tarzan break, encouraged, Ruuders dug down deep and stepped up the pace. Another exceptionally punishing fist drove in deeper at weakened flesh. Soon the apeman would have nothing left. A few more sweat-driven blows and Ruuders would have him broken into little pieces. Every blasted blow breaking out in a crumpled groan, begging for him to stop. Broken up into snorted bawls of pain.

Ruuders was convinced, he nearly had this apeman broken. Trouble was, while getting his own back he’d keep forgetting the fact. He had to keep reminding himself in all this sadistic payback-time, it was the brat who needed to break. And he was proving a stubborn motherfucking hard-case. Was he gonna let Tarzan get beaten to death?

Fuck you, college-boy, got anything yet to say?

15 Just a job

Ruuders had always told himself he was no sadist, he prided himself on that. He was a professional. He had a job to do. Even when in public service drawing a regular salary, he’d done the job to the best. Someone was paying him to do a job, get information from those stinking black terrorists. A meaningful job, to save the state job from those fuckers who thought they could run a country. History was proving him right too, he thanked shit, he’d got himself outta there. He’d done the job with pride. Made himself a name, too, looked up to by all who mattered - till that bastard apeman came sneaking along. Lucky for Ruuders he’d got out of that country before the shit hit the fan. Now he was a private businessman, there were plenty lining up with big money for the kind of unique services he offered. Payment by results now. Not a problem for him, though. Ruuders always got his man, never failed. Except that once. When that fuckin’ apeman came interfering…..

That thought rolled him over on his front. He looked up from his position in the sun down by the river. Another cool-off in the river, now naked and topping up his tan, Ruuders shook his head good-naturedly. The apeman was still valiantly testing the ropes, he was a hard-case, Ruuders had to give him that. After all he had gone through, he still was finding the hope, he still had the guts to give the bonds another try. Well, you would, wouldn’t you? After the beating he’d taken, you’d want to get away. The kid had given in in the long run, Ruuders knew he would eventually. Put up a surprisingly good act, almost convincing about being tough. But the kid was still wet-behind-the-ears, not made for this kind of world. Gone off with the others now to retrieve that disk. Apeman, though, stays behind, Ruuders had said. Till the ransom was paid.

It was that work on the apeman’s front that had clinched it. Better than more whipping, Tarzan probably couldn’t have taken much more, anyway, - and stay useful. The kid had already started throwing a hard-on into Tarzan arse. Working on a man in that way when the kid was super-hyped himself, - it had worked a treat. Boned-up like that - and the apeman writhing all over his hard-on. Quite laugh really! - Ruuders smiled to himself as he watched the struggling to escape - well, he’d almost been made for the job. Tarzan had made the perfect fall-guy. Till it eventually got through to the college-brat that his apeman-friend was being made to suffer unfairly because he was being so pig-headed. It was all down to him, only he could put a stop to this. The apeman’s struggles wore the brat down in the long run. Psychological torture, Ruuders knew most of the tricks in the book. What he didn’t know about breaking a man could be written on the back of a postage stamp. The old trick of working a mate over till the other man broke - it had worked on tougher birds than the college-brat. Even on those types who were driven by some “cause” - the guilt of hearing a friend tortured to death because of them, it got to even the toughest hard-cases. And Ruuders had done over the hardest of nuts. Broken them all, every one. Without fail. He’d have got that black terrorist too, - if the apeman hadn’t snatched him away.

Who’d have thought it? He’d arrived that morning and spotted a near-naked man eaves-dropping in the tree. Two birds with one stone. Got the college-brat to spill the beans. And Ruuders got his own back. Payback and payoff, - a good day’s work.

Coming out of the lavishness of his reveries, enjoying topping up his tan in this heat, Ruuders watched the bastard who near-ruined his life. Eventually he’d done this Tarzan over. Who’d have thought it? Ruuders remembered with some bitterness that time before. It had cost Ruuders - losing that fucking terrorist, - Tarzan’s rescue had cost Ruuders. Reputation, rank. And pride. Ruuders had really been putting that fuckin’ terrorist through it. He could smell the breakthrough. But it had got late, the light had gone. Out there in the jungle, you couldn’t really see. And even Ruuders had needed a break. The fucker could wait overnight, he’d decided. When dawn came the terrorist would be exhausted - from poor sleep and a night living on his nerves. And Ruuders would be rested again. That had been the idea. The bastard would still be tied to that tree at daylight.

Trouble was, he wasn’t. Ruuders got up for a leak in the night and the bastard was gone. The #2 man in the rebel-scum and he’d slipped away. The second-most dangerous terrorist in the country and Ruuders had let him slip through his fingers. The man the army had hunted down for years, gone - Ruuders really got it in the neck. They hunted high and low, they took the countryside apart. Hostages, reprisals, tribal chiefs got beaten up, their sons “interrogated”. But the fucker had evaporated. Freedom fighters - that’s what Africans called them nowadays. Murderous fucking terrorists were the words his bosses had screamed at Ruuders when tearing him off a strip. Before they put him before the tribunal for incompetence, banged up, then demoted him. Ruuders had let escape the fucking terrorist who had the key to everything in his head. Whose interrogation would have crushed the whole fucking insurrection.

That night, in panic Ruuders had let his men loose on the villagers to hunt the escaped terrorist down. Nothing barred, beatings, shootings. But the only echo that came back was laughter. And one man’s name. Tarzan. No fucker had bothered to find out that the rebel-scum was the apeman’s friend. Disappeared without a trace.

Naked after his cooling dip, Ruuders lay, his head propped up on his elbows scouring the apeman under the tree. Ruuders had smarted for years. A perfect record. Decades of exemplary service to the State. All lost, pension as well. All forgotten. All because of this apeman here. This apeman struggling futilely with his ropes right here. Who’d have thought when Ruuders had got up this morning he’d have the chance to get his own back? He was a hard-case, this apeman. It wasn’t him who broke, it was the kid. Idly, in his dozing, Ruuders wondered what it would have taken to hear the apeman beg. Idle thoughts. Not necessary. After all, the brat was off to get the disk. No need for the apeman to take any more.

On the other hand, …. He spent weeks in jail. Up for incompetence. Because he couldn’t stop himself, the back-stabbers said. Instead of getting his prisoner safe into the barracks and interrogating him properly, Ruuders had started on the scum-ball while still out in the jungle. And he’d let the State’s most valuable prize slip through his hands. That mistake had cost. And all down to this bastard of an apeman.

Smiling to himself, Ruuders lowered his head contentedly onto his sweaty forearms and soaked up the sun. He had to keep up the tan, it was an obsession with him. Liked the look of the man staring back in the mirror at him, shaving naked in the morning. All that incomparable male power smiling back at him, barely a tan-line in sight. And the apeman had got it today. In full measure, fully tanned. Ruuders felt the heat of the sun beating down on his bare arse and let himself drift off. The kid had gone off with the others to retrieve what he’d got. Just Ruuders and the apeman left behind. Guarding the hostage, topping up the tan after a job well-done. Ruuders gave in to the heat, sighed with a sense of well-being, feeling himself contentedly drift off. Knowing his apeman was going nowhere however much he struggled with his ropes. Dozing away with the thought, - when they radioed in and said the college-kid had delivered the CD, what would Ruuders do with the apeman?

16. Small measures

The beating had been worth it, got a lot off Ruuders’ chest. Even? Had he got even, though? That Tarzan had certainly asked for it the way he wouldn’t break, showed no signs of breaking down and pleading with the boy to make this stop. A tough bastard, Ruuders had to admit, he took the lot, more than most could have managed - but still the kid’s conscience kept on putting his friend through hell. Not so good when the brat’s own boner started working against him, though. That got things down to the matter. When all that work on the apeman finished up with him writhing on the brat’s hard-on. The kid probably thought he’d bust a gasket. All that squirming on his erection. Probably thought he was about to cream the apeman’s arse. That was what did get through to the brat. Ya can’t fight your own urges, kid, Ruuders’ thought. The kid had looked all over the place. Body and mind. Busting a gut, didn’t know which way he was coming.

Beating or no beating, the old bitternesses still burned in Ruuders’ throat, though. This bastard Tarzan had ruined his career. Doing him over like that had meant Ruuders had expiated some of that acrimony. But enough? Ruuders’ life had been left in shreds - and for all that the apeman had just taken a few punches in the gut? Acid burned sour in Ruuders’ throat. Even? No, they were nowhere near even.

On the other hand, who gave a fuck? A few days’ time and the money was in the bank. The brat delivered the ransom, came back with the CD. A tidy sum was to be deposited in Ruuders’ account. So it was the brat’s stubbornness Ruuders had had to break. Tarzan was just an also-ran. The brat was what mattered. Change of tactics. More than one way to skin a cat.

“Strange how something this small can bring even the toughest motherfucker down”, Ruuders had mused to Mike.

He’d given another sharp flick at the clothes pegs. And smirked. Tarzan almost had jerked in anticipation before Rudders’ fingernail even made contact.

“Weird, isn’t it”, he had leered gloating into Tarzan’s snarl.

“Big tough-guy here”, Ruuder’s hand stroked condescendingly along Tarzan’s jaw.

“And he jumps at just a little thing like this”.

Another flick with the finger tip against the pegs. Tarzan-boy, Ruuders thought, you just can’t stop yourself. His victim had jolted. A flick of a fingernail on the peg. And the apeman twitched. Ruuders noticed, though, how Tarzan was quick to get his features back in control. Anger filling his look again. Tough fucker he was! Ruuders admitted. Up there with the best.

When Ruuders had first produced his undaunting-looking tool, Tarzan had looked down at his chest, a frown of uncertainty as Ruuders had first held out the peg. Still not understanding what the South African was up to as the open jaws were being stabbed into the sharp ridge of a heavily muscle chest. It took only seconds, though, to feel a burn starting after the first peg was snapped biting onto his flesh.

Already, the second peg was out of his pocket and in Ruuders hand. The underside of the open jaws again shoved up under the defined hardness of Tarzan’s hard-muscled edge. Then the upper jaw bit hard. Digging sharp into flesh. Joining with its companion at awakening jarring nerves and prickling sharply at invincible muscle.

Ruuders smiled to himself - as a fourth peg snapped on hard. Despite himself, the apeman could not disguise his reaction, tension took over muscle, his overhead hands had clenched into pained fists, the muscle in upraised forearms had twitched hard in the struggle against the bites on his chest. Another three clamps were soon giving the apeman a nip. Each bite making him jump. Betraying his hurting. Burning up.

Ruuders started on the other chest muscle, he could sense the fight to hold down a whine of despair as nagging pain bit again into Tarzan’s resilient hard flesh. A whole fresh field of once-impregnable muscle attacked for Ruuders to work on. The nerve-endings on Tarzan’s chest were sparking, crackling, flashing. An effect Tarzan was finding it hard to contain. However much Tarzan tried not to show it, he was gripped by the need to squirm. Trying not to show the need to evade the increasing burn crackling off more nipping bites. But not managing, his body knew better than his pig-headed determination, it knew to wriggle out of the way. But you , - as Ruuders knew full well. He had been here before. He’d had plenty of hard bastards like this apeman under his wing. Many times. Beat the crap out of them, yeah they’d cope. Work on their tits, - some men just couldn’t handle that. Got to them somehow. All those nerve-endings going haywire. However much the apeman tried to cover it up, Ruuders read that he was struggling, losing the battle against these surges of unwanted energy. He was spinning out of control.

It was all so physically predictable, it was the way men were hot-wired. The interrogator’s stock-in-trade. The torturer’s tools-of-trade. Itchy energy burst through every sinew, increasingly swamping the tight torso with nerve-racking torment. Hard to resist. And all ending up at the tip of the apeman’s cock.

Suddenly the apeman’s head went back. The shoulders contracted, pressing into the chest. Shuddering. Anything to try and hold down the irresistible surges of pain sizzling in Tarzan’s chest. To block off their flash to the end of his dick. He couldn’t stop himself, Ruuders thought. Hearing the breath break, in heavy fast bursts. Jaw set, teeth clamped hissing together in this futile fight to beat the battle of the nerves. The definition of muscle in the overhead arms striated. Ya look like some Michelangelo statue, Ruuders smirked. Impressive. All tension, all hard, all nerve-sizzling pain. And all a friggin’ waste-of-time, apeman!

Just to press home his point, Rudders flicked his fingers lightly over the pegs. Like playing the piano. Tickling the ivories, tickling the pegs. Despite himself, Tarzan broke into a broken unwanted whine. Sniffing, snorting. Squirming out of the way of the torturous touch. His body instinctively twitching backwards out of the way. But unable to evade the effects from a single flick of a finger tip against a peg. A touch that fed sizzles of nervous torment into every hard muscle of his front. And end in an irritating flash of burning energy at the tip of his cock.

And rubbing up Mike’s hardness pressed against his own arse. For fun, Ruuders snapped another pair of pegs under the hard-muscled ridge. The last one high into the muscled ridge close to the arm pit. Suddenly Tarzan was up on his toes, his head cracking back into his friend’s head. Tarzan’s upper torso was suddenly all tension. Shoulders bunched forwards to ease a burning pain that still found no relief. Body wriggling to banish the sizzling irritation. Sweating, breathing hard, snorting noisily. Fidgeting the discomfort out of his flesh . And his every move getting his companion behind all worked up in the groin.

Mike behind had little notion of what was happening on Tarzan’s front. Or why he was reacting to Ruuders like this. But he could feel the hard-muscled back squirming in desperation against his own front. He was twitching nervously at Tarzan’s backside rubbing against his own embarrassing boner. Wishing he could back away more, his own nerves beginning to fray. Getting more sensitive. Feeling his own nerves jump. Fearing he was going to let rip. All over this friend’s father. The discomfort of Tarzan whining, trying to evade Ruuders’ moves against his front. Mike cursing Tarzan. Wishing to hell he’d stay still. Mike’s own state of mind frayed too, - he was out-of-it. So much of his being was concentrated on nerves doing star-jumps in his crutch. Cussing Tarzan for wriggling on him. Losing it, losing control of his mind, fearing losing any control over his cock. Confused. So confused by it all he was not ready when Ruuders asked.

“Got anything to tell me, college-boy?”

17. Stroked

The voice nearly broke into a worried whine. This Tarzan was no push-over, Ruuders knew that, he knew the reputation, he’d seen the way he’d taken the rope. But the apeman was a realist. When Mike’s thick leather belt feigned to flick upwards towards a peg dug hard into the apeman’s pec, Ruuders knew what Tarzan’s moan was about. His chest was out of control, these feelings were not like taking the studded glove to the guts. What Ruuders had in mind was an unfathomable tug of pain that would jar through the tortured muscle of Tarzan’s chest. And tuff-ass here did not know how he would react. His face said he didn’t fancy the idea. And Ruuders hadn’t even hit him yet.

But Ruuders had seen that look before. Physical defiance - men like this understood that. But battling your nerves? Struggling with the burgeoning reaction down in your crutch? The hard-man’s instinct was to look tough. But behind those eyes was a fear of the unknown. Ruuders read it. Even as he was reaching into the pocket of his shorts for the last surprise. Another peg? Na, a pair of metal clamps. Evil-looking bastards with long sharpened teeth. Destined for the now pain-erect tit jutting off the solid pec.

For a brief moment before the clip snapped on Tarzan’s nub, there was eye contact. Torturer and tortured. Then Ruuders shrugged his shoulders, an act of apology.

“If I had you where you rightly belong, … “Ruuders told Mike, “ … with the right equipment, this would soon be over with by now”.

The Ruuders smirked at Tarzan. As if saying, in Tarzan’s case, he preferred it this way. Nice-and-slow.

Tarzan hissed. A sharp intake of breath. Ruuders had snapped the clamp sunk teeth into the pain-hard nub. Tarzan’s head went back, controlled. Leaning into his friend’s face. Fist clenched, fighting, muscle down the upraised arms like granite. Carved with pain.

But Tarzan yelped louder when Ruuders dragged it off. Not releasing the jaws. Tugging the teeth off the tit-end, smirking with a relish as his victim shuddered. As his thighs quivered at the shiver of pain.

“Na”, he apologised. “Not quite right”.

And snapped the teeth right on the very tip, biting on the nub-end. Rewarded by his prisoner jerking up on his toes and cursing out loud.

“That’s better”, Ruuders smirked into Tarzan’s face. And still Tarzan found the energy to glare back. Breathing hard, chest rocking with the effort. Till a smirking Ruuders gave it a final painful flick with his finger tip on the clip. Making his apeman jolt. Then snarl.

“Just one more to go”.

Ruuders could sense the stone plummeting to the pit of Tarzan’s stomach at the thought. But not as much as when he tickled the second newly-sited tit-clamp with Mike’s hard leather belt. The teeth pricking, biting back, fighting to stay clamped onto Tarzan’s nub-end. First a gentle tickle from the leather, just a stroke. But still Tarzan jerked, still his face creased at the shock of biting pain.

But then Ruuders gave it the works. A hard biting slap as thick leather tore at the clip biting at Tarzan’s tit. Tarzan performing like a trained circus animal. He jumped, his torso first rigid. Then Ruuders watched his prisoner twist off the pain. A loud moan of stinging pain bursting off Tarzan’s lips. No respite. Ruuders slapped the belt stingingly sharp across each pec in turn. Slamming harsh leather across the clips. Forcing them to bite into nerve-tortured tit-flesh to stay in place. Tarzan slammed back into his friend. Sizzling pain twisted him against his friend’s hips. Unstoppable groans erupted from a brave hard-muscled chest. Sweat glued the two prisoners together. As Tarzan again burst into a pained shuddering groans from another pair of stinging slap across the clamps in his chest.

“Remember where that folder is yet, college-boy?”

18. One-by-one

Ruuders knew this apeman was no coward, it was just he couldn’t contain himself. Even as he yelped at each stinging blow, Ruuders knew he was taking it better than most. To prove his point he aimed his next blow even harder. The belt smashed onto a peg clamped on the pec. The peg snapped off. But still the impact flashed an unwanted tear of pain to the apeman’s eye. Force dragged the peg off the muscle of Tarzan’s ridge. But pain still sizzled like burning fat in Tarzan dick. Pain that slammed Tarzan’s skull backwards, cracking it into his friend’s head.

“Stop it!” Ruuders heard Mike cry out.

“Ready when you are, college-boy”.

Another sharp blow into a peg had Tarzan twisting off the pain. Ruuders was underlining the point. Another slap with the belt snap off a peg. Nerves twitched, flesh jerked. Making Tarzan squirm against the boner that made them one.

“Just in case ….”.

Jerking, squirming. Tarzan groaning at the pitiless pain. Mike gritting his teeth, praying he’d not ejaculate. Tarzans head writhing, in pain, Mike sizzling below, in frustration, in fear. Confused.

“His fate is in your hand, you stupid black bastard”.

Tarzan yelped, another blow savagely clawed another peg off his tortured chest. Wanting to kill, if only he could get a hand free.

“Enough!” Mike ordered.

Ruuders stopped. Eyebrows raised at Mike through Tarzan’s pain-shuddering arms.

“Got something for me?”

He eyed Mike. For a while the pair of them held each other’s stare. Then Mike gave way, looked down. He couldn’t, too much depended on holding on to his disk.

“Thought so”, Ruuders snarled. “Don’t waste my time”.

.

Tarzan’s yelp was almost instantaneous.

Hard leather cut across a pair of pegs biting into chest muscle. Into flesh that already sizzled with searingly pain. Pain that encompassed Tarzan’s torso from tortured chest to hard cock. A cut that had Tarzan twist torturously off callous savage pain.

“Down to you, kid”, Ruuders reminded Mike. As another upward slash of leather snapped one more peg off. Tarzan erupted in a sharp yell. And shivered. . His back shuddered uncontrollably against Mike’s front.

This strange pain was hell. But it had to be. Somehow Tarzan told himself, he had to cope, till this was convincing. Somehow they had to escape. The misery of thousands of people depended on Tarzan’s resolve. Mike had put Tarzan in the picture. A failed state called the Congo. Mike had the evidence, his proof could make a difference, hundreds of innocent lives. How could Tarzan not help out? Mike had himself sweated in the death-traps underground, lived in degradation and stench. He’d been there in rescue attempts when the earth caved-in. He dragged out dead children from collapsed mines. Warlords holding men and families to ransom, forcing little boys into back-breaking work. Young girls coerced into prostitution, gonorrhoea rife. Mike had collected enough proof to shame the businesses into breaking the warlords’ grip. Buying the coltan guilelessly from the warlords. Who took their money to buy the latest weapons, to continue their endless meaningful struggle for personal power. To enslave thousands more innocent defenceless families, If Mike could get the word out, he could end this shame. Mike’s mission could only arouse respect, Tarzan knew they had to win.

Even when every peg had been snapped off by the belt, Tarzan’s torso recoiled at the touch of Ruuders’ hand. Even as his out-stretched palm caressed Tarzan’s pec, the brave body recoiled at the feel. Nerves trembling even at the lightest touch. Every bit of his hardened muscle seemed to recoil with the utmost pain at any touch. Fingers roughly massaging over tormented flesh brought a hiss of pain. A thumb roughly stroked over a tortured teat-end threw the body back in recoil. Ruuders smiled to himself,. This apeman might be tough. But he was clothed in human flesh. He was saturated in the pains of human flesh. And if Ruuders understood anything at all, it was the instinctive fears contained within human flesh.

18. Harsh leather

“Strange the effect that tit-work can produce”, Ruuders had said. Leering sadistically into Tarzan’s face.

It had taken all of Tarzan’s control not to flinch at the unexpected touch. They were right up close, eyeball-to-eyeball. Tarzan could feel the heat of Ruuders’ breath on his face. Steel filled his eyes at feeling the intrusive finger touching him up down there. Steel tempered his control as his eyes burned a warning back into Ruuders’ leering face.

Stretched out naked by the river, Ruuders lifted his hips and adjusted himself underneath. He wasn’t a sadist, he’d told himself that repeatedly over the years. He was just good at what he did. But he wouldn’t be a man if the memory of dominating that a tough-ass Tarzan didn’t get him in the groin. Hard. Enjoyably hard. Eyes closed as he dozed on his front in the sun, he smiled to himself at the surprise that had first filled the apeman’s eyes. Surprise that Tarzan quickly turned into a harsh eye-warning not to go down that road. Enjoying the sun on his back, Ruuders gave a silent chuckle to himself as he raised his hips and let his hard-on sort itself out.

Tarzan had forced his body not to flinch away at the finger gliding slowly up the length of his cock. A crooked ring finger taking it slowly towards the tip. Doing nothing. Just pressing, forcing Tarzan’s enforced harness against his lower stomach. Ruuders just telling Tarzan without speaking a word that he knew what had gone on. He didn’t have to look, he didn’t have to see. Tarzan was hard. All that playing with pegs and the biting pain on Tarzan’s chest had forced the man in Tarzan to get hard. Nothing special in that. But Ruuders was telling his victim - without speaking a word - that an interrogator of his experience wasn’t going to let that pass.

Their eyes stared into each other. Their glares full of message. Tarzan warning him not to start. Ruuders replying, and you’re gonna stop me exactly how? Not a flicker of a smile painted Ruuders’ lips. But he too felt the beginning of a prickle on his own groin at the helplessness of this pain-tough man. Domination was an aphrodisiac. But he’d have to get out of this shit-hole of a steaming jungle to get some release. Meantime, there was playing with this cocky bastard who still thought he was jungle-lord. The finger reached the rim and gently massaged the trigger-spot there. Up and down, pressing, then releasing. Saying nothing, eyes saying everything. Till Rudders let his bent ring finger ease back down. Gliding, not pressing against man-hard flesh. The message in the gentlest of touch. The warning full in Ruuders’; dispassionate eyes.

Only the pegs biting into the nub-ends were left on. One had broken off on the slap of belt. But Ruuders had replaced it. Letting the open jaw hover over-long over the pain-hard nipple-flesh. Conscious of the apeman’s eyes unwillingly-hard staring at the wooden jaws. Hard with anticipation of the sharp bite when the jaws snapped tight-closed. Ruuders did not disappoint him, Tarzan jerked, releasing the tension, wound up by the fresh biting tension. Unwillingly hissing with a sharp intake of breath. Before his eyes managed to turn again to anger and his face creased hard with his seething.

But Ruuders knew all that seething was really coloured with a flash of anxiety. The college-boy’s belt had tapped once against the tented loincloth. Only once. But enough to signal Ruuders’ next move. Unless the college-boy found some sense, the slap of the belt suggested. A gentle tap with the belt doubled-over. Lightly warning what and where things can happen next. Ruuders’ eyes on Tarzan, reading the apeman’s futile warnings, but scenting his deep-down fear at what Ruuders intended.

Another light tap. Not moving his eyes from his victim, Rudders asked once the brat. Just once.

“The information. Remember where you left it, college-boy?”

Ruuders never bothered waiting for the reply, the temptation too strong. His body came out of a sudden twist. The doubled-over force of thick leather cracked into hard man-flesh. Pounding the victim’s hips backwards with the force. Beating a bawl of agony out of a reeling beast. Spit from the bellow of agony splattered into Ruuders’ face.

“Eh, college-boy? Remembered yet?”

The answer came too slow. Ruuders was already untwisting out of the twist. The leather belt growling on target, the apeman still recoiling from his first agony. Catching Tarzan right on his dick head. Smacking the belt against the tip of Tarzan erection-hard penis. Sending shooting pains through his groin. More blows came doubled, in intensity, in severity. Landing at random on Tarzan’s erect crutch, smacking across his ribs, swacking across his stomach. Landing everywhere, exploding, bursting into red-hot fireworks. Swamping Tarzan in liquid fire. Making Tarzan bawl like a pierced bull at the force of vicious blows.

19. Hostage

Tarzan in his pained exhaustion barely registered Mike shouting down his ear. Begging Ruuders to stop. Another gut-splitting slash across his hard-on had slammed his backside into Mike’s erect groin even as his companion was screaming for the torture to stop.

Naively surprised, Ruuders looked through Tarzan’s upraised arms at the tear-streaked face behind. He lifted his hands, as if apologetic. Momentum. That last one was momentum, he seemed to say. Couldn’t stop in time.

Even now, as he lay on his front enjoying the sun stroking his bare backside, Ruuders found himself pressing his hardness into the grass. Enjoying the memory of the torture the apeman had been forced to endure. A low pleasurable moan of manly satisfaction seeped under him at the thought of how he had dominated the jungle hard-man himself. And how. The kid was a push-over, no way was he gonna let someone take punishment like that. The apeman, though, - Ruuders wondered how much more he would have taken. Probably much more, the stubborn fucker. Ruuders pondered the question in a professional kinda way.

“He stays with me”, Ruuders had declared, thumbing over his shoulder at Tarzan still bound under the branch. His eyes had taken in the sweat-stained hair, the grim-faced look on the face. Obviously hurting. Ruuders didn’t have to wonder where.

“Let’s say as guarantee of good behaviour”.

Before the others had led the college-boy away to go hand-over his files.

The crackle of the radio jarred Ruuders out of his drowsiness. Satiated animal though he was, Ruuders was instantly on full alert. Snapped out of his relaxation by the jarring sound. On the spot.

“This kid is pissing me off”, the voice crackled through the airwaves. “Leading us a wild goose chase”.

Ruuders was up on his knees facing his prisoner. He could see Tarzan’s gaze on his naked body, studying him. Trying to read the radio call, just as intent. Just as intent as Ruuders on reading the scene. Ruuders eyes stroked over the near-naked prisoner, his mind already racing ahead of the radio message.

“Think this prick needs to hear a few persuasive words from his friend?” Ruuders asked, eyes taking in the strength of muscle still roped under the branch. Still going nowhere. The hostage. Kept back for just such a situation.

“Call me back in ten”.

Ruuders already knew what he had to do.

20. Pissing me off

“Imagine the scene like this”.

Ruuders’ voice came crackling through the radio receiver by Mike’s side. Mike’s hands were still tied in his front. But rope around his chest, above and below the elbow kept his wrestling skills well-and-truly useless. His eyes took in the six men hunkered down in a circle around him. Imagining like Mike the scene coming to them over the radio. Except - unlike Mike - they were grinning.

“Your friend here has not moved, still under the same tree. Few things different, though. For one, his legs are spread. Roped a branch behind each ankle, I did, opening up his legs. He wasn’t very happy about it, he needed some persuading. But his guts were already hurting from that beating you let him take. A few crackers with those gloves soon knocked the wind out of him. Not much resistance after that. Found it hard to breathe”. Ruuders explained. “Thanks to you”,

Mike was in a quandary. He was no closer to working himself free. And there was no report on a CD around here either. He’d already delivered it to town. Locked away for safe-keeping with a lawyer. Trouble was, he’d left no instructions what to do if he disappeared. Did he ever reckon something like this was going to happen?

And Tarzan’s plan to divide-and-rule , that did not seem to be working out. either The six guards had Mike, Ruuders had Tarzan tied up. Mike was at a loss what to do. He had just hoped Tarzan had some way of talking himself out of this. But the radio message had just said otherwise. Mike was stumped.

“Oh and did I say? Did I mention he was naked?”

Ruuders voice crackled coldly through the receiver. Mike noticed a couple of his guards look at each other and snigger. Knowingly. Mike felt a shiver. He’d only known Korak’s father in a loincloth, you’d hardly call that clothed. Mike had been stripped of his shorts, his erection jamming into Tarzan’s body. But the image of Tarzan stripped completely could only mean one thing.

“Stripped him to the bollocks”. Mike’s guards sniggered at the thought.

Ruuders sounded like he was a second-hand car salesman describing the features of a car.

“Didn’t appreciate me cutting the loincloth away, did you apeman?”

Mike could imagine the flare of anger seething in Tarzan’s eyes at the mockery.

“Gave me a right mouthful”, Mike heard Ruuders tell. Mike could believe it. Just the two of them, Mike safely away so Tarzan wasn’t having to protect him, Mike could imagine that Tarzan would revert to his more defiant self. A battle for supremacy, Tarzan against Ruuders. Trouble was, who seemed to be winning?

“Had to shut you up, didn’t I, Tarzan?”

Mike imagined Ruuders’ fists hammering into the brutalised guts.

“I’d get him to answer himself”, Ruuders explained through the radio.

“But he’s a bit of a mouthful right now. Or rather his mouth’s a bit full at the moment”.

There was a studied silence as Ruuders let Mike work on that.

”Got his loin cloth stuffed in his gob”.

Mike’s heart sank.

“Took some swallowing that, apeman, didn’t it?”

One man around Mike gave a gleeful chuckle. A raised eyebrow. That said, the pair of you, you are fucked.

“Thanks to you, though, college-boy, he got it down”.

Mike didn’t understand that remark. He wondered if he wanted to.

“Mike, you should see his dick”.

Mike wondered what Ruuders was leading to as the radio crackled. Then he remembered the belting.

“You should see the damage you did to his dick. Nasty, I have to say”.

Ruuders’ voice over the crackling almost managed to sound sympathetic. Mike knew it wasn’t.

“The way you made his hard-on take that whacking … Some nasty bruising coming on there. The end of it’s swollen nastily because of you”.

Ruuders clucked like a mother-hen at Mike’s callousness.

Mike felt the other men looking at him, smirking.

“ …Even limp and dangling like now, it’s quite a size. A man ’d probably be quite pleased at being that big - if it didn’t hurt so much”.

Ruuders was trying to make him feel guilty, Mike knew. Mike was trying not to imagine the sight.

“Useful, though”. Ruuders’ light-hearted voice carried on crackling through the air. “Took only a few sharp slaps on him there, that soon got his eyes watering. Mouth yelling out, I soon got the gag down his gob”.

The other men were laughing out at the sight. Mike wasn’t, Tarzan’s idea of divide-and-rule wasn’t going to plan.

“Look quite a sight, aren’t we, apeman?” Ruuders voice taunted. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

There was some crackling and interference on the line. The faces around looked worried, afraid the line was breaking up. That they wouldn’t have the grandstand seats they’d promised themselves.

“Sorry about that”, it was Ruuders back again. “Just attached the radio to this rope around Tarzan’s neck. It’s resting on his chest now. You should pick up every grunt”.

Mike could feel knots pulling tighter in his stomach. No way was Tarzan gonna be able to help him out of this. Roped-up still, gagged, stripped of his only covering. Mike was on his own.

“Gonna go for the balls first. A few knee-kicks to soften him up. Not taking it easy, though. What’s the point in that? A dozen or so usually does it”.

Mike trembled at the thought. Tarzan naked, his legs helplessly spread. Ruuders’ target vulnerable. This was getting to Mike. Undermining him again. He knew it shouldn’t, he needed to be strong. But he was feeling helpless.

“Fists next, I think”, Ruuders’ voice came crackling back.

“Fists give you more flexibility, I’ve found, And you get a real feel for what is needed. Knuckles into pulped knackers. With fists, you get a better feel for how much is still needed. Nice feeling too as you feel them flattening”.

Mike shuddered. When he’d heard about fists he’d imagined Tarzan was going to get it in the abs again. Bad enough after what he’d gone through. Not punches to the balls.

The signal went silent for a while. Mike imagined the pair of them back by the river, exchanging looks. Sneers. Anger. Tarzan wouldn’t be showing fear. But anyone would dread this. Who wouldn’t? And Ruuders? Mike wondered what he’d be feeling? Indifference. Part of the job. It was what he did. Na, he’d be throwing a hard-on. Ruuders would be into this. More than a day’s work. A sadist’s holiday.

“You still hearing me, college-boy? I’m round the back of him now”, Ruuders went on. “Having to shout over our apeman’s shoulder into the mic”.

The image of Tarzan with his torturer leaning up-close into his back came clear into Mike’s head. Like Ruuders had done to him.

“Ever seen your friend naked, college-boy? Got a good arse on him”.

It went quiet for a moment. Then Mike heard over the airwaves a muffled snarling.

“Tell you what .… “ Ruuders was coming through again” .. your friend here .. he doesn’t like a finger stuck up his arse”.

The men surrounding Mike guffawed. Then they looked at him. Mike felt accused. This was all his fault.

“ ‘ Course with his legs spread, his options are limited”.

Ruuders again over the airwaves. Mike felt a tremble, dreading where this was going.

“Like you can’t do a thing, apeman, can ya? Even when I am running my finger down your crack”.

Mike realised he was biting his bottom lip. He felt the others staring at him, imagined them gloating at his discomfort. But he kept his eye on the radio on the ground. To hold onto his temper, to control his fears.

“It’s not my kind of thing, you know”, Ruuders went on. “But if you are going to force me into it, Mike …..”

Ruuders’ voice drifted away. As if thinking. As if giving Mike time to work on the thought.

“ … Make me do it, college-boy - I’ll rise to any challenge, of course”.

To Mike, Ruuders didn’t sound reluctant, he was enjoying this psychological game. He was up for anything.

“Yeah, make me if you insist … ”.

Mike looked confused.

“Your choice, college-boy. The data. Or …”

What the …..?

The voice crackled back.

“Make me, college-boy, if you must. I promise you. I will rape the bastard”.

End

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Congo meeting

A chance to say thanks goes bitterly wrong

[pic]

2008

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