You sniff, you smell musky stale male sweat, as well as old an odd leathery odor. You feel hard smooth objects in your ears, and hear a voice echoing, "Worship Master Clayton". Your head is buzzing, and you mutter, "Worship Master Clayton" as you open your eyes to discover a dirty jockstrap on your face and a pair of bare feet resting on your bare smooth muscular chest. You try to move, but quickly discover that your wrists, ankles and neck are securely chained.
You look up at the owner of the feet resting on your chest. Sitting there naked in an easy chair and chatting on his cell phone is Clayton. He hasn't noticed that you've awakened. You study him and your situation. The voice in your earphones continues to extol your new role as Master Clayton's worshipful slaveboy. You grit your jaw, and struggle with the drugs still in your system and repeated audio messages.
Your keen apeman hearing focuses on what that handsome naked jock is saying on the phone over the sounds coming out of the earphones.
"...yeah, I'm resting my feet on my apeman's chest as we speak. You were right, he was the perfect choice for that special loin cloth. Yeah," Clayton answered the unheard party on his cellphone.
Clayton's big and second toe pinched the apeman's nipple and twisted it absently as he continued to chat.
"No, no worries there, it's powerful magic. I imagine that his parents have completely forgotten he ever existed. His photos have already vanished from the yearbook. Even that jockstrap I stole from his locker last year has vanished. It's like he never existed. And after he takes my loads up both ends the spell will be permanent, and I'll own this apeman body and soul."
Loads? Clayton own Tarzan? The apeman silently seethed with anger, and at the same time his cock was rock hard pressing hard against the hide wrapped around his groin.
He closed his eyes and violently shook his head. The headphones slipped from his ears. He looked up at Clayton whose eyes were focused on his plasma tv and the football game.
"Whoa did you see that touchdown!"
A whispery voice which also sounded familiar to you replied, "Yeah, Clayton. Looks like I'm going to lose my bet on this game. Oh, wow, you're right! I'm looking at my yearbook and he's missing from the team photo. If you hadn't reminded me, I wouldn't have even remembered he was on the team with us."
You realize that he's talking about you. You can recall his image chatting with you--the old you by your locker. What is his name? Hell, what sport did you play? Your mind is full of jungle sounds and images. It's hard to focus. Your muscles tense. You focus on the shackle on your right wrist and flex it until there's a noise of the shackle hinge cracking. Fortunately, there's a major play on the screen and the sound of the wrist shackle breaking is lost on Clayton who has risen to his feet and is jumping on your chest and shouting as his team makes a major interception and touchdown. You can't help but notice what a cute ass Master Clayton has, you think it's time he started calling you Master Tarzan, after all you're lord of the apes, and he's just a naked ape, isn't he? Your right hand fingers explore the iron collar circling your neck and find the weak point by the in hinge.
This time Clayton feels the movement below his feet and hears the sound of breaking iron. He bends down just as you reach up and connect with his jaw.