By Captive Punisher & Musclejock1 of Chained Muscle

They were indeed worthy captives. But it was the SEAL who caught the head Butu’s eye. He slowly approached the suffering SEAL

As the chief approached the tribesmen fell silent and smiled with pride awaiting their leader’s approval. The only sound was the rasping breath from the throats of the captives and the sound of their boot soles scraping the ground as they struggled to maintain their positions and avoid self strangulation.

The chief strode with authority and his dark eyes surveyed the four captives. The chief was not prone to overt expressions of pleasure, but even his usually stoic face betrayed a lustful reaction. His thick dried lips curved slightly as he paused briefly in front of each totem. He glanced at Greg. His eyes were drawn first to the thick full lips on a rugged face but then to the drops of heavy sweat that hung in the thick mat of blonde fur that cloaked his sensuously stretched torso. He walked past Nick, taking in the chiseled face and perfectly proportioned body. He spat with contempt at the wide-eyed young guide, but came to a full stop in front of the Tony. His eyes darkened and lingered. The tightly muscled chest rose and fell in defiance, the abdomens pulled taut the ridges deeply with each flex as the SEAL struggled to maintain his precarious balance. The chief then reached out with both calloused hands and placed them on the man’s pecs. He closed his eyes and began a slow knead reveling in the movement. One hand moved to the sweaty abs, the fingers exploring each ridge, then scooping the sweat out of the deep navel. The hands moved to the back and shoulders exploring, feeling. Tony was humiliated and angered by the erotic inspection of his body. The onlooking Butus however knew exactly what was happening. Their chief was planing the torture. Every man offered special “treats”. Some were made for pec torture, others for the pain to their balls or cocks, still others, their feet, or asses. But rarely, did a single man offer so many possibilities. Yes, the chief identified every part of this young stud’s body that would suffer. The chief opened the SEAL’s cammie pant front and reached in. His fingers gripped and fondled. The captive tried to pull away from the manipulation, but felt the rope choking him. He dare not resist. He felt himself hardening against his will in the gnarled fingers of this savage!!. The chief found the cock to be average but it hardened quickly. He knew that this man would “enjoy” his suffering.

The Butu chief moved closer to Tony, as he continued to fondle the SEAL’s cock. It was getting harder by the minute. Tony could not resist, as much as he tried. His dark eyes were clouded from the perspiration that had been running into them, He could hardly see the chief, but he was able to smell the breath of the sadist since he was so close to his muscled captive. Tony’s mouth was so dry, but he did not want to beg for water. Nick and Luis were moaning for water nearby, but Greg seemed to be toughing it out. Tony could not even spit at the chief, his mouth was so dry.

Little by little the tranquilizer that was in the darts was weakening, and returning the captives to a more normal state. The chief stepped back, as he signaled for the villagers to examine the men, if they so desired. Villagers approached the muscled men, many already in a state of arousal. Squeezing muscles became the main appeal, and the pulling and kneading eventually became quite painful. The already reddened skin intensified in color.

At a signal from the chief, the villagers were ordered to back away from the totem poles. The chief ordered that the captives’ footwear and socks be removed. This was hurriedly done, as the men could hardly fight the onslaught due to their inhibiting bondage. Their strong arms were in great pain. Biceps and triceps were flexed in discomfort in order to prevent strangulation. Luis’s young arms were already beginning to fail him, as a slight strangulating sound could already be heard. But he suddenly hoisted himself up.

Some young male villagers could be seen spreading a sweet substance in a narrow circle around the base of the men’s bare feet. As they continued to squirm in discomfort, they looked down to see one chosen male loosening the tie on a burlap sack. He began to empty the contents onto the circle of sweetness. It did not take long for the four strong men to realize that what was in the bag were fire ants, which could cause incredible pain as they bit into their victim.

The chief ordered everyone to stand back and watch the torture. He found a shady area, sat down, and enjoyed the scene before him. This was enough right now.

The stripped footwear was placed on a stone altar near the giant phallic idol. Four pairs of sweaty boots stuffed with moist socks stood side by side. The four captives stared at their feet. A brown mass writhed at the base of the totem poles. Individual fire ants were barely discernible. They were aroused by the sticky sweetness and surged. The lead scouts ventured beyond the enticing circle and found the moist male feet and began to crawl over long straight toes and ankles. Their pheromones left a trail which the swarm was eager to follow to the source of promising nourishment. The fire ants began to ascend the thickly muscled calves and hairy legs. The Butu chief noted with satisfaction the onset of a bizarre “torture ballet” as the men helplessly stamped their feet and flexed their toes and ankles. At first the sensation of thousands of tiny legs traversing their sweaty flesh was a tickle, but as the mandibles sank into the flesh and sucked, stings and jolts of pain ensued. Nick grunted as the ants seemed lost in his thick black leg hair. Greg bit his lip and shifted his weight from one foot to another. Luis began to whimper slightly, his eyes bugging from his head. Tony pulled frantically at his bonds, kicking and shaking his legs from side to side to dislodge the insect attackers. Even from the Chief’s seated vantage point, he observed the legs of his captives seemingly alive with movement. The assault on their legs undermining the effort to relieve the tension on their necks. The noose tightened. Luis’ face was reddening. Nick grunted. Greg’s bull-like stud neck was being squeezed. Tony produced animal grunts from his throat as he determined to resist the ants and keep his neck from being stretched further. The sun rose higher in the sky as if aroused by the torture scene.

The golden furnace above the Butu village was causing the men unbearable discomfort. The devilish combination of heat and humidity was sapping their considerable strength. The Chief leaned forward, and, resting his right hand on his right leg, he looked as if he were trying not to miss a moment of the torture. The “torture ballet” continued to excite his loins, as the endlessly inventive “choreography” caused the manly figures to assume rather interesting positions. No other individual was contributing to their trial in the sun. Each captive was suffering in his own way, and it became a sight to behold, both for the Chief, and his villagers.

The Chief stood up in alarm when he saw that Luis’s arms had fallen to his sides, and he was beginning to choke on his noose. His face was already starting to turn blue, when he was ordered by the chief to be released from the totem pole. The Chief did not want him dead. There were other plans in store for the sturdy nineteen year old.

“Luis! Luis!” Greg was yelling as Luis was led away to a hut, apparently to recover. “Are you all right?”

“You dirty bastards!” Tony was slapped hard in his handsome face as he uttered his invective. Tony was trying to stomp the ants with his bare feet, but only the tips of his toes touched the ground because of his tightly stretched bondage. The ants had already reached up Nick’s entire leg and were starting to embed themselves in his crotch. All he could do was moan, and look pleadingly in the direction of Luis, as he was dragged away, toes scraping along the moist ground. Greg was continuing to bite his lip in pain, as the ants continued their assent along his furry legs. Blood could be seen beginning to occupy his lower lip. The blond hair on his sculpted chest was matted from the fact that he was sweating profusely.

As Tony continued his pointes, the Chief started to smile. What an ironic sight this was: a virile former Navy SEAL performing a ballet. It was difficult to comprehend.

It was later in the afternoon that the Chief commanded that the other three adventurers be cut down from their totem poles. Because of their weakened state, they were also dragged to Luis’ hut. The ants continued to bite the three men. Tony was hoping that Luis had been relieved of the mad insects once he had gone into the hut. He was about to find out, since he was the first of the three to enter the dark oasis. Luis’ soft moaning was the only sound the three men heard as the door of the hut was shut, and securely bolted, by several painted Butu warriors.

The dark hut was ripe with the smell of sweat. Four male bodies now flexed and writhed on the dirt floor. With their remaining strength they brushed off the ants. Nick and Greg cursed their thick pelts as they had to pluck the insect marauders from their bodies. Luis was lying in the corner moaning with his eyes closed as Tony reached out to afford some solace. The only light came from three shafts radiating through slits in the thatched roof of the hut. Their nostrils flared at the smell of their own bodies. The sweat of terror had a special rank tinge to it. Could it be the smell of fear? Nick spoke to his comrades; “Hey guys, sorry bout this. This is NOT what was supposed to happen.” His comrades cast baleful glances at him as they continued to brush the stubborn insects from their legs and pubes. Each of the men had numerous angry looking ant bites pockmarking their strong legs. Greg spoke next;” Did u see that cock statue? Some kind of phallic god I guess. Why did they put our boots on that altar? What the fuck are they planning for us?!!” Tony vented his fury:

“fucking black bastards! Feeling us like like they did! Treating us like meat! I am gonna personally fuck them all up!” The conversation ended abruptly as the door of the hut flew open. Armed Butus entered, jabbering and looked around. Their eyes landed upon the tall blonde football hero and pulled him to his feet and out the hut. The hunk looked over his shoulder at his comrades. As his comrades rose, spears crossed and the door rebolted. Greg was blinded by the bright sun. He limped and tripped over the rough earth. He could make out many Butus huddled around. As he refocused his vision he realized he was being taken into the jungle about 30 feet to a what looked like a pool of murky dark brown water. It was some kind of marsh or bog fed by some narrow finger of the Amazon. Butus hands seized his strong body and pulled his arms upward and apart. Vines were used to lash his wrists to either end of a stout branch which had thick ropes lashed to its middle. Greg’s eyes followed the contraption and saw that it was lashed to a higher branch of the tree that bowed over the bog along with a sort of pulley device. His long legs hung free as the device hoisted him up. He dangled and flexed trying to do a chin up but the ant torture and heat had sapped his muscles of power although his will was strong. The pulley and rope maneuvered him until he dangled over the surface of the water. He looked down between his meaty feet. The surface of the water was still. The chief appeared and shouted “Baraka Punta, Barake Punta”.

There was a jerk on the rope and Greg was lowered into the muck. His feet disappeared into the mire. The slime was so thick it coated him like latex. It literally sucked his body downward. It felt surprisingly soothing as his body disappeared gradually. The descent stopped as Greg’s chin was a few inches above the surface. His mighty arms were still spread and tied. There was silence for what seemed an eternity.

Then something….crawling..then a STINGGG…a slight movement and another…STINGGGG. The Butus lined the rim of the pool staring at him. They started to smile as they saw the bulging biceps begin to twitch and flex. Greg jerked his head as he began to feel more strange stings and bites and crawling fingers on his flesh.

The needle prick sensations increased. Greg tried to kick his legs and and move his body sideways but he was caught fast in the thick sludge. He caught sight of the chief signaling and with a jerk felt his a strong tug on his arms and his body slowly lifted up. The slime seemed unwilling to release its muscular bait and make a sickening sucking/slurping noise as Greg was raised. The onlooking Butus applauded and seemed pleased. Greg then looked downward to see his pec shelf alive with 6 inch long leeches. One was draped over his left nipple. Another crept toward Greg’s neck. He could see that what should have been a head was actually a mouth-like orifice lined with hundreds of tiny needle like teeth. He watched it move to his right nipple and bite down. “UUGNNNNNNNNN” It must release a kind of acid when it bites for a sting spread quickly across his chest. As he craned his neck further lifting his legs a bit he was horrified to see that his abs were alive with the black creatures. Three wrapped around his cock shaft and three others feasted slowly on his large nuts. He dripped with slime and now bright red blood as he was literally being drained by the blood sucking fiends.

Greg’s torment continued unabated. His well-developed shoulder and back muscles were beginning to spasm. The leeches were doing their evil best to prolong the former quarterback’s agony. There was one hanging from each rosy nipple, each one savoring the tender meat below. Greg tried to suffer in silence, but despite the effort, the sound of his deep masculine moaning could be heard a short distance from where his muscular form was hanging. He sweated profusely, and felt the feeling of thirst the way he had never felt it before. Greg began to lick his dry and cracked lips. He told himself that he was going to tough it out. All of his vigorous football training had honed his beautifully built body into a muscle machine capable of enduring considerable hardship. As his handsome head drooped on his well-haired chest, he could observe his cock shaft expanding, with its three leeches “going along for the ride.”

Greg’s old frat buddy, Nick, was the next captive to be pulled from the hut, despite the protestations of Tony and Luis, who was still in a weakened state. Tony tried to lash out as the Butu warriors exited the hut with their godlike prey, but he was quickly struck down by having a brightly colored spear jab him in his rippling abdomen. He started to bleed slightly, and used some grass from the floor of the hut to cover the cut and stop the bleeding.

“Nick!” “Nick!” Nick heard Tony’s cries, and yelled back for the two remaining men in the hut not to worry.

Nick soon found himself standing naked in the hot Amazon sun with a dozen spears pointed at his tightly muscled body. One young Butu warrior was slapping the firm pectorals, and rubbing his hands through the dense fur on the two mounds of muscle. The Butus motioned for the adventurer to stretch out his sinewy arms, as a heavy wooden yoke was laid upon his broad shoulders, the ends of which were tightly tied to his wrists. His beautifully muscled legs were hobbled by the use of vines, but not enough to prevent him from moving in small deliberate steps. The sharp points of Butu spears force led him to what appeared to be a giant device that was apparently used for grinding of some sort. He knew that the yoke was about to be fastened to one of the long overhead extensions, and that he was about to be used like an ox performing heavy labor in the sun.

Nick was good and worried about the fate of his buddy, Greg. He wondered what the Butus had done with him. He was shaken out of his reverie when he felt a stinging pain on his already aching back. One young Butu warrior had taken a whip to Nick’s back with such force that he found himself moving forward just a few small steps. His hobbled feet continued to move by way of those small steps as the whip struck again. Nick had never felt pain like his before. The mechanism to which he was bound could be seen apparently grinding a grain of some sort. Because his muscular arms were raised in this high position, his well-developed back muscles stood out as they bunched and glistened in the hot sun. The Butu continued to whip Nick’s back as the sun beat down on his exposed flesh. Nick’s skin had not been broken, just badly welted. The Butu’s wanted him to labor hard and long for daring to enter their jungle, and his suffering would bring them many hours of delight. The adventurer had read something like this in “Treasure Hunter” magazine when he was a kid, and now it was happening to him. His hobbled feet continued their slow deliberate journey. He had almost completed one circle around the mechanism when he saw several Butus enter the captives’ hut. He turned his handsome head around, only to observe the struggling figures of Tony and Luis being dragged out into the sun.

The whip fell on Nick’s stinging back once again. And again he wondered about Greg’s fate.

 

To be continued …

 

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