By Captive Punisher & Musclejock1 of Chained Muscle

The barge lazily floating down the Amazon River could barely be seen through the thick haze. It was night. The journey had begun earlier that afternoon, but the humidity had increased to an almost unbearable degree. The barge was surrounded by murky water, which had become steamy as night descended on the jungle with its dense tropical growth. There was an eerie silence surrounding the barge as it continued down the river.

At the point of embarkation, the four men, who were now on the barge, were told about their mission by the sergeant in charge of operations. They were to find and bring back a large cache of gold that was moved by the Nazis after the war sometime in 1948.  It had been lost since then, but rumor had it that the cache was being guarded by the Butus, who were a primitive people conforming to barbaric rituals and sacred rites. Their leader was a particularly sadistic young man who enjoyed seeking revenge by capturing any males who ventured into his domain. For many years, brave adventurers had attempted to uncover the hidden cache, but were never seen again. All of the previous men had been young and quite fit, due to the danger inherent in the mission.

The men chosen for the current mission are the most able. Yet Nick Stavros, a 32 year old lawyer always loves a real adventure. He is a faithful reader of “Treasure Hunter” magazine. He is tall and lean, with a tightly muscled and lightly haired chest. His swarthy skin glistens in the humidity. His khaki shirt is unbuttoned all the way, revealing the well-defined abdominal muscles. Greg Baker is a 28 year old former quarterback, and is studying to be an archaeologist. He sports a blond marine haircut. Even though his sleeveless shirt is closed, the blond chest hair can be observed creeping over the first button. His thick pectorals are evident under the tight blue shirt. Tony Serrano answered an ad on “Treasure Hunter On-Line.” The former Navy SEAL received a response. His survival skills will be a huge asset during the mission. Also joining them is Luis Negron, a local 19 year old, who has an obvious knowledge of local dialects. Luis can be seen eying Tony’s body. Tony has a beautiful wrestler’s build, and his shirt is always opened all the way. His smooth muscled chest is accented by two large pink nipples.

Tony suggests that they pair off and leave the barge to do some searching at night, when it is least likely that they will be discovered. After making certain that their canteens are filled with enough water, the four men leave the barge to do some investigating. They must not be discovered by the sadistic Butus.

Nick, Greg and Tony were fascinated with the young Luis upon first meeting. At his stated age of only 19, he exhibited the wisdom and street smarts of someone considerable older. There was also something unsettling in his dark eyes that each of the white men reacted to in a different way. Maybe it was the way he looked at them. Most of the native peoples seemed intimidated by the muscular frames and stark manly beauty of these white men, but Luis invited direct eye contact and brazenly surveyed their physiques. Indeed, by the second day, he could often be found at Tony’s side, offering to help with the steering of the barge, and the skillful use of the long wooden poles to keep the barge from the tangles of partially submerged tree roots and trunks and vegetation that almost choked river commerce with its out of control growth. Nick felt assured that they had hired the right guide for their adventure and forget his initial surprise to the way he suddenly appeared to fill the job. The fact that his muscled arms exhibited what appeared to be track marks, obviously healed, but ugly nevertheless, led Nick to assume a past struggle with drugs, perhaps cocain or heroin, yet miraculously he seemed to have overcome it and his lithe body showed none of the expected signs of wasting.

The men dressed for their first reconnaissance mission into the dense jungle. Nick and Greg had opted for the khaki safari shirts with cargo pockets and epaulets, tight fitting breeches and tall dehner type boots that could be tightly laced at the instep and at the top to protect their legs against insects,rocks, sharp protruding branches. The lugged soles provided additional traction on the slimy jungle floor and always slippery barge floor. Tony was dressed in marine gear, including camies and tightly laced combat boots. He has stripped his torso to his marine green ‘wife beater’ which stretched seductively over his enormous chest only to be sucked back like a second skin to caress his washboard abs and narrow waist. His brawny arms displayed the familiar USMC and NAVY SEAL tattoos that seemed to swell and ebb with every movement of his arms. His ammo belt was looped snugly. Luis wore loose fitting trousers tucked into rather stylish but practical rough-out leather leggings that served the same purpose.

The men agreed that they would trek not more than 30 minutes in one of two directions, then meet back at the barge. After checking rudimentary maps and compasses, Luis suggested that he and Tony go west. After exchanging a grin, Nick and Greg went east. As Tony assumed a combat stance and plunged into the thick foliage, Luis cast a look at the retreating forms of the other white men. He let his tongue moisten his lips as he took note of the thickly muscled legs, asses, and broad backs, sweat stained shirts and hunched shoulders as they disappeared behind long fronds of greenery. Almost to affirm his own excitement, he sought his hard penis through his trousers and gave himself one hard squeeze. “Yes….YES…this will be the finest group!!!”. Luis trotted forward until he could see the retreating figure of the young soldier ahead of him.

The Butus wasted no time in preparing to catch their prey. The hurriedly gathered hunting darts, with feathered shafts to make them fly through the air as they were shot from long blow tubes of hollowed wood. The tips of these darts were dipped in a mixture of jungle herbs that paralyzed even the strongest beasts, but only temporarily. Many darts may be needed for these particularly strong and virile targets. Along with the darts and blow guns, long stout poles were hewn and stripped of any remaining leaves. Strong knotted vines were affixed to the end of each pole. Still other Butus looped long strands of rope and vine around their shoulders. Much rope would be needed to secure the captives. The Butu hunting party met in brief conference and split up into two groups. Before departing their village, they knelt briefly before a bizarre sculpture of a giant phallus, its thick sleek ebony shaft jutting upward and capped with the unmistakable flared ridges of a cock head. The shaft itself contained myriad carvings that were not easily discernible. The base of this giant phallic idol was framed by two large testicle-like boulders. The shaft and boulders were adorned with metal hooks/loops and shackles. They knelt and chanted. Breaking from their reverie, they rose and with a wild whoop disappeared into the jungle.

Luis hurried along until he caught up with the soldier. Tony quickly turned around to acknowledge the presence of Luis, and then continued his pursuit. Luis clung behind Tony as best he could. Tony was pushing away the thick jungle growth with his strong arms. Those muscled arms were a sight to behold, as well as the well-defined back and leg muscles, which were so clearly working overtime. Luis’ thoughts kept going back to the vision of Nick and Greg, and how they looked as they disappeared into the dangerous jungle.

Nick and Greg found the humidity to be oppressive. Mosquitoes were tormenting both of them to the point of distraction. Greg had already opened a few buttons of his safari shirt in order to make the scratching of his chest easier. The little devils had crept under his shirt, and were feasting on the blond quarterback’s beautifully haired chest, already quite moist with perspiration. Nick had already avoided a rather large snake. He kept that bit of knowledge to himself, in order not to alarm Greg.

The two men decided to stop a bit for a drink of water, when they heard a slight rustling sound. They froze in order to listen very closely. They suspected that Butu scouts would be looking for them, and they wanted to get back to the barge in one piece. After drinking from their canteens, Greg looked at his watch and suggested that it was time to return to the barge. Nick agreed, and the two began to wend their way back through the jungle.

One dart struck Greg in his right bicep. Another imbedded itself in Nick’s left leg. When they both realized that the Butus were attacking, the two men increased the speed of their walking. It was difficult to move because of the thick jungle growth, but they did the best they could. “Move, Nick!” Greg was shouting as they tried to escape. “Run!” But running was nearly impossible. Before they knew it, several Butu scouts had dropped from the trees and were trying to subdue Nick and Greg. They were both already feeling weak from the insidious contents of the darts, but moved along as best they could. Scouts tripped them.

Nick fell to the ground first. Greg quickly landed as well. They both rose and tried to fight off the scouts as a second dart struck them each in the neck. Nick and Greg immediately became unconscious, and quickly collapsed on the damp jungle carpet. Nick’s shirt was severely torn and barely clung to his muscled torso. One anxious Butu had already torn off Greg’s shirt. He had never seen blond hair on a man’s chest before, and he wanted a full view. The Butu smiled in delight as he ran his fingers over the plated pectorals lightly covered with blond hair

It wasn’t long before Nick and Greg were tightly tied to two strong poles by their ankles and wrists, and carried back to the Butu village. Their masculine beauty would be savored by the villagers.

Luis suggested that he and Tony also return to the barge to meet up with Nick and Greg. It was already past the thirty minute mark. They turned and attempted to hurry back.

The Butus moved silently through the vegetation and the tree tops. They followed Tony and Luis for a short while until members of the hunting party were ahead and behind them. Tony was cursing audibly at the mosquitoes that kept landing on him, determined to draw vital blood from the warm beefy body. He had removed his sweaty shirt and had balled it up around one arm. He used it to both fight off the blood suckers and to mop the torrents sweat that plastered his thick black hair to his scalp and almost blinded him as it poured down his face. Tony had drawn a machete from his belt and was busy whacking his way forward when the first dart hit….”What the FUCK??”. He looked down to see a primitive narrow piece of wood, sharpened to a fine point with a red feather at the end embedded in his left pec. He flexed his right arms and ripped it out of his pectoral muscle, hissing through his thick lips as he felt the sting. Just as quickly a drugged tipped missile sluiced into his right pec. “AAHHH……mother fuck…..”. Two more entered his right thigh causing it to flex and stretching his trousers around the contracting muscle. Another…behind his left ear. The tight bodied soldier began jerking in a bizarre dance as if swatting at attaching insects. The attacking Butus were in awe…how many darts would it take to bring down this prize!!? Tony lost control of his hands and dropped his machete. He sank to his knees but kept his back erect. His deep set dark eyes surveyed the jungle. He knew they were under attack. His vision blurred but he could make out dark partially painted bodies slowly and carefully emerging from the thick vegetation. Two natives were holding blow guns and launched two more missiles into his heaving pec slabs. Tony groaned. His eyes rolled upward and he fell face down to the floor of the jungle.

For a few moments, the Butus observed the former Navy SEAL as he writhed on the damp earth. The sustained play of his impressive back muscles under well-tanned skin was hypnotic to the Butus. They had never seen a white man who was this virile. The chief had wished for someone like this to satisfy his lust for torture. The SEAL was indeed a rare specimen, who would surely provide the village with great enjoyment as he was made to suffer. But first the chief would most likely want to use his strength to good advantage by subjecting his muscular physique to heavy labor in the mines or out in the hot sun.

Tony’s movement suddenly ceased. It was time to bring him back to the village. The Butus suddenly realized that their preoccupation with Tony had quite possibly cost them the capture of the young guide. Their concern was allayed by the return of several Butus who were dragging the struggling Luis toward the other tribesmen. Luis had tried to flee the scene when the first dart struck Tony. His movements were thwarted by the density of the Amazon vegetation, as well as the darkness. He did not get very far, and was tackled before gaining much distance. Luis’ fit, but not thickly muscled body, made him an easy target.

Luis was thrown to the ground by his captors, and his hands were quickly tied behind his back with rope. He was lifted up under his arms. By this time, Tony had been bound by his wrists and ankle to a pole in preparation for his journey back to the village. Nick and Greg had been bound in the same manner. They had most likely reached the village by this time. Tony hung limply from the pole when he was lifted up. His handsome head was thrown back; his mouth was open. His muscular torso glistened with sweat. Luis was feeling a hardness in his pants that was difficult to conceal. The Butus were aware of this, and began to mock the nineteen year old.

Luis was pushed along by several of the Butus, whose painted bodies looked particularly ominous. Behind him two Butus carried the pole to which Tony was bound. The other Butus followed as closely as they could. The darkness would make the trip a difficult one. The humidity did not help the situation either. All of the men trudged on. Luis turned around as his forced march began. he noticed that Tony’s thick ammo belt had been removed, and that it now adorned the painted neck of one of the younger Butus.

The hunting parties with their prized trophies gleefully converged onto a single roadway that would take them to the main village. Each group congratulated the other as they examined the tightly trussed and poled hunks. Like sides of prime man beef, our heroes swayed to and fro from the stout poles. Luis, still conscious was treated more harshly. His hair was pulled, he was tripped intentionally and stomped on, then dragged by a noose of thick vines that was wound about his neck. More than a half hour had passed and the other three adventurers were still deep in the drug induced slumber. Although the letter of the law forbid them to touch the flesh of these men, there was no immediate enforcement and one after another the drooling Butus dared to feel the hard muscle, to stroke it, to run their gnarled fingertips across the taut chests and abs under the ripped shirts. They were entranced by the strange leather coverings on the mens’ feet. The smooth leather hugged their muscular calves and felt smooth. These strange adornments obviously marked these men as special in some way. They fondled Tony’s thick nipples. The SEAL’s pectoral erectile tissue hardened at the abuse. His thighs were squeezed as were his hard buttocks. The Butus murmured, nodded and spoke excitedly in their strange language. Greg and Nick were similarly examined and fondled and inspected like meat. Indeed these men must be either Gods or Demons. Their strength and beauty was exceptional particularly that of the golden one. In any case their extended and prolonged agony would serve as fitting offering to PUNTA, the Butu God of fertility. As the party reached their destination it assumed an almost procession-like gait. The inhabitants of the village rapidly materialized to witness the triumphal march. A gibbering crowd was gathering.

The crowd rapidly descended upon the returning hunters and their prize possessions. They were in awe of the beauty of these brave white hunters who dared to venture into their forbidden territory. Others had certainly been captured in the past. They had also been offered to PUNTA after having endured days of agony as their strength gradually ebbed. But never had the villagers seen such specimens.

Luis was hurriedly pulled by his noose to a huge totem pole with a large ring on the top. As he was viciously stripped to the waist by one of the younger men, his sinuous arms were raised high, and his hands were made to grip the lead of rope. Before he knew it, he was standing on his toes as the end or the rope was led through the ring and wound around and tied to another loop on the bottom of the other side of the pole, which was elaborately decorated with tribal symbols to forbidding to even contemplate. Luis’ initial mode of torture was now complete. He would have to maintain this position or slowly suffocate to death. If he lessened his grip on the rope, he would slowly suffocate,and if he pulled on it the strain on his young arms and leg muscles would be too unbearable. What was he to do? The suffering would be intense.

The chief was still in his small hut. He liked to see his male captives properly displayed. It was agreed that he would wait until sunrise to leave the hut and view the men. It was also agreed that all the men would be displayed in the same way as Luis. It was a clever idea, and everyone embraced it.

As the sun began its slow ascend, the three adventurers could also be seen tied in the same manner as the young guide. Nick had finally been rip-stripped to the waist, and could be seen clutching his rope. He was a prisoner of his totem. His rounded biceps flexed as he tried to find some comfort. Greg was tied to his totem in the same manner. His broad back rubbed painfully against the rough edges of his totem pole, and his football shoulders and strong arms were in obvious distress. Sweat coursed its way down his hairy pec valley. But it was Tony, whose veins in his hard chest and corded arms, who was suffering well. Despite his herculean strength, he was having a difficult time keeping his balance. Luis felt a hardness in his pants as he observed the suffering of the SEAL. He wondered what could possibly be worse than this. He had heard of the sadism of the Butus, but this was really causing him to worry about his survival. he must be able to breathe.

The sun continued to rise. At the proper moment the Butu leader exited his hut and saw the stunning sight before him. He began to quiver as he approached the bound men. They were already sweating profusely, and Nick was moaning quietly, which only exited the warrior.

 

To be continued …

 

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