By Hunter Perez

I blinked myself awake, still sore in my chest from the dart that knocked me into unconsciousness. I sat up and found myself immersed in complete darkness, unable to see my hand when I held it before my face. Even worse, I was still locked in the gorilla costume and I felt that I was covered in a cold sweat from being trapped within its tight confines.

“I must be dead,” I said out loud into the darkness that engulfed me. “I remember seeing a movie about afterlife experiences where people walk through darkness until they come into a bright light. But how can I go through the afterlife like this? I’ll wind up at the Pearly Gates and Saint Peter will think I’m a gorilla and send me to gorilla heaven instead of human heaven.”

I stretched my arms out, but my right arm banged into a metallic surface that gave off a dull clunk as my knuckles made contact. I made a fist and banged harder on the surface, creating a vibration that I felt beneath me.

“Wait a minute, didn’t one of those guys say something about putting the gorilla into a container and then putting it on a freighter ship?” I wondered. “I’m not dead. I’m in some sort of a container. Damn, I hope we haven’t sailed yet.”

I reached my left arm out and scratched against another metallic surface. I tried to pull the gorilla head from my costume but couldn’t get it off. This set off a panic attack and I began to pound violently against my container imprisonment, yelling as loud as my voice would allow. After five minutes of pounding and yelling, bars of light suddenly illuminated my captivity from above. I looked up and saw a row of parallel rectangles with fluorescent illumination shining it – these openings in the container’s top gave me the air that kept me from suffocating. I pounded harder and yelled more, and then I heard a shuffle of footprints and male voices responding in a language I didn’t recognize.

“Over here, over here!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “I’m locked in a container. Someone please get me out.”

I then heard someone call out, “Where are you? Who are you?”

“My name is Bingo and I’m locked in this container,” I responded. “I was kidnapped. Someone, please save me.”

The voices came closer, but they still spoke among themselves in a language I didn’t know. I banged again at the container and within seconds I heard the voices directly outside where I was confined. I called out once more and the voices began to whisper among themselves. I could hear the footsteps of someone running into the distance while a voice assured me, “Don’t worry, we’re getting tools to get you out.”

Roughly two minutes later, the loud footsteps returned and there was frenetic banging on the container that created the worst possible aural sensation within my imprisonment. Mercifully, this only lasted for less than a minute before a crunchy crack was heard. The top of the container was lifted up and I jumped to my feet. I saw that my saviors were four men wearing blue uniforms – but they saw me as a gorilla and all screamed in unison. The largest of the four men grabbed a pistol from his waist and pointed it at me.

“Don’t shoot,” I pleaded, putting my arms into the air as surrender. “I’m not a gorilla. I’m stuck in this gorilla costume.”

One of the men blurted out “Planet of the Apes” as the man with the pistol stepped closer to me.

“Please, there is a lock on the back of my neck that is keeping me stuck in this costume,” I continued, pointing to lock’s location. “Can someone please unlock me at get me out of this thing?”

As the large man continued to aim his gun at me, one of his colleagues tiptoed around the container and began to pat his hand on the back of my neck. After patting the lock, he twisted it back and forth before a loud click was created. I eagerly pulled off my gorilla head and gave my rescuers a good look at my face. And, for that matter, I got a good look at them – there were three midsized, wiry, blond men while the gent with the gun was incredibly tall with a shaved head, a red beard and the most striking cobalt blue eyes I’ve ever seen. He put down his gun and flashed a great big smile upon seeing me.

“Hello, cutie,” he said with a slight accent I couldn’t place. “What’s a nice gorilla like you doing in a place like this?”

“It’s a very long story,” I breathed. “Can you please get me out of this container?”

The large man returned his pistol to a gun holster on his belt that also contained a walkie-talkie, a knife holster, and a handcuffs case. He reached across the edge of the container, cupped his large hands under my armpits and lifted me out. He gently placed me on the ground before him – he was at least a foot taller than me and his biceps bulged in his short-sleeved blue shirt. A name tag reading “Svenson” was attached to the left side of his shirt while a badge marked “Security” rested on the right half. Beneath his tight shirt was a chest that looked like a solid wall of muscle – he was like a cartoonist’s concept of a Viking in a security officer’s uniform.

Svenson picked his walkie from his belt and punched at its keypad. He mumbled into the device, nodded when a replay came and returned the device to his belt.

“Come on, little monkey,” Svenson said to me. “We’re gonna see the captain.”

I followed Svenson, still dressed in my gorilla costume while carrying the simian head. We walked through narrow corridors – it seemed like his broad shoulders filled the hallways – and then trekked up a seemingly endless stairway into a wider space that ended with a door opening to a large office. A distinguished man with grey hair and a grey goatee who was wearing a nautical style uniform stood up from behind a large oak desk – he looked at me in my unlikely garb and tried to stifle a laugh.

Svenson spoke to the man in his language, and he replied in the same tongue. The man rose from behind the desk and introduced himself in English as Captain Bergman of the SS Joshua Ryan, a Swedish freighter ship bound for Cape Town, South Africa. I explained how I wound up on his vessel and he listened with stoic patience –I couldn’t tell if he was believing my story. When I was finished, he said a few words to Svenson in Swedish and then said he was going to the vessel’s radio control room to contact the zoo and try to get in touch with Eddie to confirm what I said.

As the captain left his office, Svenson came over to me and asked how I could get out of the gorilla costume. I informed him of the buttons on the back of the costume and within a minute I was unbuttoned by Svenson and freed of my simian identity – which was wonderful, except that I was now left in my underwear. Svenson directed me to sit down in a chair opposite the captain’s desk and left the office, returning in a minute with a cup of tea and a slice of brown bread. He stood over me with his massive arms folded across his beefy chest while I quickly began to consume this much needed nourishment.

“You’re staring at my biceps,” Svenson said with a smirk. “Little monkey likes to swing on big biceps?”

I looked up at him with surprise. It was difficult not to notice the generous size of his biceps, but was I that obvious in eyeballing his musculature?

“I’d like to have my little monkey climb up on these,” he continued, flexing his arms into a double bicep curl.

This can’t possibly be happening to me, I thought to myself. Svenson was a wet dream come to life, but how could he find a little runt like me worthy of his amusement, especially in these circumstances? I quickly averted my eyes into the tea mug, uncertain of how to react to this teasing.

“I’m the head of security on this freighter,” Svenson added. “I was in the Swedish army and the Stockholm police force. I can be rough with bad guys, but fair with good guys. Are you a bad guy or a good guy?”

For a moment, I was sorry that I wasn’t still in the metal container wearing my gorilla costume – that made more sense than sitting in my underwear than having this giant Swedish muscle guy flirting with me.

After about ten minutes, Captain Bergman returned. He whispered something in Swedish to Svenson, who nodded while eyeing me with a grin. The captain then came over and stood over me.

“I was able to get in touch with the zoo’s director, your friend Eddie,” he said. “He confirmed everything that you said. The real gorilla is not in any danger. The men who were responsible for shooting you with a tranquilizer dart have been arrested. I am sorry to say the men on this freighter who are responsible for sneaking you on board in the container are members of our crew. They are being confined to their quarters and will be turned over to the authorities when we arrive in Cape Town in about three weeks’ time.”

“Three weeks?” I said. “But what happens to me? I don’t have any clothing or money or identification. How do I get home?”

The captain smiled gently and patted my shoulder. “Your friend Eddie at the zoo informed me that your friend Jock will meet our vessel when we arrive at Cape Town. He will have your clothing and passport, and he will have airline tickets to fly you home from South Africa.”

I exhaled heavily and pointed my gaze skyward in an ocular thanks to whichever entity from above saved my day. “Thank you, Sir,” I said. “I am sorry to be a burden to your voyage.”

The captain patted my face and chuckled. “You are not a burden, my friend. Mr. Svenson will look after you for the next three weeks. He will show you to your quarters for the remainder of the voyage.”

I quickly finished my bread and tea, stood up and shook the captain’s hand, offering elaborate thanks for his handling of the matter. The captain pointed me to follow Svenson, and the large man lumbered out of the office while I raced to follow him. Svenson whistled a jaunty tune as I followed him through a series of staircases and corridors before arriving at a rusty door at the end of a dark hallway.

“Wait here, little monkey, while I prepare your quarters,” Svenson said with a wink as he disappeared behind the door. Two minutes later, the door opened and Svenson beckoned me to enter.

I stepped into a small vestibule containing three smaller spaces with jail cell doors. Two of the doors were closed while the third was open, revealing a cell with a cot and a brown blanket and flat pillow, a steel toilet and a steel sink. Before I could say anything, Svenson planted his large hand behind my neck and pushed me into the cell. As I hit the far wall of the cell, I could hear a loud lock clicking shut. I turned to find myself behind the metal bars of the cell’s door.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, grabbing at the bars of the cell door.

Svenson’s broad shoulders rose and fell as he laughed. “Oh, little monkey, this isn’t a cruise ship. This is the only place we have for an unexpected passenger like yourself. Don’t worry, it’s only for three weeks.”

“Three weeks?” I roared. “You’re going to keep me locked up in here, near naked, for three weeks?”

Svenson reached through the bars of the cell door and tousled my hair. “Calm down, little monkey. I think I’m going to enjoy having you as my prisoner. And I know you’re going to like being my prisoner.”

I stepped back from the cell’s door and found myself hyperventilating over the prospect of being locked up. Svenson looked at me curiously and clucked his tongue.

“Don’t have a panic attack, little monkey,” he said. “Here, put your hands on this to calm down.”

Svenson stretched his right arm out and began to flex it, creating a massive bicep bulge while the veins of his forearms popped. Almost immediately, my anxiety evaporated and I moved to the cell’s door, cautiously reaching my hands through the bars to feel Svenson’s muscular arm. It was an extraordinary sensation to run my fingers up his skin and clamp my hand over the solid, grapefruit-sized bicep he created with his flexing.

“I have another one, too,” he said with a wink, shifting his body around to flex his left arms. As he held the arm to the bars, I greedily embraced it and found myself grinning. “This is nice,” I said, looking up into his enchanting blue eyes. “And you’ve got quite a big chest, too.”

Svenson grabbed my wrists and planted them on his chest and I began to run my hands up and down the surface of his shirt. His chest was therapeutic to grasp and I felt myself getting an erection.

“And I’ve got a banana for my little monkey, too,” he whispered, directing my hands down to his crotch. I started to rub the front of his pants and looked up to him in shock. “Is that all you?”

“Every uncut inch of it,” he laughed. “I know how to keep my prisoner happy. You’ll like being my prisoner, won’t you?”

I was hypnotized by his cobalt blue eyes and perfect smile while my hands could not let go of the massive manhood beneath his pants. I nodded joyfully and sighed with relief. Svenson reached through the bars and started to massage my cock, which grew into a tentpole at the circumstances where I found myself.

“Let me hear how much you like being my prisoner,” Svenson said teasingly.

“I like it,” I whispered, rubbing his crotch as if it was Aladdin’s lamp.

“A little louder and with some formality,” he said, leaning his face into the cell door’s bars. “I like to be called ‘sir,’ if you don’t mind.”

“I like being your prisoner, Sir,” I responded in a deep breath.

Svenson pressed his face into the bars and for a second I felt he would push his way into the locked cell. “Just like?” he asked, licking his tongue across his lips.

“I love being your prisoner, Sir,” I said in a too-loud voice.

Svenson puckered his lips and whispered for me to come closer. I moved my face up to his and started to close my eyes in anticipation of a kiss when I felt something pressing on my left wrist. There was a small click and I looked down to see my left wrist encased in a handcuff. Svenson grabbed my right wrist and secured it with the other handcuff, trapping my wrists on the far side of a cell door bar. I looked at my hands outside of the cell while Svenson stepped away from me. I pulled back hard, but I was stuck to the bar and could not break free.

“And I love being your jailer, little monkey,” he said. “I’ll be back for you when I’m off duty. Be a good little monkey, because your jailer wants to be entertained when he’s not working.”

Svenson pressed his fingers to his mouth and blew me a kiss before he exited the vestibule, slamming its door behind him while sealing it with a loud click of its lock. I stood at the cell’s door, staring at my handcuffed wrists on the far side of my imprisonment, and I gently banged my forehead on the bars of the door.

“Oh, Bingo,” I moaned. “When are you ever going to learn to think with your brain and not your cock?”

The End

Metal would like to thank the author, Hunter Perez, for this story! Be sure to check out his bondage-themed novel, The Friend Request, available on Amazon!